The Alley Cats

Did I tell you I'm in a bowling club?

Well, I am.

It's just a small group of girls getting together to enjoy a great, all-american game. A once-a-month thing where we come together and work to improve our skill at a game revered particularly in the upper Midwest region of the country as a source of entertainment during the long 6-month winters. Just a casual affair at the lanes.

We're called the Alley Cats.

My friend Ashley started the club. When she was at a garage sale somewhere in Connecticut, she happened upon a trophy featuring a bronze woman with a mid-calf length skirt and a bowling ball in her hand. Her form was expert. And Ash knew she must have it. And that she needed a bowling club for it to belong to.

So, after only positive feedback from a dozen other girls, she started that club.

The Alley Cats.

The group is composed mostly of women who, in general, like to bowl, but who may not consider themselves very good bowlers. Most of the members claimed an excitement to improve their game.

I say most because I do not belong to that mentality. I happen to be a lovely bowler with great form and decent skill. I'd like to get better, but I do consider myself to be a good bowler already. I got because I actually love bowling and want to go back to my younger years when I played more frequently. And this is my outlet.

And Ashley decided that, to make this club fun and worthwhile, the trophy would be awarded at the end of each club meeting to the girl with the best combined score after two games.

I'm not allowed to compete for the trophy most months.

It was a stipulation when I talked Ashley into letting me be part of the club. I'm there to enjoy the camaraderie with the women, improve my own skills, and give tips and pointers to anyone in want.

I'm the unofficial Coach of the Alley Cats.

The Mama Cat of the Alley Cats, if you will.

So I'm not able to play for the trophy - yet. I'm determined to help all the others get so good that they can rival me in scoring, so that I may yet earn that beloved prize one day.

But our inaugural club meeting was just last week, and we aren't there quite yet. Though a number of the girls were better than they proclaimed. And in the end, my roommate won the trophy that night, so it sits on our mantle - a trophy shared between us.

And I can't wait until 5 months from now, when our monthly meeting at the lanes becomes recognized by the other patrons, who wait and watch to see - who will be the Top Cat tonight? Who will take home the trophy?

They'll know us as the Alley Cats.

Are You a Dancer? A Sequel

Every few months, someone comes along and, in passing, asks me if I'm a dancer.

Perhaps it's the grace and poise with which I naturally carry myself.

Or perhaps it's my long, limber body which I've retained since my prior dancing days (back when I was 6 years old…*cough*)

It also might be that I like to stand in 3rd position sometimes when I'm just hanging out because I think it's comfortable...

A camera crew was in our office today to interview my boss for a video montage, and as they were cleaning up, the woman conducting the interview was chatting casually with me. At one point, she asked me if I was a ballet dancer.

I said no, unfortunately I'm not, though I don't mind being mistaken for a member of the Washington Ballet Company, which she had referenced in her question. She smiled and said I should take a class - whether ballet or something else - because it is really fun. And I commented that I was once a dancer, and I should get back in prime shape.

This wasn't the first time I'd been asked that, and I'm crossing my fingers it's not the last…I like to pretend like I actually look like a dancer,  so I appreciate those who feed my delusions.

But this semi-common question actually spawned from the inexplicably-common comment that soon followed in explanation: "Oh, you just look a lot like someone who dances with the Washington Ballet Company."

People, I get this kind of comment ALL THE TIME. Apparently I look like about 1/5 of this entire planet's population. Seriously. I look and/or have the same mannerisms as just about 1 million other people. Random strangers are constantly reminding me that we met the other day at that party I didn't go to hosted by that person I don't know. Casual acquaintances are always telling me it's scary how much I remind them of their best friend from 6th grade or their 3rd cousin, twice-removed.

Seriously, I think this happens about once a week. Not exaggerating.

But at least the person I call to mind is always someone they like a whole lot and think is so so so great (so they say), so luckily I only look/act like really ridiculously cool people whom my acquaintances really like a lot.

Also Jessica Biel.

So there's that.

I once met one of those people someone thought I was exactly like, and I didn't see it at all - not in looks or speech or quirks. So I'm also losing my confidence in people I meet and their opinions.

But there was that one time when I was waiting in line for a ride at Lagoon with my sister and brother-in-law, and we saw my 14-year-old self standing about 20 people behind us…and that was legitimately eerie. Even I was confused when I saw her. So I guess there is something to this...

Single Male Seeking Friendship

It feels like it hasn't happened too often lately, but maybe that's because I've been better at leaving work while rush hour is still happening, so I've been surrounded by hordes of businessmen and daily commuters too much.

But today 3/4 of DC shut down, due to dangerous white snowflakes lightly falling from the sky as though in a dream, from between about 7am - 11am, so most of my usual comrades were tucked snugly in their homes enjoying a rare family dinner together at 6:30pm while I was on my way home from work this evening.

And perhaps I should be grateful for that, because with so many people around usually, you have less opportunity to be chatted up by charming disheveled young men with dreads and a missing tooth. I've been missing those moments lately, so I was glad to finally get some attention tonight.

I was walking to my normal spot to catch my connecting train at the metro when I caught his eye.

With no rush to catch the train since it was still 4 minutes away, and no crowds to push me too uncomfortably close to the edge of the platform, I suppose I looked a little more serene and calm than usual, and I was walking with a slight smile on my face as I indulged in all the space I had around me. As I passed a youngish man, I felt him look at me as he said, "how you doing, beautiful?"

Alas, I caught his words in my ear too late, for I had already passed him by with not even a glance of my eyes toward him!

I stopped at my usual spot about 10 feet away from him, hoping the train would come soon as I pulled out my phone to read an email while I waited. As I stood there, I could see out of the corner of my eye that my unknown paramour was coming toward me. Wondering whether he was about to come and steal my phone (it's a constant worry in the back of my head, due to the continual voice recordings at the metro warning you to keep you phone tight in hand or put away so no one steals it…c'mon people!) or hit on me, I kept my eyes locked on my screen, my phone in a vice-like grip.

And then I hear, "how you doing, beautiful?"

I parried with, "Good, how are you?"

Mon amour cut right to the chase:

lover: "You married? Got a husband?

me: "Uh, no. But I'm in a relationship*."

I thought that might've been the end, but to my surprise, the dance continued:

lover: "Could you have a friend?"

me: "Could I have a friend? Uh, yeah, I guess…"

lover: "How about you get my phone number and I'll get yours and we'll talk and stuff sometimes?"**

me: "Oh, ha, I don't think my boyfriend would like that too much" {smiles apologetically}

lover: {smiles charmingly} "Oh, but it'd just be as friends. Right? That's not okay?"

me: "I'm sorry! But I think I'll have to decline*** this time. But thank you!"

lover: {smiles graciously} "Okay, have a good night, take care."

me: "Have a good one" {smiles awkwardly}

And then he walked off - my chance for happiness walked away and out of my sight. On to the next beautiful lady.

I don't regret my decision. I think it was for the best. I mean, what did I have to offer him? What could I have brought to the table anyway? I would've held him back. I couldn't make him happy.

But I really do hope his earnest search for friendship works out for him. There must be someone out there in need of a phone buddy - maybe he'll find them somewhere down that metro platform!

____________________________

*It took me about 10 years too long to realize this was always the right response, regardless of your actual relationship status - I only started answering that way naturally about 18 months ago…why I didn't just say yes to the married question is beyond me, since that's the ultimate right answer, but I get too nervous they'll call my bluff when I wasn't quick enough to move a ring to that finger, you know? Why I get nervous about their response is ridiculous. But that only seems fitting for me…

**Sadly, that might've worked on me about 2 years ago still. Not that I actually thought we'd become great friends, but more that I'd be too anxious and awkward to not just say "uuhhhh, okay" and give him my number. And maybe not even a fake number, because I wouldn't have been quick enough in the moment! Luckily, these conversations never really got to that point before, so I haven't had to worry too much about the consequences…I've been rather lucky most of my life, I'll just go ahead and say it.

***I actually said "decline" - how nerdy is that?! But super effective. He accepted that immediately. Let us never undervalue the power of that word!

Please Excuse the Radio Silence

I've neglected you, blog friends (and stalker). I'm sorry. The government shutdown and its stresses left me a shell of who I was, and I've spent the last month putting back the pieces.

Plus, I've been listening to a lot of Christmas music. It takes a lot of my focus, which leaves me little time for anything else.

Sidenote - 98 Degrees, "The Gift" was, is, and always will be one of my very favorite Christmas songs. Also, Fact (and common knowledge): Mariah Carey's 1996 Christmas album is the best ever Christmas album by one artist, hands-down. Even the Amazon.com customer comments recognize this. Because duh.

Also, I've been pretty busy making pretty things and creating a general air of festive merriment and good cheer around here.

Like what, you ask? Oh, just decorating and stuff.

First, there was this gem I'm pretty proud of - our Thanksgiving dinner table Mayflower centerpieces at our ward activity. They were a total hit. Particularly the fruit snack sharks. I just wanted to give it a more real feel, you know?

Then, when I got out of work Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my roommates were all gone and it was the perfect time to blast Christmas music and officially get into the Holiday spirit by decorating my tree. It is now fully complete with an angel tree topper. I'm pretty proud of my little guy.

And my post-Thanksgiving/lazy Friday activity - I made a yarn wreath for our front door while watching any and every movie the tv told me I should watch. There was a lot of Harry Potter going on here. But it started out on a great note with a little Sixteen Candles; I knew right away it was going to be the best day.

I'm really proud of that wreath. It looks so good on our door!

Then Abby and Co. came and spent Thanksgiving afternoon/evening with me! I love family, aren't they the best?

Oh and then, I went on a card-marking binge - I offered a set of 10 homemade birthday cards for an auction our congregation is doing to raise money to get Christmas gifts for underprivileged families in the area. This is an annual tradition for us, and it always brings in a good amount of money and reaches a ton of families. So I was glad I could participate in some of the offers this year.

My personal favorite:

And a sampling of the others:

Needless to say, I had a really, really great and relaxing Thanksgiving holiday. I didn't even leave my house on Friday…and it was wonderful.

And then Monday rolled around and it was time to get back to the real world…

And how do you get back to reality any better than with this??

My first jury duty summons!

It was very exciting, friends. I got pulled up for the general jury selection. There were 20 of us, and 12 get chosen at the end, after the prosecution and defense strike 4 people each from the list based on answers to their questions for us about different things. Mostly, "do you have a problem with this or that? Would it affect your judgment of this or that?" We had a few people with problems to different things that were big enough that they were excused right away and replaced with other people in our group. But as the questioning went on, I felt like we didn't have too many people in our group that were  giving responses that would pull them off the jury - we had about 4 people who answered opposite of the crowd, so I figured the attorneys would strike them off, just because they need to get rid of 8 people. And I was getting more and more unsure that I'd be a good and partial juror, listening only to the arguments of the court and blah blah blah, and there had been a number of questions where I thought, "I could probably have said something there that I disagree with…" so when another question like that came up, I took it! Everyone probably thought I was crazy because it really wasn't a big deal, but I figured I was helping more than anything - it made the attorneys' job of lessening the jury easier.

And when the time came, I was struck out. I stayed to listen to the opening statements, though - the prosecution was much more engaging and persuasive. But I don't know how it turned out; I forgot the defendant's name and I haven't really felt like putting much effort into tracking down the case. But I'm just glad I wasn't on the jury. It was just kind of a smaller case and even with just the opening statements, I had all sorts of ethical dilemmas and worries. Thank goodness there are better people out there in the world who can shut their own feelings off and look at the case according to the facts and arguments provided…because I've learned that I cannot.

Anyway, that's boring, so let me leave you with something a little more exciting:

ROOOOOOAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shutdown Island, Survivor's Log

Survivor's log, Day 14:

The day passed quicker today - perhaps we've finally learned how to live more comfortably, or perhaps we're delusional with the unfounded hope of rescue. 4 of us still live on this island. Water source was replenished in the afternoon, though cups are running scarce. Quality of life has improved after we stumbled upon a forgotten bag of chocolate covered almonds, perhaps left purposely by the last inhabitants of this island, knowing the boon it would be for those who would inevitably arrive here after them. Ventured out, away from our office haven today - we found tacos, it brought much needed joy and excitement to our monotony. Glad we could enjoy one of the few beautiful days this island has seen since we arrived. Morale has been low since we found ourselves stranded here - it was nice to feel a sense of hope and optimism, no matter how distant or nonexistent it may be.

Found some work to do today, felt productive. But the hardships of survival got to us by the afternoon - had to come up with challenges and competitions to keep sane.

Now enjoying the blessed reprieve of evening. The hallucinations of ringing phones and angry people subside in the starry night and friends of old come and entertain me with stories and jokes and back scratches and smiles. Is it all a dream? A figment of my imagination? If so, I will not argue. Real or imagined, I will enjoy the company. For tomorrow is another day, and I need all the strength I can muster from those memories to make it through another day.


End of log.

All Work and No Play

I NEED THIS GOVERNMENT SHUTDOWN TO END!!!!!

I'm seriously going crazy. I can't handle it. It's weird, because it should just be business as usual - it's not like all that much is different in the day.

But there are fewer of us in the office - and those of us who have been there these past two weeks have really bonded. Which is great, except that a lot of our bonding seems to come at times when we think we're about to go insane, so conversation seems rather skittish and maybe more open than necessary.

It's like I'm both bored and over-worked. I'm exhausted and I just want a district work week where my boss goes to California and his district workers take care of him and I catch up on things and not worry about where my boss is at every moment and whether he'll make it back for his meeting or not, or whether he'll make it to votes on time or not (somehow he always does), or when he'll leave the office. They keep canceling our district work weeks, and I CAN'T HANDLE IT!

I'm about to crack, and I don't think I'll be the only one.

I really think there's just this stress of the unknown that's slowly (quickly) burning us all out.

And the people calling all the time, yelling at us about things that are far beyond my control as scheduler to one of 435 congressmen.

Is it too much to ask? Would you mind just being a little bit nice to me? I know life sucks right now and times are hard and everyone in DC is stupid and everyone in the country agrees with you that Congress should do this or pass that, and that it's just not that hard, and I'll let my boss know how you're feeling - trust me, I know that. But would you mind lowering your voice just a bit and not cursing at me? Your message is a lot easier to pass on to the Congressman when it's not filled with expletives - because I won't say those, so your message is getting distorted anyway.

To be fair, I've had a number of people calling who were frustrated with the way things are going, but who were very nice to me. I appreciate you all - you make my day much better. Thank you for that.

I've been straight complaining for 2 weeks now, and I just can't seem to stop. So I'm sorry to everyone I've traded more than 5 words with these last 10 days. You did not get me at my best. I'll try to be better, really. I've started looking at pictures of kittens and puppies again, so my spirits are lifting. And at some point, I will clean my room and get my non-work life organized, and I think that will make me feel better.

And I finally finished a really beautiful book, which I've been trying to find time to read for awhile. So now I can finally return it to the library, a month past the 30 day due date (oops). That is, if there's anyone not furloughed who can come pick it up right now...

Pickup Lines at 9am on the Way to Work

I was on my way to work the other morning. I happened to be running a bit late (what's new?), but I was still catching the end of the morning rush hour, so it felt like the normal business crowd around me as I worked my way through the metro cars.

My mornings aren't usually interesting. I get to the metro, I jump on a train, I get to work. Occasionally, I see some elbows get thrown. But that usually happens more at 8:30am, when the trains are fullest and people still have a chance of making it to work on time. Not at 8:50am, when all of us boarding already know we're going to be late, so we don't fight it.

Anyway, mornings aren't usually interesting.

But the other day, I was heading down from one train platform to another, to switch trains, and I got to the platform, where a train, of course, had just closed its door and pulled out (jerk train). So I started walking down the platform to "my spot" where I place myself on the train at the door that lets me out right at the escalator at my stop. Time savers - the more you ride the metro, the more you learn prime locations to save time getting out of the metro for when you're running late.

Anyway, this is too long of an introduction to a very short story. Let's start over.

The other day, I was on my way to work, and I was walking along the platform for a train, and I passed this guy - I barely saw him there; definitely didn't make eye contact - and I had almost completely passed him when I heard, "How you doin,' sexy?"

And I kept right on walking, with no visible or vocal response.

First, it took him a while to get that comment out - I was practically completely beyond him, and I only just caught that mumble as I walked away. Dude, if you want a response, you've got to speak up while I'm still around to respond.

Second, I had the thought that maybe he was calling his girlfriend or someone, and happened to say that on the phone at a time when I could've taken it as being directed toward me. Which just makes me look foolish to take affront at such a comment. But it was 9:10am, so that just didn't seem likely.

Second.5, it was 9:10 IN THE MORNING. Who even says the word "sexy" that early in the morning?  Doesn't that just seem too early to be saying such comments? I'm barely awake, I don't have time to be hit or focus to be hit on by some dirty stranger, okay? It just seemed silly.

Third, I was in work clothes with air-dried frizzy hair and a Tuesday morning scowl. I guess that's sexy to some guys - dude didn't seem at all like one of those guys.

I mean, I get it, I'm a very attractive, strong, confident, interesting, smart, twenty-something single female. Dude's gonna be attracted to that, naturally. It's just life.

But 9am is no time to express it. Because all you're gonna get is a non-responsive, scowl-faced-because-I-don't-want-to-be-going-to-work-right-now, grumpy, not-a-morning-person, girl walking right past you with no glance back to acknowledge the "compliment."

Try me later, when I'm coming back from work. Depending on the day, I could really use the laugh.

But if you're really hitting on me in the metro, chances are you're actually likely just to get my metro face.


*I actually am just naturally friendlier in the evenings than I am in the mornings. I'm not a morning person. I can barely talk to friends coherently/interestedly in the mornings. But evenings generally work okay. A few weeks ago, I even got invited to a Nationals baseball game by two strangers who were waiting for a less crowded train to the stadium (like that even exists!). The invite came after I had made friends with 3 women also looking to get on a less-crowded train, so they could go home - these guys heard us chatting, and I made sure they helped the women squeeze onto a train, after they had asked if I was hoping to board and I responded I was going a different direction. Once my new friends had safely boarded their train, one of the guys, probably about 40 years old, told me I should come to the game with them. All I wanted was to go home and stop sweating (mid-Summer, what can you do?), so I declined their invitation...but I considered it. Because how often do any of us just go to baseball games with random strangers? Never. That's how often. One day, I'll be brave and do something random. One day...

The Perks of Befriending the Mail Lady

One day, the very sweet, rather boisterous lady who delivers the mail to our office twice daily asked me if I read People magazine.

I responded that, sure, I'd read it sometimes.

She now makes sure to bring me one of the extra People magazines that come in the mail to one of the non-existent offices and would otherwise go in the trash. Waste not.

Every other week, she pops in, drops off our mail, then turns to me, hands me the magazine, and says, "take it home!" and then turns around and walks back out with a quick "have a good evening, Sugar!"

Today, she dropped off the mail, then left. Then came back 5 minutes later to hand me the magazine, having forgotten to give it to me when she was in. I smiled and expressed me surprise and gratitude, and she waved in acceptance and told me to "have a good weekend, Baby."

Be nice to your local mail person. Become friends. And maybe you too will start to get the leftover People magazines to read on your commute home.

I mainly enjoy it for the crossword puzzle :).

Happy Birthday, Roald Dahl!!

By the time I will have posted this, the holiday will be over, but I want to celebrate it anyway. So this late post will have to do.

Yes, I know, it was Friday the 13th. Personally, I don't really care about that one. It's like, meh, whatever.

What I do care about is that Friday was also the magical Roald Dahl's birthday! Happy birthday to one of my very favorite authors! He would've been 97 today. But he passed away in 1990 - though that didn't stop me as a child from wanting him to come out with new publications once I'd read all of his children's books.

When I told Staff Assistant Sean earlier today that it was Roald Dahl's birthday, he smiled indulgently (as he often does when I tell him really important facts - honestly, why didn't he want to learn all about Bastille Day when I was so ready to teach him?!), and said, "You're such an English major!" And I replied, "Excuse me? This is not an 'English major' thing - this is my childhood! Roald Dahl practically raised me. I read all of his children's books!" He asked me, the hint of a dare in his tone, to name all of his children's books. When I got to about the 12th book, he looked away, humbled, finally believing that this man was an active participant in shaping my life during my younger years. I could've gone on, but I spared him his afternoon after indulging in a dramatic sum-up of Esio Trot.

I can't say I've read much of his adult works, though. He will always be the author of my youth, and I'm not sure I'm ready to grow up to his adult fare. I read a few parts of Boy and The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (more YA than adult or children, I suppose). And the stories he selected from other writers in Roald Dahl's Book of Ghost Stories. Those were maybe a little scary for my young age at the time; Rosemary Timperley's "Harry" will always give me the creeps.

But there are a handful of his children stories that I list among my favorite books of all time - they are listed next to Anna Karenina and the Count of Monte Cristo and the Great Gatsby and the Catcher in the Rye.

So would you mind allowing me to indulge in discussing them a little bit? Roald Dahl shaped my childhood, so in discussing his books, I feel like I'm just writing a little bit about myself for you all anyway - which is what I do here anyway, right?

Our unofficial family book was Fantastic Mr. Fox. So it was, of course, my favorite of his. This is how I remember coming upon this book. We were on a family vacation, I think a local vacation, somewhere in Wisconsin. So maybe we were going to a State Track meet or something. And I remember it was a darker, gloomy day. Though that could be wrong. Anyway, none of that matters. I just remember that my oldest brother Chris was there, so I must've been really young. And we were at an outlet mall or something. And Chris really wanted to find this book, and I hadn't ever heard of it before. But it seemed excruciatingly important that we bought a copy. So we bought two. I associate this book with my dad, who read it to me a number of times, and would recite the limerick from the book, which the kids would sing about the local farmers in the town (and which I sometimes sing to myself still, on random walks down the street):

Boggis, Bunce, and Bean

One Fat, One Short, One Lean.

These Horrible Crooks,

So Different in Looks,

Are None the Less Equally Mean!

I think Chris took one of the copies for himself, as it was at his request that we bought them. And I'm pretty sure that second copy is currently sitting on my bookshelf in my room, an arm's length from where I am right now. Slightly tattered, extremely loved. I held on to that book from the moment we bought it, adoring it unconditionally and treasuring it above most of my other belongings.

After FMF, a very close second favorite has always been The Witches. The chapters explaining what a witch looks like, and how a witch masks her true form to blend in will go down as some of my favorite passages to re-read, no matter how old I am. I was scared and exhilarated every time I read that book. The little girl who was magicked into the painting in the story has made me forever skeptical about any people portrayed in scenic paintings. One of my nieces is currently reading that book, and my sister just told me that niece recently mentioned that maybe she shouldn't read it right before bed. I think I learned that lesson the hard way, too. It freaked me out completely, and I was absolutely delighted by it.

A shorter story of his that I absolutely love is Esio Trot. I mentioned it above - this story also includes a limerick/poem/magic spell that must be read aloud, much like FMF, and it's so fun to read. Esio Trot is tortoise spelled backwards (if you didn't notice already), and the poem is all written backwards. One day, while sister Abby was visiting from college, she came into my room, collapsed on my bed, and demanded that I read something from our beloved Dahl out loud to her. Being the obliging younger sister that I am (oh, how I've suffered!), I quickly picked up Esio Trot and gave it my best rendering. I think that moment, with that book, made me decide I wanted to read books for people - record audiobooks - for a living. Of course, I didn't get involved in any sort of theater or anything that would've given me training, but the dream has never fully died. And thinking about/re-reading Esio Trot just fans the flames!

This sounds strange, but seriously - Revolting Rhymes always made me laugh. Especially Dahl's version of Cinderella. Disney's Cinderella has always been my favorite movie. And this is just so completely opposite. The language is probably not quite "child-like,"but I love that the Prince cuts off the heads of the ugly step-sisters and Cindy decides she could be so much happier with a simple man and a simple life, so she marries a jam-maker instead. It's slightly violent, but I think the moral is good!

There are so many more that I really love and enjoy - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the BFG, The Magic Finger, James and the Giant Peach (ironically, since I abhor bugs, and half of the characters are giant bugs/insects) - but the last one that I think really stuck with me is Matilda. Miss Trunchbull is one of the greatest villains of all time, a terrible child abuser by today's standards, who strikes fear in all those who look at her. She hammer-tossed a little girl across a field by her braids! She kicked children! The Chokey, my goodness, the Chokey!! She was a monster. And she tormented all the children, and poor sweet Ms. Honey, an angel. Miss Trunchbull is an under-rated villain in literature. And then comes little Matilda, a genius child who, at a very young age, found that she had magic powers of telekinesis. And that with this power, she could do great things to right the wrongs of the world around her, or some of the wrongs, at least. There's just so much good in this book. It makes me so happy to read. And then there's chocolate cake. Anytime I see a large chocolate cake, I smile and think of Matilda. And Bruce Bogtrotter. And the GIANT chocolate cake he had to eat as punishment for stealing a piece of the Trunchbull's chocolate cake earlier. And the triumph of Bruce, as he taps into his reserves of perseverance and eats. the. whole. cake. I'm exhilarated (and waiting to get diabetes) just thinking about it! Matilda just makes me happy. The book does. The movie does. One day, I expect the musical will. You go, girl.

I should note, all of these books were favorites of mine for the stories - the story was so delicious to me. But most of them really came alive around me through the rough, scratchy drawings of Quentin Blake. I know a few other illustrators collaborated on some of his stories, but Quentin Blake was the staple - he was the go-to illustrator. And his course, pencil drawings were the perfect amount of strange, unique, revolting, sweet, silly personality for all of these strange, unique, revolting, sweet, silly characters Roald Dahl imagined into life. So I adore my Roald Dahl, but he's not really complete without Quentin Blake defining the picture. So, thanks Quentin. I adore you, too.

Matilda. {source}

The BFG {source}

Fantastic Mr. Fox - he was a stamp!! {source}

The Witches {source}

So, I think I've proved a little bit of my infatuation with the man who went from fighting in WWII as a fighter pilot to writing lovably twisted children's stories (and adult stories, too). Roald will always have a large part of my heart. Sorry, future husband - you'll always be chasing my complete love, because part of me is already eternally taken.

I can't think of many more ways to express my love for this man. So maybe I'll leave you with a few remarks the man himself made in his life. He's just my favorite. Have I mentioned that?

******

“If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it.

A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.” 
― Roald Dahl, The Twits

“So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.” 
― Roald Dahl, Matilda

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.” 
― Roald Dahl

I Just Really Love Reading Writing

I was waiting for a train tonight, coming home from a reception after work. It was about a 10 minute wait, so I pulled out my book (I always have one in my purse - for moments just like these. It's the only way waiting for a train for 10 minutes doesn't make me want to gauge my eyes out) and spent the time reading a bit.

And I read a passage of one of the chapters of the novel I'm currently digesting. It was about 4 paragraphs in size.

And it was really beautiful. The imagery was gorgeous, and the sentences just rolled over each other like waves, and the vision I had in my mind of what was happening just completely blotted out the dingy metro station and muffled the echoing noises, and all too quickly my train was there in front of me.

So I put my book away and got on to go home.

I didn't read any more of the book then - partially as a rule, because I get motion sickness easily on the train. But mostly because I just really loved what I had read, and I thought about it the whole rest of my way home, the feelings I had smoldering in my mind.

And I will probably re-read that passage when I open my book again, before moving on to the rest of the story.

Has that ever happened to you? No? Yes? Am I just super weird? Because it really, truly made my day!

Which I think was a legitimate, purposeful blessing from above, because today was a tough one otherwise.

I hate when Congress goes back in to Session after a long recess. Working is hard, y'all!

Eeek! It's a Mouse!

I found a baby mouse stuck in a sticky trap by my desk the other day.

I was sitting there, minding my own business, maybe even working a little, when I noticed the trap, which had been stuck between my desk and the wall, and wondered if it had caught anything in the last few weeks, since it was put there.

We've had a problem with mice recently - the whole building has. In our office, we came across a mouse in a trap behind our couch about a month ago. And we've spotted one or two in the back office over the last few months. So we're pretty wary of them.

I don't know why I thought I'd check the trap this time, but I had enjoyed the thought that the mice weren't running around my corner of the office, so I hoped to prove myself right.

I bent down from my chair and looked in, and saw a shadow, which I hoped was really all it was - a shadow of the box, the dark space behind the trap, or something like that.

I called Staff Assistant Sean over, though, to confirm.

He crouched over, and then picked up the trap - complete with a teeny tiny, baby mouse. Dead, stuck to the trap.

!!!!

I was drowned in a mixture of sorrow (for the poor baby) and revulsion (it's a freaking dead mouse by my desk!), and I just wanted Sean to get the trap out of the office immediately.

Being the good staff assistant, he did just that - after first chasing me around the front office with it.

BOYS. Why?!?!

I felt so bad that the poor, innocent little thing might've sat there forever, slowly dying. I'm not a fan of the snap traps, but these sticky traps don't seem that much nicer.

Mice, take some advice from me, please. DO NOT come in to our building! I don't want to kill you, but we just can't have you running amok in our offices. We could peacefully co-exist, if only you'd exist outside, not anywhere I am.

Also, those sticky traps really are sticky. My chief of staff's dog found that out the hard way, when he stuck his nose in one, and it didn't come off until a pair of scissors got it off him - with part of his fur attached...his little face fuzz was rather uneven for the next several weeks...

A Few Goings-On Around Here

So it's been a lively two weeks around here. I've gone to Utah twice, spent a total of 5 days at work, enjoyed unseasonably cool and dry temperatures, and just been enjoying this last month of Summer, generally.

So I thought, with all that's been going on, it might be easier to do a quick catch-up. Deal? Here's a quick recap of my life, for all you living vicariously through me (aka, my siblings. I know it's not really true, but I appreciate when you say you live through me...)

I played volleyball on Wednesday night - and ROCKED IT. Seriously, I was on my game, and it was awesome. Sometimes I'm pretty good and other times I struggle a bit, but this night was a very strong one for me. Which made it much more fun. It's always more fun when you're actually good at something, I think. Anyway, I {heart} volleyball. End of story.

I gave a talk at church today. The topic I was given was this beautiful talk by Elder Holland, "Lord, I Believe." I really love his talk, but I find it difficult to write a talk on a talk, so I used it more as launchpad for some thoughts on faith. I think it worked out better this way, since I'm pretty sure that talk has been used in everything these last few months, so we all pretty much have it memorized at this point anyway. About halfway through my talk, the thought ran through my head, "this feels really confusing. I hope it doesn't sound confusing; I hope people are getting what I'm saying." Because when you've read over something a million times, it makes sense to you, but you just don't know about how it comes across sometimes. But a lot of people came up after the meeting and thanked me for a really nice talk, and they said it in that sincere, genuine way, where you really believe they meant it, so I think it went okay. A friend asked me for it, even, so I just handed over my talk - I knew I should've added a copyright note at the bottom...

I rearranged our living room Friday night. It's a little more open now. The old setup had been in place since before I moved in, and I just couldn't handle it anymore. I bought a rather large tv from a friend a few weeks ago, and we put it up above our fireplace, instead of right next to the front door, where our old, little tv was, so I finally moved the cords and cable box to the new tv, and moved the couch around, and blah blah blah, it's like a different room. My roommates were gone for the weekend, so they had a surprise to come home to! Now we just need to find another couch/loveseat to round the room out, and a new rug because I hate the one we have...I love having the house to myself, I get to do whatever I want to the order of the house!

I went to Utah last-minute for my uncle's funeral, and I was so glad I could get out there. It was a beautiful service, and I'm just really happy that I got to go home and be with family for this. I think I've got the best family in the world, so I wanted to be there to support them and enjoy beautiful memories. Shout-out to my coworkers who worked extra hard to keep the office running {relatively} smoothly while I was gone for a few days of the busiest week of the Summer...I really appreciated their support.

And then I went to Utah again! For a planned vacation this time. And I had a blast. It was superb. Friday, my parents and I went on a shopping spree at the outlets at Park City (the best outlets), and I spent a little too much - but I'm sooo ready for Autumn now. I got me stocked up on sweaters and everything, so it will be a fashionable Fall :). And then in the evening, I visited with 3 old college besties - for a number of hours. I love these girls; I hadn't seen 2 of them in almost 3 years, and we still could gab late into the night like the good old days. I will always cherish this friendship. I also got to visit with two other Utah gal pals on Saturday night, and just loved being with them as well. Gah, I'm so blessed to have so many good people populating my life.

And the second half of this trip was the SHAKESPEARE FESTIVAL!!!!! Cedar City, UT, hosts a Shakespeare Festival every year, for about 6 months, and I've heard it's fabulous, and I've wanted to go to it forever. Or at least since I was a sophomore in college, taking a Shakespeare class, which is where I even heard about this event. I've never really been to Southern Utah at all, either, aside from a trip to Lake Powell once when I was younger, so I was excited to just go down and explore a bit as well. We drove down Sunday night, walked around the grounds of the Festival quickly - it's on Southern Utah University's campus, and they built a replica of the Globe Theater in London, so we went and sat in there for a few minutes, and then enjoyed an evening of clear skies and Taco Bell as we sat on the hotel patio by the indoor pool. It was so serene. Then we saw two plays on Monday - Love's Labour's Lost and The Tempest. I liked them both a lot. I was probably more enchanted by LLL, but I thought both were really good. LLL was just really funny. The main male lead was also extremely attractive, which just doesn't hurt a performance either. But all the actors did a fabulous job in that production, and aside from the mortification dad and I felt when we saw mom had fallen asleep for a few minutes, though we were sitting in the FRONT ROW, it was just really great. And I loved sitting in the Globe Theater for the Tempest - it's now on my bucket list to go to the real Globe Theater in London one day (I've always wanted to, but I just decided I should have a bucket list, so...that's all I've got on it so far...). We were all speaking in the Shakespearean tongue for the whole day - because that's what Barlows do. We experience something and then spend the next several hours pretending like that's just our life. It's cool. And then Tuesday, we explored a state park and a national park and saw some of the red rock southern Utah is famous for. It was lovely and I really enjoyed it, despite dad's efforts to assume that I wasn't enjoying it very much.

And then I came back home to Virginia...which wasn't really eventful at all. Though it was to the mother-daughter couple next to me, who had never been out east before. I hope they enjoyed the wedding they were attending! And I did meet 2 guys coming back for school in Annapolis - one is hoping to become a pilot, and one is going to go the direction of submarines. They were also newly returned missionaries for our church, so as one of them started talking to me, I couldn't help but want to take them under my wing and guide them back into the real world! Good luck, boys, enjoy school!

Uh...that's about it, actually. I guess that's a lot, really. It all just seemed to fly by so fast. I guess I'll just go back and enjoy the brutal work schedule that is August Recess. There's just so much to be done - like deciding where to go to lunch, and reading the 2 emails I might get during the day.

I tell you what, July just about killed us all, so I think we deserve the few weeks of bed rest we get this month...

Oh, wait, what? You wanted to see some pictures? Okay, I can suppose I can do that -

 It's a blue cougar. Duh.

 Our Play schedule on Monday.

 The set of Love's Labour's Lost

 The set of The Tempest. The lighting was lovely.

The actors started acting before the play officially started. It was a long voyage, after all. (We weren't supposed to take pictures during the play - but if it hadn't started, I wasn't breaking any rules, right? Dad was considering disowning me, all the same...)

My boyfriend. Such a charmer, the rascal.

Hope that's enough - because it's all I've got!

Rockin' Uncle Steve: A Tribute

My Uncle Steve passed away yesterday.

It was kind of expected - a somewhat long time coming. He was fighting a losing battle with that pesky cancer foe for awhile. A long enough time that everyone who loved him dearly (so, everyone in this entire world, I think) had time to come to terms with this and could spend as much time with him as possible while he was still alive.

And yet, when my mom told me the sad, though expected, news of Steve's death Friday afternoon, I kept going back to the thought, "I didn't get enough time with him."

And I don't mean it in the way it sounds. Perhaps I didn't get enough time with him in my life - he was in Utah while I grew up in Wisconsin, more than a handful of states away from each other. But I got to see him when he came to visit in the Summers for his work. I saw him when I'd come down to Utah from college in Idaho, he always came by when I was in town. I saw him a lot when I lived in Utah for a year and a half after college. Heck, I worked for him during that whole time! I got a lot of time with Uncle Steve, when it comes down to it. Not as much as some people, sure, but still, I did get a lot of time with him.

So I don't mean it like I feel cheated of time with him or anything selfish. I feel like I didn't get enough time with him because Steve was one of those people whom everyone wishes they could be with more. You could spend an entire week hanging out with him, and when you leave at the end of the week, you slowly shuffle away, thinking, "Man, I wish this week wasn't over, I just want to hang out with that guy more!"

I feel like I can be a little indulgent in this post, because I know most of my consistent readers here are family members, so they'll appreciate the stories. Not that I have a ton - like I said, I was unlucky enough to grow up further away from him than some of my other, luckier relatives. But Steve should be celebrated, so I'm going to celebrate him quickly, if you don't mind.

The first memory of Steve that always pops into my mind is when he came out to stay with us for a week one Summer, for an annual work meeting - he brought his son Jake out, and they motorcycled it all the way from Utah to Wisconsin, and Steve spent the rest of the evening the trip taking us around our town on his bike. I don't think I have ever felt like such a stud in my own town as I did that trip.

Another memory is of when he brought our family along with his to spend a week in a houseboat on Lake Powell. My memories associated with that trip are of a lot of things (Crazy 8s, anyone?), but Steve made those memories happen. He helped me have such a fun vacation that year.

My oldest brother's kids called him "Rockin' Uncle Steve" because he always thought of something super fun to do with them when they came to town to visit my parents, after mom and dad had moved to Utah. Like going horseback riding! Or something equally exciting and unexpected. He treated his grand-nieces and -nephews like his own children's kids, taking them on outings and wanting them to have as much fun as possible when they were with him. He really made a name for himself with the little ones, just like he had years before with us.

I think I can sincerely say that Steve was the most generous and caring person I know. Gosh, he was so giving. He gave of his time, his belongings, his friendship. He was a networker in the best way I've ever known. Sometimes, living in DC makes me cynical, because people will introduce themselves to me and I can just feel that they're trying to find some connection that they can use me for. They want to meet people so they can do something - people become things or stepping stones quickly out here. Steve was not that way at all. He liked to meet people so he could sincerely connect with them. He found mutual friends with everyone he met, and was always quick to share a fun story or a quick compliment of that mutual friend. And then he'd go to the mutual friend later, and finish the triangle, mentioning the person he met, and what a great guy that person was. He liked people as people, rather than as means to a new end, and I've admired that quality more and more as I've aged and matured. He taught me to love the person, and to serve them in their needs, instead of looking for ways they can serve my purposes.

World, there are a lot of things I could continue to say to honor my uncle, but perhaps I'll end with this - I think the thing I'll miss most about Steve was his stories. The man knew how to tell a story. I think it was a family gift, because a lot of dad's siblings (Steve's was dad's oldest sibling, the one just before himself in age) are great story tellers. And I loved when they got together and told stories of their youth, or of an outing they had recently. Or of anything. Some of my fondest memories from family trips to Utah come from sitting in Grandpa and Grandma Barlow's home, listening to Steve and Dad and perhaps another brother or sister tell stories of something that happened, recently or long ago. Steve was hilarious. I loved that about him. He always made me smile. I loved working with him - he was only working part-time when I came onboard, but I loved the days when he came in. He made the day brighter.

And that's probably the best way I can explain this great man. He just made the day brighter. And not just because of his brilliantly white-blonde hair, either :). I think his smile was made out of sunshine - he truly beamed. And I'm glad I got to enjoy that light from him as much as I did.

But man, I'll always wish I could get more time with him.


Note: a beautiful obituary was written here. God be with you 'til we meet again, Rockin' Uncle Steve.

A Sister's Picture Writing Prompt Challenge: "The 5 Stages of Music Grief"

***

"What do you mean, you don't know this song?!?!" the turtle squealed, throwing her hands up to her head, as the boy laughed and gently pinched her playfully between his fingers. "Everyone knows this song!"

It was ranked in the top 10 of the 100 greatest songs of the 1990's; it was the #1 song of the 50 top heartbreakers. It was a classic. The music video was iconic. Everyone knew that song. The turtle felt old, though she knew this boy was only a year younger than her. Surely the generation gap didn't split so cleanly between those born in 1986 and 1987?

"Are you absolutely sure you haven't heard this before? Like, positive?" The turtle refused to believe the boy's assertions that it was completely new to him. But the boy confirmed - the song was completely new to him. And though he'd never admit it to the suddenly emotionally unstable turtle, he personally couldn't see why this song could've ever been so highly lauded anyway. But the 90s were a strange time, he had always thought.

"Chels! Can you come here? I need you!!" the turtle cried, hoping she could blame this boy's significant deficit in music education on the obvious fact that he was a boy, and so might not know love and heartbreak songs like any girl naturally would. "Chels, you know this song, right??" The dulcet, synthesized opening notes of the song lulled out the speakers, and Chels' head tilted, in deep desire to recognize a tune she felt sure she'd know, as the turtle imploringly told her she would. A minute later, after the turtle suggested she wait for the chorus (slight desperation in her voice), Chels asked if there was a chorus to this song, and the turtle threw her hands up in the air. That WAS the chorus! She had missed it, and she didn't know the song. And this time, it could not be blamed on her gender. Perhaps it really did make a difference being born in 1987?

The boy pinched the turtle a little tighter, to keep the turtle from accidentally jumping out of his hands and plummeting to the very hard carpeted floor below. He made sure he had a good hold of her, as she squirmed and writhed between his thumb and forefinger, agonizing over her coworkers' seemingly naive and unfulfilling upbringing.

The turtle was, quite simply, dumbfounded.

Mouth slight agape from running out of words to express her shock, she thought through every movie soundtrack she could think of, every tv show she knew, every anything where this song might have been used. If she could give them something to work with, maybe they'd come around, and they all could be happy, playing this heart-wrenching song on repeat all afternoon.

Slightly defeated, she acknowledged it hadn't necessarily been connected to anything, really. It was a classic, but if you hadn't grown up watching MTV and VH1, perhaps you could've reasonably missed it. If you never listened to the radio, it might be understandable how you could've passed your life never hearing this song before. If you only stepped out into society at Christmas, when holiday songs rule the world and the airwaves, there's a chance you could've missed out on a key moment in popular culture. If you grew up under a rock, it would -----

But wait, that was the turtle's natural habitat - living under a rock! And yet she knew this song! She ate watched the music video on tv as she ate breakfast in the mornings, enraptured by the extreme close-up of the singer's face - silent tears streaming down the singer's cheeks near the end. She blasted it from her boombox in her bedroom, embracing all the emotions of heartbreak life experience hadn't taught her yet. She belted the words, like it was her job to sing the crap out of the song every time it came on.

For the fifth time that afternoon, she murmured, to no one in particular, "it's just...iconic."

Which left her with only one thought: she worked with some tragically musically-deprived young adults. Mere toddlers in musical experience and appreciation.

Emotionally exhausted, the turtle sent a quick note to her sister, explaining the situation. She needed consolation, understanding, a companion in shocked outrage. And her sister quickly offered that. Words of confusion and mortification came quickly. Followed by the same justifications on behalf of these coworkers that the turtle had recently come up with. And then a dejected recognition that some people just don't have the same musical repertoire that these turtles believed everyone should.

Acceptance was bitter, but cleansing. Sometimes a turtle has to roll with the punches, and she was determined to still appreciate her friends, despite their glaring shortcomings.

The turtle settled herself down, listened to her song one more time - privately, allowing herself a personal moment to breathe the music deeply into her soul without distraction - and then moved on to the next order of business.

About an hour later, another coworker - older and wiser than the others - came by, and the turtle, with one last, less impassioned appeal, asked him if he knew 'the song." He smiled and nodded, saying it was a great song, and the turtle smiled, so glad to be validated as the other boy shook his head at her. The turtle graciously thanked her new favorite coworker, who suddenly, with eyes closed, belted:

"NOTHING COMPARES TO UUUUUUUU!!"

The turtle threw her hands up in hallelujah and laughed, tears of happiness threatening to completely ruin the moment.

***

This story was based on actual events.


Writer's Acknowledgements:

My sister, Abby, had sent a picture to my email the other day, with a writing challenge connected to it. The challenge noted that this tiny turtle was giving a speech - to whom? Saying what? I was intrigued by the question, and both Abby and I couldn't deny the adorableness of this little guy.

So I accepted the challenge, taking the next couple of days to think about my subject and audience. I might be a decent speech writer. I don't have much practice at it, but I think my previous attempts at speeches have been alright. I tend to get sentimental and perhaps sway toward cheesy inspirational comments, but all in all, I'd say I could write a speech just fine.

But all I could think of was to riff off of "My Fellow Americans" or something, and I just couldn't do it - it seemed too obvious. Too cliche. To "meh." And nothing else was really coming to mind.

But then a memory of an afternoon at work from a week or so ago came to mind, and all I wanted to do was write a {very} short story. Based on my life experiences. So I did. Hope that's okay, Abby.

I decided part of the theme, which was perhaps not obvious, but was there, was to use the 5 stages of grief, kind of. If you dig deep enough, you can see all 5 stages, according to the theory that we go through these 5 stages. Perhaps we don't really experience them, but it's so ingrained in us to think we do, that it seemed like a good theme to incorporate. I dunno, maybe it's more obvious to the reader than I think. I started to think about acknowledging it later in the story, so it might show up more near the end. Anyway, I won't force you to read this in a certain way - just enjoy the story. Nobody's making you write a thesis paper on it anyway {yet}.

When all is said and done, I'd like to acknowledge Abby for allowing me the opportunity to share this personal experience in narrative, fictional form, and for introducing me to my new favorite turtle friend. I hope you smile at little Squirt as much as I do :).


THE END.

Just a Teeny Tiny Plug for Indexing

Yesterday at church, during Relief Society, someone announced that we were starting up an Indexing competition, to get people more involved in Family History.

I was quite pleased about this announcement for two reasons:

1. Indexing was my baby during my short tenure as Family History Committee co-chair months ago. My co-chair had a lot of family history research he could do, as his family hadn't done much of it in the past. And I, having quite a bit of our history mapped out already, waxed eloquently on the joys of indexing, which helped other people, like my co-chair, do their own family history work. We complemented each other in our interests and passions on the committee. So I am, of course, ecstatic that the current committee are investing in Indexing to get people involved now.

2. I had just indexed a batch of records earlier in the morning - I find that it's a great Sunday morning activity, since I have hours and hours to fill before 3pm church rolls around (and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep) - and I made sure to confirm that my efforts from the morning would count. The girl making the announcement said, sure, she thought the competition started that day, so why not. And I agreed. And so did the rest of my Relief Society class, when they found that the groups would be split so that we were all on a team.

I did some more indexing last night, and a little more tonight, because when you're on a roll, you should continue strong in your pursuits, right?

With the Indexing software, when you go to download a batch, a number of options pull up, with one usually noted in red, with "(highest priority)" noted next to it. I used to obediently and immediately click on that one, and suffer through whatever it was, because that mark of priority seemed to whisper to me that I couldn't possibly think of taking any other batch, as they were all of lesser importance than this one.

But recently, I've been rebelling. I must not have done enough of that as a teenager, because the thrill of acting out rushes through my blood every time I pick a batch of less distinguished importance.

Not really, but let's do pretend - it makes me simultaneously laugh out loud at the silliness of the notion and feel utterly ridiculous that I would think that's even funny.

I like a good complexity of feeling.

ANYWAY.

Lately, I've been favoring the batches that are all marriage licenses. I think I just completed a batch of marriage licenses from 1941, from Iowa. The batch before was 1939, from Illinois. Or something like that. I enjoy seeing the names of the men and women coming together in holy matrimony, the ages of the couples - one couple was 20 years different in age, and another couple were 16- and 15-years-old!

I've also been listening to an audiobook that is narrated by a woman with a lovely, captivating English accent. The novel includes a love story or two, 2 generations of mother/daughter complexities (parents just don't understand), and World War II. All this to say, creating stories of people's lives has been on my mind, and I've taken to imagining how these various couples first met, narrated in a charming British accent, of course, which makes everything better.

I tell you, it's made my indexing even more enjoyable than it already was! The stories aren't too long. Just how Robert walked down the street, eyes on the letter he had just received, when he suddenly stopped, having accidentally run into something. And Eliza Mae was the loveliest something he had ever bumped into in his life. And as Robert looked into the charming woman's smiling eyes, he knew right then and there - he was going to marry that girl.

*Seriously, read it with an English accent. So much better, right?! I love beginning made-up stories.

And just like that, I've indexed 71 records - that's 71 more opportunities for someone else to learn about their own family heritage. Someone somewhere is going to look up William Bly's name online and will find a link to a marriage record that shows William having married Martha Steene on March 19, 1941. And a whole new world will open up as they finally find the maiden name of their great-grandfather's wife, and they track down ancestors 3 generations back and find out they're part Swedish, through Martha's line. All of this, because of me.

A girl likes to be useful every once in awhile.

Anyway, all this is just to say - perhaps I need to get out more.

OR, perhaps you, too, should index. Come index with me!

Just a Little Father's Day Note to My Father (Obviously)

I woke up this morning and started cleaning our kitchen, trying to make it presentable for at least a few hours. As I loaded the dishwasher, I took a few minutes to reorganize the dishes already in it, to maximize the cleaning potential and fit more dishes in, while also trying to avoid melting plastic on the bottom shelf.

I am officially my father's daughter.

There are certain times in your life when you feel the impact of your parents' influence in your life. Moments when you know exactly who made you who you are. Moments where the nurture vs. nature debate skews completely nurture. The moments when you feel one parent's specific impact are especially poignant.

For me, the moments when I know my father's impact on my personality and habits usually comes when I'm loading the dishwasher.

And by usually, I mean always. Not a dishwasher load goes by where I don't hear my dad's voice explaining the "proper" way to load the dishes. Utensils should be sorted when they're loaded to make for easier unloading. I don't care how well the dishwasher can clean the plates, I'm still going to pre-rinse them before so the washer doesn't get all clogged and gross. There are just better ways to load dishes than others - and I'm trying to teach my roommates that, though they don't seem to see it the way I do....

But dad, your influence in my life has extended beyond kitchen cleaning. Indeed, you've shown how enjoyable vacuuming can be, when you've got a good book to listen to. The way you vacuum the house makes me think there aren't many things more therapeutic than a good 2-hour vacuuming session. I've recently come to appreciate a solid ironing session, provided I have something interesting to watch as I iron. A manicured lawn is high on my list of "great things in the world" and I only wish our lawn service people were as good as you taught me to be at mowing the grass - our grass is so uneven, they don't seem to take it slow enough for the blade to cut evenly, the brutes.

Though they've been an obvious consequence of growing up under your tutelage, my cleaning habits are not the only part of me that reflects you.

I love a good, thought-provoking book. And I like to talk about those books, and the thoughts they've provoked. And I like to talk about them with you, in particular.

When I smell freshly-mowed grass, I think of cross-country season. I never would've had such an association if you weren't such an avid runner my whole life, turning our family into a running family. Goodness knows I wouldn't have run cross-country if it wasn't a Barlow tradition to uphold...which I'm now grateful for (and was then, though I didn't appreciate it quite as much during practices).

I play devil's advocate sometimes with people. I think I learned this from growing up listening to you cheer for whatever football team was playing against our beloved Packers, just to balance mom's home team enthusiasm. Your needling during close games was the only time I saw mom be visibly angry with you.

I write in my journal, not as often as I should, but as consistently as I can. I used to think I did this just because I kind of like writing. But you've kept a journal over the course of your life, and I've seen that, and we've talked about it. And I think I keep writing because of those reasons. I still remember a simple conversation we had in the kitchen once when I was a teenager, when I mentioned something about my journaling, and how I'm not really sure there's anything really valuable in it, and that I always seemed to end things with, "things work out in the end" or "it wasn't a big deal" or something like that. And you mentioned that perhaps my granddaughter would read those entries one day, and she'd see that her grandmother went through similar experiences as she was going through, and that I knew things would be okay, and they were okay, and she could take comfort in that for her own life. Or something to that effect. I don't remember the specific words you used - but I remember thinking that I wanted to be a good support to my grandkids, like you imagined, so I write in my journal.

I can never make someone a sandwich without wanting to cut out a small corner for "tithing." I think I actually learned what tithing really was through your object lessons with my bagels and pb&j sandwiches.

Dad, thanks for helping make me who I am. Thanks for being a man of many interests and full personality. Thanks for being the clean-cut stake president whom I caught watching WWE some Monday nights. Thanks for totally understanding and loving Jane Austen - I love talking Emma with you ("badly done, Emma!"). Thanks for every single twist cone after every single piano lesson you picked me up from.


I will always, always, always think of you when I see or hear about the movie, Carrie. Thanks for sticking that movie out with me that one time. It's a constant source of happiness in my heart, and it makes me smile every time I think of us watching that dreadful horror movie together. Same goes for the Happiness of the Katakuris (what a weirdo movie).

When I see the Tour de France on tv, I picture you in the basement of our Wisconsin home, pedaling hard on the stationary bike to keep up with the US team as they navigate the roads of France, your foster home those 2-3 years of your and mom's young adult life.

When I think of reading the Hobbit, I think of you. I've read chapters 1 & 2 with you about 7 times over the course of my life. If I ever make it past chapter 3, we'll have to throw a party. I don't think it'll happen unless I'm reading from that beautiful green hardcover edition of yours - that lovely book is the only reason I've ever wanted to read it anyway.

There are so many other things that make me think of you and so many ways that I am truly my father's daughter, but for now, this list will have to do. Thanks for giving me your smile, your discomfort with matching other people, and your love these 27 years of my life. I love you right back. You're kind of a darling dad, and I've been so lucky to end up a little bit like you!