Selfish

It was, perhaps, a bit selfish, but I spent Valentine's Day appreciating ... myself.

The bitter joke is that February 14 is really Singles Awareness Day.

I, however, am already quite aware that I am single. And for the first time in a long time - perhaps ever - I was appreciative of my unattached status on the Day of Love. I decided to celebrate it.

I changed the meaning of the acronym - SAD became Sarah Appreciation Day. I dressed up. I wore the pearls that Matt and Molly gave me. I went shopping. I bought myself chocolates and two Agatha Christie mysteries. I rented a movie. I fixed a fabulous (and pretty) dinner and had my first-ever steamed artichoke (I liked it, but that's a lot of work for not very much artichoke). I felt vindicated, though, in steaming and then ripping apart the artichoke, as it was the same one that attacked me at Safeway a few days ago. Vengence was dipped in melted butter and tasted pretty good.

I wished almost every person I ran into a Happy Valentine's Day. It felt like Christmas. I was brimming with good cheer and determined to share it. I was contemplating the different kinds of love that we experience in life, and I was thankful for the love I was reminded of yesterday.

My dad sent flowers (tulips!) to my office Friday. I ran into a former professor and mentor (and current friend) in Wal-Mart last night who had been snagged by a desperate-looking man in need of Rose Advice. Among the three of us, I think he walked away secure in a doghouse-free Valentine's Day, and then the professor and I caught up in a whirlwind of chatter next to the gourmet cheese case. I talked to Brooke. I talked to my mom.

I drank too much wine (the story of my Valentine's Day-affiliated life), but it was good wine, so that's (almost) OK. It'll be a lot more OK later today, after I've eaten something ...

I'm OK with selfish on a day like Valentine's Day. I've spent too many of them moping and feeling sorry for myself, wishing that this or that had turned out differently so I could spend that day with Someone Special, neglecting to look in the mirror and realize that I already was, and that in the continued absence of the Best Company (aka Mr. Right), my own company is pretty good to keep.

And, as Holly would remind me, a bigger Someone reminds us every day of His love, and that's worth celebrating, whether it comes cleverly wrapped with heart-spangled ribbon or whispered to a lonely heart on a bitter Valentine's night ...

Scar tissue

Some things just hurt worse than others. Longer than others.

I'm not convinced that Cheryl Crow is right, that the first cut is the deepest, but some cuts are definitely deeper than others. And they leave lingering, reminding scars.

And in matters of the heart, we either trudge on, looking for someone/thing else which we can trust and love more deeply (and which can potentially hurt us more deeply), or we lock our hearts up, give Cupid an emphatically gesticulated middle finger, drink lots of alcohol and pickle not only our physical insides, but the emotional ones, too. Well-preserved, but not really good for anything but observation. Not fit for interaction. Smelly and cynical.

But I wonder - for those of us who tend our wounds, get some emotional healing and support from friends and family and attempt to move on - whether we intentionally inflict shallower, less-meaningful injuries to our hearts, attempting to either a) divert ourselves from the deeper, lingering pain that can still cripple us in unguarded moments, or b) to add enough pain to our lives so we can't really discern which wound is hurting the worst. Do we even recognize that we're doing it? Or is it done in the hope that the next one will be the one without realizing that there's a reason that the word "rebound" is used in relational terms ... and we're living it out?

And then I wonder - is this healthy? It's done frequently enough. An internal, emotional form of cutting, I guess. But does "normal" make it healthy? Is it fair? To anyone involved? Do we have the right to engage another person's heart, inflict wounds bearing our signature on someone else in a selfish attempt to dull or divert our own pain? Aren't we perpetuating the very pain we're trying so hard to escape?

It's just something that's been on my mind lately. Scars are interesting to examine and reflect on ... and, when the pain is sufficiently dulled (healthily or otherwise), they're one more story that makes us who we are ...

Mr. Cellophane

The weekend was good.

Friday, I caught up with Holly, who got me thinking about Tunisia this fall. We'll see. A desert trek on camel back sounds very tempting.

Saturday, I finally met someone I've intermittently written to for the past several months, and we went to Denver to see "Chicago" at the Buell Theatre. It's been 12 years since I was at the Buell, and I looked every inch the country bumpkin as I tried to walk-n'-gawk at the same time. The result was bumping into much more suave city dwellers who scowled at me for being in distracted awe of the glass-covered theater district and for daring to block their busy path.

We got back to Laramie around 2:30 Sunday morning and zonked out (I'm happy to report that the air mattress was much kinder to Fuzzy that it has ever been to me). Slept through church, but had good coffee and conversation, then bid Fuzzy farewell and went shopping, where I was rewarded with on-sale lobster tails, which made a good dinner (hurrah!)

A note of caution, though: Half a bottle of wine combined with the conclusion of "Sense and Sensibility" is not recommended. It had quite a depressant effect, which was countered slightly by a long, brisk walk, but still ...

And now, the grind, which today involved watching one of our photographers get rearended by a screaming minivan-wielding woman in the intersection by our building. Not a typical Monday, for sure, but the typical stuff has to eventually get done, too, I suppose ...

Farewell to a mentor

My friend and former neighbor, Connie, died last week.

She was a longtime school teacher with a sharp sense of humor who survived throat cancer and went on to live many (productive) years after that. For nearly 20 years, she and her husband, Lee, lived kitty-corner to our house. I house-sat and plant-sat for her when she would go on vacations, and I would fix meals for Lee, who had MS all the time that I knew him and was bedridden for most of that time.

Connie, we'll all miss you.

Settled

Can I just say (Aimee and Amber, you're the only ones who can sympathize ...):

I miss(ed) Settlers of Catan.

Until tonight. Tonight, I relived the joy.

I didn't win. But I didn't cry to get my way, either (Aimee, I think you'd be proud of me).

Anyone have some brick they'd trade me for some wheat? Seriously ... I could've beat Thomas. Two more settlements ...

Mundane me

So ... Sunday was good.

I was late for church (as usual) which was more embarrassing than usual, because we now have a later service ... and I still missed most of worship. Eek. My keys did an unfortunate disappearing act as I was trying to get out the door, then my Bible ran away ...

But I sat with Adrian and Paul (though I didn't actually meet Paul 'til after the service).

Paul, it turns out, works with the Navigators here in Laramie and does recruiting for overseas missions work.

The New Thing I learned on Sunday: You can teach English as an overseas missionary with the Navigators. I thought it was all campus-oriented-type work, like what I experienced here in Laramie -- leading Bible studies and doing on-campus witnessing and discipling fellow students.

Oh, no -- you can be the confrontational weenie that I am and teach English and still tell people about Jesus ... which is cool. Paul started talking about a guy who teaches English in Djibouti (seriously -- when was the last time Djibouti made the news?), and since he's, like, the only person there teaching people English, he knows all the higher-ups in the country, and since the U.S. is eager to form relationships there, they helped him out, too. Very cool.

So that was Paul.

I had McAllister's for lunch with Adrian -- and ate the ginormous-est potato to ever grow in Earth's dirt. I had to take a picture of it. Actually, I found out today that it was likely two potatoes made to look like one, but for five bucks, I got the mondo Veggie Spud with cheese and tons of veggies, complete with friendly service by a thickly accented guy from Georgia who highly recommended the sweet tea (which, it turns out, you can buy by the gallon ...).

And then we went ice skating, which turned out to be a non-terror. I wish I had the on-ice confidence that some of the hockey skate-wearing kids had -- I did the I'm-going-to-fall-ungracefully windmill a few times, but I managed to stay upright and moving forward, which was better than sliding on my arse into the wall ... as I saw one fella do. I kept my dignity and my tush intact and unbruised.

The rest of the day was kind of dull, but considering that my legs felt good for nothing after an afternoon of sliding around on frozen water, dull was OK. I did watch the first installment of "Tess of the D'Urbervilles" on Masterpiece Classic, which is a depressing story, but it was also a good Sunday evening. I can't believe it's already been a year since the last installment of Masterpiece Classic, when they started with "Jane Eyre" and then kept us happy with film adaptations of all six Jane Austen novels. This year looks as though it will feature a lengthy tribute to Charles Dickens, so I made a trip to Night Herron to beef up my Dickens collection. I'll let you know how that goes.

Shake-shake, shake-shake-a-shake it!

So ... we spent Friday night at the Tower West bar, catching up with a lot of Matt's classmates, including Travis, who drove through an ice storm with a broken heater to get home in time for Christmas morning; Chris, who's shipping out to Iraq in April; Michael, whose wife is expecting kiddo No. 2; and a few others whom I knew and a lot of others whom I didn't ... and as we stood there, catching up and enjoying much good beer and trying to talk over the not-so-dulcet tones of the house band, another fellow was apparently enjoying the music so much that -- with or without a dance partner -- he was going to dance ... and dance he did.

Shake-your-money-maker, gettin'-jiggy-wit-it dancing.

Nobody in the group I was talking to knew who he was, but I spied him chatting it up with a few others later on. And I caught the grooviness on video.

"Do you happen to know who that is, Sarah?" one girl asked curiously, because I was about to pee my pants laughing while I taped it.

"No, no ... it's just totally cracking me up," I answered, trying to hold the camera steady.

This morning, as we chowed down on eggs and toast at Perkins, I saw Mr. Shake It in the back dining room, looking much more subdued (and a bit sleepy) in a red hoodie and trying to maintain conversation with what I assumed was his family. No jive going on in the earlier hours of a Saturday morning, apparently ...

Sarah-isms 101

Woot!: A bursting word of encouragment, usually shouted with hands cupped around the mouth to help it carry obnoxiously far over large crowds of people who may or may not be cheering along with you. Most entertaining when done by a parent who has never "woot"-ed anything before and suddenly bursts forth with it at a show in Branson.

Woo!: Not to be mistaken with "woot." It is an expression or response of joy, cheer, excitement. In written/text format, it must always be accompanied by an exclamation mark.

Cuddle whore: A person who enjoys cuddling, with or without an accompanying relationship. This term can encompass everything from innocent cuddling while watching a movie on a sofa to things that are a bit less innocent. (Get your mind out of the gutter, perv - not THAT much less innocent!)

Text whore: A person who is maintaining text conversations with more than one person at a time. The term, however, is most appropriately applied when each of the text recipients is a potential significant other, and neither/none know(s) about the other(s).

**NOTE** Aside from the two above instances, I can think of very few instances when it's even remotely appropriate to call someone a whore. Unless, of course, they are, in fact ... a whore.

Friend dumped: The position of finding that one of your social networking "friends" has decided that you are no longer worth associating with in the cyber world. Because no matter how old we are in real life or how mature we pretend to be, once we're on Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc., we revert back to junior high school social tactics. You're not my BFF anymore.

Disgustipating: Something that is so disgusting to look at/think about, it hurts somewhere in the gut area, similar to a feeling of constipation.

Ginormous: Alright, I ripped this one off of "Elf," but I still love it and use it frequently. I should see whether the folks at Merriam-Webster are as in love with it as I am ... (update: they are!) Use this word when describing anything that is both gigantic AND enormous -- it's so big, it needs a combination of the two words.

Seriously: In the absence of anything else worthwhile to say, this fits many occasions. Adjust the tone of voice to fit the appropriate reaction. Can also be used as a precursor to most other phrases, such as: "Seriously, Sarah, don't let anyone tell you that you're missing out on something by not being married." Or: "Seriously! That jackass just totally cut me off!" Or: "Seriously. We're all adults. Let's act like it." Or just: "Seriously ... (!)(?)" It's possible that my overuse of this word was influenced by a brief infatuation with "Grey's Anatomy."

And another thing ...

One more thankful:

Phil and Cat Martin (and Marge) here in Laramie, for opening their home to people who, for whatever reason, couldn't be with their families today ... even those of us who had to eat and run.

You guys seriously don't know what a blessing your hospitality was today. And your creamed pearl onions.

*****

And to Amber, who sent a picture message this morning from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. With great friends, you can see the world without getting out of bed (she also sent D.C. fireworks on the Fourth).

Happy Thankfuls

Here it is ...

I'm thankful:

- for my wonderful family, who I'll get to see at Christmas - including MATT and MOLLY!

- for my job (even if it requires me to work holidays), and that I enjoy what I do for a living.

- for the people I love who are still here, and that I can be thankful to have known the people who aren't with us anymore ...

- for friends who will listen to me gripe on the days when I'm not as thankful as I ought to be; who will make me smile, no matter how bad a day I'm having; and who will comisserate when romances big and small come to an end ...

- that clementines were on sale this week at Safeway, that Millstone brought out its peppermint-flavored coffee already and that Celestial Seasonings added new fabulous flavors to its holiday teas ... (hey - even the little, mundane things can necessitate gratitude!)

It's Veterans' Day, people

Take the ten seconds needed to thank someone who gave their time and risked their body and life to defend your country and protect your freedom. Thank them, shake their hand, hug them, buy them a meal or a drink ... And remember the ones who aren't with us any longer ...

Thanks to:
Dad
Brooke
Colin
Cheyenne
Ryan
Ashley
Bob
Benoit
Joe

Victorious fans!

Victorious fans!
Originally uploaded by wyosarah203

I think the smiles say it all ....

Southern hospitality

Much more to come, but lemme say:

Where the heck has this UW football team been all year?!? I couldn't have picked a better away game to go to if I'd had a crystal ball for the season. What an amazing day.

The game.
The party bus afterward.
Joe's RV (and Joe's barbecue. And Joe's apple-cinnamon moonshine).
Hot tub, pizza, Amber's swing dance lessons, a great cabin, a fire in the fireplace and too many good times.

What a weekend. Happy birthday, Matt.

Snow Angel

As much as I complained about the cold and snow over the weekend in Gillette, it was exactly a year ago when we were having Mom and Dad's anniversary party there, and it snowed that weekend, too, much to Molly's dismay.

Molly hates Wyoming and blames her spite on Wyoming always being covered in a layer of what she's convinced is permafrost and rarely getting above zero before the wind is factored in. I think this is unfair, but I do dislike the wind in Wyoming.

This weekend was special, in that Mother Nature got back at me for not getting my car stuck once last winter.

Oh, it got stuck. And good. At night. Outside of town. I was wearing a dress and high heels and had left my snowboots conveniently in my coat closet in Laramie. My only option besides my very cute black heels was a very cute pair of black dress boots. Better than the heels, but by the time the ordeal was over, I was pretty sure I wouldn't have any feet left to worry about needing shoes or boots ...

I had gone out to visit Brooke and Colin and the kids and wound up staying for dinner and a recorded episode of "My Name is Earl." And then at 8, when Colin said he was worried that I might not be able to get back out of the driveway, I decided to try my not-so-superior drift-negotiating skills.

They're still not very superior.

The ironic thing was that, should stuck come to tow, I was stuck behind the very vehicle we needed to do the towing. Hah. Hahaha.

So Brooke had a go.

It was a slight improvement -- after pulling forward too far and nudging her SUV with my front bumper, she pulled back, the car floated in the drift ... and wound up stuck behind a tractor, with mere inches between the tractor tire and the front of my car. I couldn't hear what she shouted at the dashboard, but I can imagine, and I was glad the kids were in bed, whatever it was.

So now I'm in the "boots," black tights and a short dress, and I'm shoveling snow from around my car as fast as I can. It was frickin' cold.

And then Colin, who just thought he was going to get to go to bed, wound up pulling on his full-body coveralls and work boots and had his own go at getting it unstuck. He managed to get it stuck in a convenient enough position that Brooke was able to get the SUV out of the garage, and then it was a good ol' game of wintertime tug-of-war, SUV vs. tiny little sedan.

In the meantime, Brooke and I maintained a steady stream of apologies.

"I'm so sorry you guys are having to help me get out."

"I'm so sorry I asked you to come out here ... I should have known."

And so on ...

And every time my car found a new and deeper drift or a deeper, muddier rut to get stuck in, I apologized all over again.

While it was getting re-stuck, it was also kicking out quite a bit of mud, quite a bit of which wound up on me -- my clothes, my coat, my hair, my glasses. It didn't matter where I stood -- my car was determined to give me a spa-quality mud bath. Joy.

"At least it wasn't manure," my dad said when I told him the story the next morning.
At least.

To make a long (and cold) story a bit shorter, after much tugging, swearing, steering, revving, more apologizing, shivering, swerving, charging and more tugging ... the car was free, and my numb feet managed to press the pedals and my numb hands steered the wheel and my numb mouth asked for warm, woolly socks when I got home ... and then I lay on the floor in front of the pellet stove, my feet suspended in front of the blower while Mom and I discussed life and the crazy renters in her house.

Once I got the feeling back in my feet, things were pretty good.

But I think I've more than paid my dues for not getting stuck last winter. I hope it doesn't happen again this winter.

Jack, I'll miss you

Jack Graham!
Originally uploaded by wyosarah203

My friend Jack Graham died yesterday at the age of 87. The "Legion Bully" was the biggest softie you'd ever met ... and the world is an emptier place without him.

I'll miss you, Jack.

Overheard today ...

"Yeah, ( ), the next time you need help on your roof, I'll get up there with ( ) ... and push him off."

I think there's a waiting list to do that, actually ...

But it's so much fun to say ...

My friend Joy's daughter (2 years old) likes to show off by saying "Barack Obama."

"Is Barack Obama going to be there?"

"I want to see Barack Obama."

And so on ...

(For the record, she's also taken a liking to calling people -- her parents included -- "retards.")

We couldn't figure this out. Her parents are rather conservative people, certainly not likely to suddenly swing to the extreme left, and we couldn't figure out where this little girl's fascination with Barack Obama came from.

So I tried just saying the name over and over.

"Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama."

And the truth is -- it's just fun to say. It rolls off the tongue. It has a lyrical sound and feel to it. I can see why a child learning language would find it fun to say.

And so we started to identify other words that are fun to say.

Isuzu.

Abu Dabi.

San Antonio.

I sounded like a large child just beginning to learn language. But it was fun. I couldn't get through the list of Fun Words to Say without giggling ...

Barack Obama. San Antonio. Isuzu. Abu Dabi.

They're all just so much fun to say.

But I still like Sarah Palin.

Nightmare

Amber laughs at me because

a) I can remember my dreams, and

b) they're so vivid and usually have a storyline.

In college, and for a few years after, I used to dream that it was nearing the end of the semester, and there was a class that I hadn't attended all semester, and I had one test to pass or fail the whole thing. I think that's a common dream among college students.

Last night's nightmare:

I was attempting to CLEP out of trigonometry (I've never taken trigonometry. Ever). Well, it changed back and forth from being a CLEP (and the only set of credits keeping me from getting my degree) and being part of the GRE (which I have no intention of taking anytime in the near future).

Either way, whatever it was, I hadn't studied for it. At all.

I was able to creatively write out my answers (on a multiple-choice test, mind you), but they were still the wrong answers, with very convoluted reasoning for them ("this is the prettiest-looking answer, so it must be right," etc.), and then I realized that there would be no credit given for creativity on a math test.

My dad was standing there, very disappointed, and I was overtly flirting with a couple of guys also taking the test.

The place where we were taking the test was in the woods, and I think we were at camp, too (like summer camp -- junior high-style). It was night, and there wasn't much light, and I was trying to get down a set of wooden stairs in bare feet, and I think there was a concert or a party going on, too. And some really snotty girls (again, that feeling of being in junior high or high school).

And then, very suddenly, I was on the Liberty University campus, and they had built a brand-new athletics facility (square-ish) and were completely ignoring the Vines Center (only Holly will know what I'm talking about, I think). It was very near the new DeMoss Hall, Hol.

I often wind up, in my dreams, either back on the LU campus, or hanging out in Lynchburg with a bunch of people I knew there. Sometimes, Jerry's there, too, eating spaghetti with the rest of us at Debbie and Jim's house (in my dreams, they've moved back to Lynchburg and live next door to some of the Brother Dorm guys). Janelle and Jason are there, and we're often debating something. Sometimes, we're sitting in the empty Vines Center, like the good ol' convocation days.

So anyway, that was my nightmare last night. It didn't leave me shaking and crying (I had one a few weeks ago that did that ... not fun), but it did scare me. I was thankful to wake up and realize that I did not, in fact, need to take a trigonometry test.

Wyoming Weekend

Actually, it was a Gillette weekend. A good weekend.

Mom and I spent Saturday garage-saling. I haven't been to a garage sale in years, and I was proud to have honed my scavenging skills among the racks of Nu2U, Goodwill, the ARC and Savers, because these skills helped me make a haul on Saturday. I came back to Laramie with considerably more than I left with.

That includes three boxes of books that I was ordered to clear out of the storage shed. In the whole scheme of the storage shed, three boxes (four, if you count the box of stuff I didn't want back) don't take up that much room, but ... I was really glad to get my original-edition Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden books back. I'd been wondering about those.

I'm scared for the next trip home, though. I think I'll have to tackle the bags (and bags and bags) of stuffed animals, and I'm not quite sure that I'm up to it.

Sunday was church and a potluck and lots people who I don't know but who apparently know plenty about me. It kind of makes me uncomfortable to have a conversation about my hopes and dreams with a person whose name I can't remember. When they get into boyfriends, I really get worried. How come they know so much about me, and I can't even remember their name?

I spent pretty much all of Monday with the Springers.

I passed along the joy of twirling to a 2-year-old. I got to get in hours and hours of baby talk and baby grins and baby squeals.

I tried to share the joy of Fat Tire with Brooke, but she said she doesn't like it as much as the lime-flavored Bud Light. I think she's crazy.

And I learned that some guy at Brooke's church was just dumped by his girlfriend and that this one fact ought to be persuasion enough for me to move back to Gillette. But she couldn't remember his name. Guess I'm staying in Laramie for now.

I also learned that 2-year-old girls, given a box of raisins at 9 p.m., will be mesmerized by "13 Going on 30."

I just need to get her to learn the phrases "I'm reading Jane Austen," "I need more shoes, Mom" and "Michael Phelps is awesome." And then my portion of Amelie's education will be complete.

But twirling was a good start.

Spent time with the folks, who still think that, despite a perfectly good and usable college degree, I should drive a truck in circles at a coal mine. The money's definitely better, but .... it would be in Gillette. We all know how I feel about that.

I attempted navigating the length of Highway 59. In the rain. On a weekend. I offered a fervent prayer of thanks that I arrived back home alive, physically unscathed, with my sanity intact. I also managed, after almost 30 years of calling Gillette "home," to take a wrong turn on my way home, because the orange cones were set up in a totally confusing way. Can't wait 'til it snows on that one.

Spent time with the dog, who is still terrified of traffic and practically wrapped himself around my legs for the hour-long duration of our walk in the rain. If not for the paranoid clinging, I think it might have been a considerably shorter (drier, warmer) walk. But who knows. Charlie (the dog) met his first bunny and his first herd of antelope, and he couldn't understand why neither wanted to be best buds with him. He looked a little hurt when they all just ran away from him. And then he went back to wrapping himself around my legs.

So yeah -- good weekend. I was sad to have to come back today. I'm ready for another vacation.

Ode to Amber and JoLynne

(from sometime last year, a late-night "road trip" to Albertson's -- five whole blocks away.)

Cheers to Amber and JoLynne, who this week began a new life, a new adventure, a new scary -- they're sharing a mobile home (on a former baseball field) for a year in Mississippi as they help with the continued hurricane recovery effort, community development, documenting their experiences and sharing in some very raw human experiences -- highs and lows, goods and bads.

Girls, I miss you -- but I'm a tad envious, too. I'm not brave enough to do what you're doing; not even to really consider it. You two are my newly nominated superheroes.

Cheers!