Thank a teacher

I heard a story on the radio this morning that made me smile.

Before surgery, a neurosurgeon's patient asked who had inspired him to become a doctor, and he said his junior high science teacher had been a big influence on him. When the patient came out of surgery, he told his doc, "You make sure you call that teacher! You make sure you thank him!" He did. The teacher's response? He cried. (You can listen to the full three-minute story here.)

You see, teachers don't hear "thank you" very often.

It reminded me of standing in line at the mall last week. There's not much in life I hate more than the mall, except maybe the mall at Christmastime. Ugh. I'd ordered something online, though, and while waiting for an employee to go get it out of the back room, another employee struck up a conversation with me. When he found out I teach at West High, his face lit up.

"That was my school!" he beamed. "Class of '91! You know, I just called Dr. Arganbright a couple of months ago."

He was the store manager, so I thought maybe he was interested in mentoring kids in business or something, but what he said next surprised me.

"I don't know if it was a midlife crisis or what," he said, getting red-faced and sheepish. "I just wanted to tell him thanks . . . maybe he thought I was crazy or something . . . "

"No! I'm sure he was happy to hear from you!" I said. Right then, the employee came back with my stuff and sent me on my way. I never got to finish telling the guy how great it was that he'd thanked someone for his education.

One of my current classes -- ten kids from ten different countries!

Some days being a teacher is great. I love kids. I wouldn't want a job that left me feeling like I didn't at least have a chance to have an influence on the next generation.

But other days? Honestly, there are days when I can't wait for that last bell to ring and the last kid to shuffle out so I can just prop my elbows on my desk, hold my head in my hands, and wonder why on earth I didn't go into some other field. Any other field. One that doesn't involve anyone under age 25.

Here's the thing: we don't know how good we've got it until we've had some time to experience life and do some reflecting . . . so when is it we realize how good a certain teacher was? Not until long after we've left their classroom. I get that. I know kids don't think the way adults do. That's why it means so much when an adult, who used to be a kid in your classroom, surprises you with a thank you.

If you've got some time this weekend, do a little internet research. Find a teacher who meant a lot to you and take five minutes to write them a letter. Seriously. They'll hold on to it for weeks. Months. Maybe forever. Ten bucks says they'll cry. That's been my response the few times I've heard from old students.

Teaching is not for the faint of heart. Some days are sunshine but other days are rain. Bring a little sunshine to someone's life this weekend. You have no idea what a difference it will make . . . 

52 New Things -- Week 30 -- Cara Box

Forget Christmas in July -- it's like Christmas every day for the woman who lives across the hall from us. I was home every day in the month of June, taking a class over the internet, and the UPS guy seriously came at least three times a week. Do you have any idea how torturous it is to think, "Hey! The UPS guy just came . . . and I can hear him coming up the stairs! Maybe it's for me!" . . . and then he knocks on the door across the hall? Every time.

While I realize I should not be jealous of what is clearly an addiction to the Home Shopping Network (one quick peek makes it very clear that she is not working from home but indeed ordering, ordering, ordering stuff from QVC), I wanted a delivery, too, darn it.

A few months back, I bookmarked a blog about doing a Cara Box Exchange; basically you get matched up with other bloggers and exchange a boxes of fun goodies. After being envious of my neighbor all of June, I signed up for the Cara Box exchange for July (not realizing it was about to turn into the craziest month of my life).

It was fun to read the blogs of the two young women I was matched with. I put together several items for a girl named Sam at The Samantha Daily. She's a cute & bubbly college girl who made me smile every time I read one of her cute postings. She keeps a book of wedding ideas, so I sent her a Bride magazine. She also blogged about how she wished she were more flexible, so I ordered a flexibility DVD off of Amazon for her. Neither of those really fit the "nautical" theme we were supposed to be shooting for, but I couldn't find much of anything -- a couple of rubber ducks, an ocean-scented candle, and red and blue nail polish were the best I could come up with. Oh, and you were supposed to try to make something, too; I scoured Pinterest but couldn't find much of anything that matched my craftiness level -- LOW SKILL. I ended up making her a sugar scrub . . . it was bluish. Like the ocean. Which is kinda nautical, right? Ugh. I hope she wasn't horribly disappointed.

I got a box from Cait over at My Life As A Long. She's spunky and fun and way more crafty than I could ever hope to be. She's also working hard at getting fit and looking great . . . which kind of makes me feel bad about myself, to be honest. I need to follow her lead! Anyway, she sent me a fab package and stuck to the nautical theme way better than I did. I got a Scentsy satchel, red nail polish, fun straws, cool hair ties, and then -- putting my Cara Box to shame -- a personalized beach towel. For real. It's awesome. I love it. But I feel like a crappy Cara Box partner after seeing it!

The whole Christmas in July part was awesome -- I just hope Sam wasn't bummed to get a box from Miss Lack-of-Crafty-Craftiness!

52 New Things -- Week 29 -- Bedwetting

I want to write about camp, okay? And no, it's not a new thing -- I worked there the whole summer in 2010 -- but I had to change some sheets for the first time ever, so we're gonna go with that as the new thing so I can write about what I want to write about. ;)

Can I just say Paul Newman was a stud? And not in the blue-eyed-movie-star sense, but in the leave-the-world-a-better-place sense. Thousands of kids with cancer, sickle cell disease, metabolic issues, HIV, and other illnesses get to spend a week or a weekend at the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp every year to forget about hospitals and (in Newman's words) raise a little hell. For a short amount of time, they get to be like any other kid. I wish more of the rich and famous would follow his lead; twenty-five years after founding the camp and five years after his death, camper after camper after camper reaps the benefit of the legacy he left behind.

I drove out Friday and Saturday and the kids arrived Sunday. We had an absolutely fabulous week fishing, riding horses, swimming, singing, dancing, and more. There were six little girls in our cabin, all with sickle cell disease. Before I worked at camp, I didn't know anything about sickle, like the fact that kids with sickle often get cold . . . which means kids with sickle rarely go swimming in the summer because pool water is too cold. The Hole in the Wall's pool? A toasty 89 degrees. The kids were in heaven.

The second to last night at camp was rough. I'd already been woken up twice by two girls needing help; I finally drifted back to sleep and was dreaming the girls were up at 5:30am and I was instructing them to go back to sleep when a little hand patted my shoulder.

"Do you know where my cheetah print shorts are?" a little voice asked.

"Go back to sleep, honey," I mumbled. "We'll find them in the morning."

I heard her rustling around in her trunk, then creep out of the room toward the bathroom. Only then did I groggily realize she'd probably wet the bed. I hurried after her and found her getting out a washcloth and a bar of soap.

"Did you have an accident?" I asked. When she nodded, I told her to go ahead and clean herself up while I put new sheets on the bed. I managed to get the bed changed and her back into it without waking up any of the other girls.

I will be a horrible mother someday. They will puke, pee, wail . . . and I will sleep through it all.

All six of our girls were great, and the boys in the cabin next door were a mix of adorable and hellish. It's the kind of thing where you're super excited at the start of the week, exhausted and unsure you can finish strong toward the end of the week, and sad to see them go on the last day.

My overall feeling all week was gratefulness . . . gratefulness for a place where kids feel safe and loved and normal and awesome for a brief moment . . . gratefulness for the college-kid counselors who choose low pay and lots of love over internships . . . gratefulness for people with money who contribute the millions of dollars it takes to let every kid experience camp absolutely free . . . and gratefulness that I get to be a part of it.

Here's a quick three-minute slideshow that gives you a glimpse into a week in the life of a camper -- totally fun!! And no, I'm not in it . . . but when you see a feisty-looking little guy blasting someone with a super-soaker in the pool, guess who was on the receiving end? This girl. And I couldn't be more grateful.

52 New Things -- Week 28 -- Publish!!

Did you know you can publish anything on Amazon? You can. Well, unless it's a terrorist manifesto. They don't like that. But anything else you've written they will happily turn into a book for you.

It's kind of a lot of work, though. And you're pretty much on your own. I mean, when I was writing the book and wasn't sure where to put a comma or how to spell something, I just thought, "No biggie . . . an editor will fix that." Nope. When you self-publish, you're on your own. (Well, for a few hundred, Amazon will take care of that for you . . . or design a cover for a few more hundred . . . they'll do about anything for a big chunk of money.)

But when you're only going to make $2 per copy and you add up how many friends you have who want to read this book, you realize dropping a few hundred here and a few hundred there would make this a losing venture real fast . . . so you do it yourself.

I still think it's better than the old way of doing it though -- I was afraid I'd have to pay someone thousands of dollars and then have boxes upon boxes of books in my garage, collecting dust. Mailing individual books to a hundred people? That does not sound like a fun venture. I'm glad Amazon does the print-on-demand thing and all the shipping for me.

Another perk about the print-on-demand system? If you see a mistake, you can tell me, I can change it, and the next book that gets printed is error-free. So yeah, if you see a whoopsie in there somewhere, let me know!

I thought I'd get to set a release date . . . maybe come up with a marketing plan of some sort . . . but all the sudden, there it was, live and ready to order! So my week has kind of been a mess . . . I had to write seven papers and send a portfolio by four today to finish up my ELL endorsement, so that's kind of a mess and not exactly my best work . . . I'm leaving for a week of camp on Friday, so my guest bedroom is a mess, covered in everything I want to pack . . . I'm three weeks behind on my blog and trying to catch up on that while doing a hundred other things . . . I'm trying to put together a flier for some book signings I'm going to be doing, which I hope will be less of a mess, since other people will have a hand in it . . . and I'm generally ignoring the poor man I searched through all fifty states for. Luckily he still loves me . . . primarily because he hopes I'm going to make us rich with my $2/book profits! (I did cook for him several times this week and leave leftovers individually packed in the fridge so he won't starve while I'm gone, so I'm trying, friends.)

I had to laugh Tuesday night when the book became available on Amazon . . . I posted it on Facebook, and all of you lovely people blew up my comments and likes and made me feel so loved. And then I made dinner. And emptied the dishwasher. And reloaded the dishwasher. And cleaned the kitchen. So yeah, that "oh my gosh -- I just published a book and people are buying it!" glow lasted for approximately seven minutes before reality sucked me back. :)

Anyway . . . thanks friends, for making me feel loved. It was an amazing time of my life, and I'm excited for you to read about it. Some parts are depressing, since I was pretty bummed for a while, but mostly it's pretty humorous. I'd hop in the car and do in all again . . . minus the dating . . . because this time, the hubs would be in the passenger seat . . . sound asleep and snoring. We live a pretty exciting life. :)

(Just in case you missed it, you can click here to order!)

52 New Things -- Week 27 -- Marching Band Competition

What a hottie, right? Actually, the wool uniform WAS very hot . . .

Here's what marching band looked like in my high school: At half-time of the football game, we'd line up down by the goal posts and march onto the field to a drum cadence. Once we got to the middle of the field, we would face the audience and play a song. Then, to the drum cadence again, we'd form a pinwheel and march a while, then turn around and reverse the pinwheel. It was a pretty big deal. Then we'd march ourselves into a new formation, AC-T (for Albert City-Truesdale, our school name), and play the school song. Once it was over, we'd march ourselves right off the field, again to the drum cadence.

Did you catch the subtle omission there? We never marched and played our instruments at the same time.

I remember seeing a commercial on TV, about the same time as I was marching in our not-so-great marching band, for a marching band competition. It looked pretty cool, but everything looks cool in commercials, right?

Well, fifteen years later, I finally went to a marching drum competition in Colorado Springs that some of my youth group kids were in.

Wow. Those kids were amazing!

And Friday night, I saw it taken to the next level. Wow again. I'm just gonna put a video clip here and let you take a little looksie for yourself:

This is the team that won Friday night at a show earlier in the summer.

Let me just point out a couple of things:
1) Not only do they march and play at the same time, but in some cases, they are RUNNING and playing at the same time.
2) Besides marching and running and playing all at once, but they are also dodging flags and fake guns and helicopter blades and praying one of those flag boys doesn't lose control and smack 'em in the head. Yikes!

So, long story short: impressed.
(And also a little bit bummed, because one of my old youth group kids was supposed to be marching with that group but had bronchitis and had to sit out.)  :( 

But I got to spend time with old Ascension friends who drove all the way from Colorado Springs to see their son (not) march, so that was fun.

Some other observations:

Most interesting prop? The giant blue ball in a mesh bag that a boy dragged all over the field. I think it was supposed to be the earth? That doesn't explain the dragging . . . or what appeared to be a giant UPC symbol on the bottom of it. (Y'all know by "most interesting" I'm politely saying "weirdo," right?) But great job, kids!

Cutest costumes? The little 50's girls that I unfortunately did not get a great picture of. Let's just say that a lot of those flag kids were running around in eeek-inducing outfits, but this gang got lucky.

Most unwelcome visitor of the evening? Fish flies! Ugh! I hate those things! They hatch in the Mississippi River (this competition was in Dubuque) and then swarm around lights . . . and . . . well . . . at a stadium, you've got a lot of wattage . . . so by the end of the competition, everyone in the crowd was getting dive-bombed. I hope they didn't swoop down onto the field and that none of the kids competing had clogged horns afterwards. Yuck.

But overall? Pretty wowza.

Kinda makes me feel bad I didn't practice the baritone more . . .

52 New Things -- Week 26 -- Migrant Summer School

I pretty much gave up on the idea of a relaxing summer vacation weeks ago. I took a class all of June, the last class I needed to get endorsed to teach English language learners. (They used to call it ESL -- English as a Second Language -- but then they realized lots of kids were showing up in American schools knowing more than just one language, so the title didn't really fit.)

Before I can wrap the whole thing up, I have to do a thirty-hour practicum. It's kind of like a very brief student teaching experience. I thought I might be up a creek, trying to find summer school in July, but I found a school about twenty miles down the road from our new town that has a summer school program for children of migrant families. Monsanto hires lots of laborers for the summer months to detassle and do other field work, so an influx of Mexican-Americans from Texas arrive in this mostly white Iowa town every summer. The kids are required to go to this summer program so they're not sitting around the camps unsupervised.

I'm matched up with the reading teacher for 7th and 8th graders, and they're awesome. We're reading a book called The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. It's about a freshman boy who decides to go to an all-white school twenty miles away from his reservation in hopes of getting a better education and having a better life. After talking about stereotypes of Native Americans, we asked the kids if there were any stereotypes they felt people had about them as children of migrant laborers.

Wow.

They had a lot to say about that. Here's a little of what they shared:

1. We are not illegal. We were born in Texas, Missouri, and Louisiana. We're as American as you.

2. We can speak English. We speak Spanish at home sometimes because our grandparents speak Spanish, and sometimes we speak Spanish when we don't want people to know what we're saying, but we can understand everything you say about us.

3. We're not poor. We come to Iowa in the summer because the jobs pay better than the jobs in Texas, but our parents work in Texas, too. We come up here because we're smart about money, not because we're desperate.

4. We listen to the same music you do. Justin Timberlake, Maroon 5 . . . whatever's on the radio.

5. We eat foods other than tacos and burritos. We like pizza and "American" food. But Taco Bell is awful and nothing like what our mom makes.

6. No one in our family owns a sombrero.

7. We don't do drugs and we don't help people cross the border illegally.

8. We don't have ten families living in one house. We do often live on the same block, though. Why would you want to drive three hours to see your grandma? We love our families, so we live close together. We don't just get together on holidays or once or twice a year -- it's more like, hey, it's Thursday and we're grilling, so come on over.

In other words, no one likes to be sterotyped . . . and if you'd just get to know us, you'd realize we're a lot like you. :)

52 New Things -- Week 25 -- Kids, Kids, Kids

For not being a parent yet, this past week was certainly all about children. They're so darn cute (most of the time). Here are some highlights:

My dad and his two youngest grandsons. Freaking adorable.

Des Moines Zoo -- I'm not a huge fan of zoos (I just want to unlock all the cages and let the animals run free, but that would cause mass chaos, etc., etc.), but I had the chance to meet up with my fam for a couple of hours at the zoo. There was an "Australia" section with wild wallabies hoppin' all over the place, right there with no fences between us! Craziness. All three of my nephews loved it. I was shocked by how much energy and money you lose when you take your children to the zoo. I mean, there was the entrance fee to get in, but then you had to pay more to feed the parakeets, more to ride the train, more to feed the fish, more to ride the camel, more to feed the goats . . . geez Louise, it's like you've gotta win the lottery before you can take your family on vacation. And do these kids understand how great it is to just sit on a nice bench underneath a shade tree once in a while? Nope. Go, go, go. I was exhausted after two hours. Thank goodness they're all someone else's children or they might have gotten eaten by a rhinoceros or fallen into the sea lion tank under my tutelage.

Baseball -- Our friend's son was playing in the championship game of the little league tournament Wednesday night. I don't think there was such a thing as a tournament game when I was in little league. They got trophies at the end and everything. It was a big deal. I just felt so bad for every kid that got out, though. I kept wincing, and I know everyone around me thought I was a dork, but I just wanted them all to have fun and enjoy being together without the pressure of having to win. I wanted to kick one old guy, he made me so mad. A little boy struck out, and the guy (I'm guessing it was his grandpa) yelled, "You can't just stand there watching it!" as he walked back to the dugout. I know the kid heard it, because he looked right at the man, and -- here comes the bad part -- the old man looked disgusted and just shook his head at the boy. The poor kid's head dropped to his chest as he shrank down onto the bench. I thought grandparents were supposed to be all about the unconditional love? Come on, spectators . . . kids have lots of years left to feel horrible about themselves. Can't we just let them have fun for a little bit longer?

I married into a pretty cool clan. ;)

The Sound of Music -- We headed up to Willmar, MN, for the weekend to see Kevin's brother's family. His two neices were in the local community theater production of The Sound of Music. Emma, going into fourth grade, helped with props, and Caitlynn, going into second grade, played Gretl, the youngest of the Von Trapp children. We had fun with the whole family on Saturday, hitting the local pool and playing bags in the front yard after dinner. Sunday was the big show and both girls did an awesome job . . . but in reason #432 as to why I should maybe not be a parent, when Caitlynn sang "the sun has gone to bed and so must I" . . . I started to cry. Seriously. Freaking mess, sitting there dabbing the tears so no one would see. If I'm that proud of a little girl I've officially been the aunt of for only one year, what the heck would I be like if I were a mother? I'd be bawl-babying over every little thing. But then again, I suppose you parents see a lot of not-so-adorable stuff that balances out the uber-adorable, huh? Maybe I could handle it.

So to wrap this up, my big a-ha of the week: parenting looks hard. You go, guys. I'm wiped out after just a few days with the chillins, so I don't know how the heck you do it. Carry on. I'm cheering for you.

52 New Things -- Week 24 -- Our First Anniversary

I think we could pass for 32. 34? Fine. We were 37!

We got started kind of late in life. When I told someone recently that we were celebrating our first anniversary, her response was, "Oh, is this your second marriage?" Nope. Just took us a while to find each other.

Our first anniversary was pretty low-key. Kevin hates the pressure of having to buy "the perfect gift" for holidays and special occasions. He flat out begged me to tell him what to get me for our anniversary, so I said, "A hot air balloon ride." I mean, that would be awesome right? I've been wanting to go on a hot air balloon ride for years. I was kind of hoping some guy would take me on a hot air balloon ride during my 50 Dates in 50 States adventure, but no such luck.

My hubby is so cute and sweet that he tried to make it happen. He called from work one day and asked what time we'd be back home on our anniversary after my class reunion the night before. He wanted to make dinner reservations, he said.

When he came home that night, I could see disappointment on his face. He'd been using the dinner reservations as a cover up -- he'd been about to book a hot air balloon ride for the night of our anniversary . . . but in the time it took to call me and see if we could make it on time, they sold the night's flight to someone else.

"There's another company that can do it for $650. The one I was going to book was $450," he explained. "Do you want to do the $650 one?"

"Holy crap!" I replied in disbelief. I had no idea hot air balloon rides where so pricey! I love this man and wanted to celebrate our first anniversary in a memorable way, but geez . . . that's three times what I paid for my wedding dress. No thanks!

A test of how well you know me: guess which one I got.

We had a quiet dinner in a funky little place in downtown Iowa City instead, and Kevin had flowers delivered to the restaurant before we got there. He's a keeper. We ordered one of each entree and tried each other's food . . . and anyone who knows my germ issues will see how much I've grown, being married. A few years ago, if anyone tried to eat off my plate, I would have stabbed them with my fork. Marriage has been good for me in more ways than one!

When we got home, we ate our little first anniversary cake. The bakery that made our wedding cake bakes fresh little one-year cakes for their couples, which is awesome. I like the tradition of eating your top layer on your first anniversary, but not the idea of it taking up space in my freezer for a year.

Cake and roses. What more does a girl need?

We kicked back on the couch with cake and milk and watched our wedding video for the first time ever. It was taken from the balcony up front and shows our faces, but it also captures the entire congregation!! If you laughed during the ceremony, we saw it! You yawners? Busted!! It was fun to watch and to remember . . . we each have different memories of the best parts of the day, but we agree that it was beautiful and we loved being surrounded by friends and family.

So . . . onto another year of bliss!! I joke around a lot, and poor Kevin has to endure my over-sharing on his behalf sometimes, but I really do love this man. We laugh together so much, and I think that's what makes us click. We're two big dorks, and when you find someone as dorky as you are, you best just hold on for the ride. He really is a gift from God. I often wish God would have given him some stronger gifts in the cleaning-up-after-yourself department before gifting him to me, but hey, I've got quirks that sometimes make me hard to live with, too. As long as we keep laughing, I think we'll be okay.

52 New Things -- Week 23 -- Twenty-Year Reunion

First off, the big question: how on earth can it be possible that I've been out of high school for twenty years? I mean, back when I was 18, I never thought about things like a twenty-year reunion or how my classmates might look twenty years after graduation. Oh, the ignorance of youth.

I've seen plenty of movies about reunions, all of which generally have the same theme: looking good is the best revenge (or something like that). Two things though: one, I had a pretty great high school experience and don't feel the need for revenge, and two, I've never quite grasped that whole "looking good" trend, so I wouldn't even know how to use it if I wanted to.

Nevertheless, I stopped by the mall on Friday, the day before the class reunion. It was on my way home from the library. I can't remember the last time I stepped into a mall -- probably because I generally hang out at places like the library instead -- but I popped into Dillard's and was taken aback by what I saw. There seemed to be just two options: 1) clothes for older ladies (I picked up one shirt and honestly said to myself, "Eldona Hornor (my high school BFF's mom) would just love this!" and 2) clothes for strippers. (The sign over that section said, "Juniors," but I didn't see a single shirt that wasn't see-through, so you tell me. You poor parents of teenagers.) 

Which of those two sections are thirty-eight-year-olds supposed to shop in? We're stuck between a rock and a hard place -- too young for elastic waistbands but too old to be strippers. I didn't even bother trying anything on. Leaving the mall, I remembered that people also freak out about their weight before reunions, but since I wasn't going to wear a see-through stripper shirt, I wasn't too worried. The only part of me I'm semi-ashamed of are my starting-to-look-like-bat-wings upper arms. I thought about doing some sort of tricep exercises, but I didn't figure they'd make much of a difference twenty-four hours before the event, so I didn't bother.

I'd say we look pretty darn good for as old as we are!

So anyway . . . the reunion itself was really fun! We toured our old school and relived happy memories. I'd forgotten the power of collective memory -- we instantly rebonded, sharing stories of what happened in this classroom or that one: a stapler flying through a window, paint thinner flicked into a teacher's coffee mug, a student running away from the teacher and out to the playground. Fourteen years together, from preschool through twelfth grade, gives you lots of options for reminiscing.

I heard a story about me being part of a three-person prank that I have absolutely no recollection of. Supposedly we snuck into the teacher's lounge and opened the door of the old-fashioned glass-bottle pop machine, popped the lid off a bottle, drained the contents, jimmied the cap back on, then closed the door and left an empty bottle to surprise the next teacher who came along and paid for a pop but got nothing but an empty bottle. How would I not remember being a part of that? I insisted it must have been someone else, but Bryant and Carrie both insisted I was bandit number three. Maybe I've wiped any wrong-doing from my memory in preparation for a career in politics someday?

Five hours later, I left Albert City, Iowa, feeling grateful. I know a lot of people can't imagine having a graduating class of just twenty-five people, but those guys were like brothers and sisters to me. You couldn't keep a secret from anyone, but you always had someone to talk to. We fought like siblings sometimes, but someone always had your back. For all I've seen in the world, it's pretty clear that our upbringing was unique. I wouldn't be who I am without that foundation. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Oh, and guess what? I didn't look at anyone's arms to see if they were bat-wingy or not. I don't know if anyone looked at mine. And really? It wouldn't matter if they did. I was blessed to have been raised up in a place that made me feel good about who I was, even when I didn't feel good about how I looked. I don't know how you ever repay that. How do you thank every teacher who encouraged you? How do you thank every towns-person who cheered at your game? How do you show gratitude to a community that has changed so much in twenty years that folks you used to know have moved away and you don't recognize many of those who took their place?

Volleyball, school play, and drill team...with all-purpose bangs.

I guess you just go with the "pay it forward" concept. Those people who lived in Albert City twenty years ago may not have any idea how it made my heart swell to hear them clap during our school musical, but I know, and I can be the loudest clapper in the auditorium next time I go to a school play. Some of my old teachers may not know if I'm successful or living under a bridge, but I can make a kid today feel great about herself. And if someday I'm on the wrong end of a high school prank, I'll remember that I was a kid once, too . . . even if I don't exactly remember the details of it.

52 New Things -- Week 22 -- Tiffin!!

Eh, fine. It's not all that exciting, but I didn't really have time to go out and do something new and exciting with all the boxes to unpack, so here are some fun facts about our move:

Our U-Haul had a Viking ship on it, which made it way fun for Kevin-the-wannabe-Viking to drive. 


We had help unloading the U-Haul this time, which means Kevin did not get dirty looks the entire time we were moving in. Yay!

 
We now have a washer and dryer in our unit, which means no more walking outside and around the building and down to the creepy basement every time I want to do laundry. Double yay!

Bowchickawowow

 
Before starting his new job, Kevin shaved the beard he'd been working on during his time off between jobs . . . but not before having a little fun with it. He's gonna kill me for sharing this, but I find it so incredibly funny . . . 

 
We're living in Tiffin, which is just one syllable off from Tiffany, and forty-five minutes down the highway is Malcolm. Coincidence? I think not.

 
Iowa City is only about eight miles away, and they've got fun things to do -- we went to a big street festival/arts fair kinda thing this weekend. They had a photo booth with a Viking helmet. Kevin was in heaven.


 
And finally, Clear Creek Amana High School, the school in our town, is Ashton Kutcher's alma mater, so I'm sure I'll run into him at the gas station next time he's home for a visit.


Yep, that's all I got. Sorry. I'll try to do something more fun and exciting next week . . . 

52 New Things -- Week 21 -- Open Mic Night

Of all the new things I've tried in the past five months, this was the scariest . . . scarier than facing a room full of kindergarteners . . . scarier than finding a tick near my girlie parts . . . scarier than having my eyebrow hairs ripped out en mass . . .

I sang at open mic night.

If you're one of my old camp friends or church friends, you're probably thinking it's no big deal, but I haven't really played guitar since I left my job at Ascension back in 2010. Ditto with public singing.

But I saw my trivia buddy Nick playing guitar in a picture on his Facebook page, and I said we should do a guitar trio (including the Delecta Daddy, too) at a local coffee shop's open mic night sometime. Nick was all over it and started sending me song suggestions almost immediately. Kevin? Not so into the idea. He's pretty darn good on guitar, but it turns out he's not so fond of playing in front of people. Bummer.

The show must go on, so Nick and I decided on a song and practiced for a whopping half hour the night before.

We got there half an hour early to sign up. We took slot number four, not wanting to be first but not wanting to be nervous for too long.

The first guy up was a wanna-be comedian. Second? A girl who I'm guessing was just learning to play her guitar. Going after either of those two would have been awesome. But the third act to go up had three people playing guitar, mandolin, and accordian. Crap! They were going to be awesome and we were going to be boring comparatively.

Turns out they were not awesome, just okay, and barely audible. Yay for us! So up we went with my nervous stomach and shaking knees . . . Nick appeared to be calm, cool, and collected! I figured it didn't really matter if I screwed up royally because we were packing the U-Haul and leaving town the next day . . . I could drive my embarrassed self away and never look back!

Our friend and fellow Roaring Cheetah trivia teammate A.J. put together an awesome video (either she's amazingly skilled or has too much time on her hands, I'm not sure), but I cannot for the life of me get this blog to show it. You can go watch it on my Facebook page or cut and paste this link into your browser:

https://www.facebook.com/video/embed?video_id=10100258964570179

I know you're probably disappointed that I didn't royally screw it up -- I can see how many people read my blog posts each week, and I get way more hits on the ones where I write about hurting or embarrassing myself! I bet you all watch America's Funniest Home Videos and Wipeout, too, don't you? You just looooove laughing at the misfortune of others! ;)  Don't worry -- I get it. I'm a fan of laughing, too. I'll try to find something funny to write about soon. 'Til then, rock on, friends.

52 New Things -- Week 20 -- Tick Checks

Warning: This post is rated PG-13 for mentions of undergarments and private areas. Read at your own risk.

The short story:
Brad Paisley is a liar.

The long story:
I've been hiking for what -- fifteen, twenty years now? It wasn't part of my childhood, but ever since I got a summer job as a camp counselor in Colorado, I've loved hiking. And how many ticks have I gotten on me in those fifteen, twenty years? Exactly zero.

Kevin, Jenny, and Adam . . . getting infested.

So I wasn't horribly concerned on Saturday when our friend Jenny said she had a bunch of ticks on her shoelaces. We'd just completed a two-mile hike at the Ice Age Center near the cabin up in Northern Wisconsin. I rolled up my pant legs, pulled off my shoes, checked my socks -- nothing. I did find one crawling up the outside of my pants leg, so I felt like I could empathize with her at least.

Jenny declared she was going to the bathroom to take her clothes off for a more thorough investigation. I thought that was a little over the top, but after she'd been gone for five minutes, I got bored and went in to do the same.

"Ew, there's one on my bra!" I hollered over the stall dividers. Then I pulled down my pants.

"Aaaaah! There are three on my underwear!" So much for over the top. Yikes! I plucked each one off my undergarments and dropped them into the toilet. Then I pulled down my underwear, starting to get a little freaked out . . . and for good reason: a tick was crawling toward my privatest of private areas. Yuuuhhuuhuhhh. I flicked that sucker off and got totally naked in the Ice Age Nature Center bathroom. Holy cow. From zero in a lifetime to six in one hour?

I couldn't see any more, so I got redressed, stomped out, and declared we'd be doing tick checks the minute we got home.

Kevin didn't want to. He thought I was crazy when I dragged him into the bathroom and commanded he get naked (in a totally non-hot, non-sexual way). I stripped everything off again and told him to check me. After approximately three seconds -- THREE SECONDS! -- he muttered that I was fine.

"LOOK CLOSER!" I barked. "YOU COULDN'T HAVE EVEN LOOKED AT MY WHOLE BODY YET."

"You're fine," he said again, this time after ten seconds. Sigh.

"Alright, let me check you," I commanded.

"I think you're over-doing it a little," he complained as I thoroughly inspected every inch of him. I told him to turn around, and pretty soon he let out a howl I'm pretty sure half the lake could hear.

"I doubt there are any ticks in there!" he yelled, jerking his buttcheeks away from me.

"They like warm, dark places!" I argued. He huffily started putting on his clothes. I got the giggles so bad I actually snorted. Twice.

Back upstairs, Adam asked if we were in the clear.

"Yes . . . but I'm pretty sure I know now what happens on your first day in prison," Kevin whined.

Obviously his check of me was half-hearted, since I found a tick two hours later when I went to the bathroom.

"KEVIN!" I screamed out the bathroom door. The door opens out onto the lake, right where Kevin, Adam, and Jenny were on the dock. "There's another one, and this one's not coming off! It's already attached! Help me!"

Jenny snapped a picture of me peering out from behind the door, my uncovered half hidden.

He's gonna need matches, I thought, waiting for him to come in. Isn't that how you get ticks off? Burn them? Holy crap, he's gonna start my pubic hair on fire. And we are far, far away from a hospital.

About the time I was ready to launch into hysteria, Kevin came in, squeezed the head of the tick that had implanted itself in my dark, warm upper inner thigh, and plucked it off. Phew. Crisis averted.

The next day, I handed him a comb and made him check my hair again.

The day after that, I made him do another full-body search.

"You're being ridiculous," he said.

"Would you rather do this now or take care of my ever-degenerating body for the rest of my life when I get Lyme's disease?" I countered.

Brad Paisley? You suck and you're a liar. There is absolutely nothing hot about checking for ticks.

52 New Things -- Week 19 -- Colombia (Part Dos)

A continuation of new things I saw/did/tried/endured while in Colombia . . .

Backseat Barfing

Wilson: salsa teacher, comedian, and future Indy 500 racer

Despite the fact that I'd decided it probably wasn't a great idea to take non-FDA approved pharmaceuticals, I took another one when we left El Cocuy. Those winding roads were soooo nauseating . . . and after about half an hour, even with the anti-nausea pill, I made use of the Delta airsick bag I'd snagged before leaving the plane. Kevin -- sweet, stupid new husband that he is -- actually asked, "Do you want Wilson to stop?" I moaned "yes" into the barf bag, then followed up with barks of "open my door" and "seatbelt" -- short commands were all I could manage at that point. I stumbled out of the back of the SUV, still in the long dress I'd worn to church, but stopped abruptly when Kevin said, "Watch out -- that's an electric fence." Ughhhhh. I got back in the car a few minutes later . . . and puked again after another half hour. I warned Kevin that I only had one plastic bag left, but luckily I didn't fill that one. He wants to retire in El Cocuy someday, but unless they start helicopter service so I can avoid those winding roads, I'm not doing it.

Arepas and eggs -- yum!

Arepas
We ate a lot of good food in Colombia -- I have pictures of most of the new dishes since I'd never seen anything like them before. Kevin had warned me before we got there that we would be fed and fed and fed. He usually ended up eating his food plus half of mine since I just can't eat that much! My favorite thing, though? Arepas. I think it was kind of a bread dough-ish thing, rolled out and cut into little squares before being fried up in oil. Man. I think I ate about 50 of them for breakfast one morning. Moo.

LOVE this girl!!

Disney Monopoly in Espanol
We stayed a couple of nights with Kevin's old host mom and sister and the sister's husband and three kids. The eleven-year-old and the five-year-old challenged me to Monopoly. Have you ever played Disney Monopoly in Espanol? Let's just say thank goodness there were pictures! I also had to trust they were honest when they advanced after drawing a Chance card or told me I had to go to jail. The kids were adorable and enjoyed practicing their English with me. They tried to teach me Spanish but didn't have much more luck than Mrs. Hauge back in high school Spanish class. Sigh.

Sadness for American Schools
We walked Valentina to her bus stop before school the day we left. She was so adorable in her school uniform. I asked her what her favorite subject is. Mind you, this child is eleven. Her answer? Chemistry. I about fell over. It's no wonder America falls further and further behind in education statistics. Chemistry at eleven!!

Cheapest Pedicure Ever

Check out that pedicure...and the amazing hem on those pants!

My toes hadn't seen polish since last summer, so I was pretty excited that Laura had a friend who did pedicures. It was just like an American pedicure, but at the end, she said (in Spanish) I didn't have to pay anything! I balked and left the equivalent of $10 under a bottle of hairspray, saying, "You can't support a family by giving away free pedicures!" I'm sure she didn't understand a word I said, so I hope I didn't offend her by leaving money if she was trying to give me a gift. When we got home, I asked Laura how much it should have cost -- the amount of pesos was equal to roughly $4. Holy cow!

Dependence

Best travel buddy ever. ;)

The biggest new thing on this trip? I was not in charge. I've never really thought of myself as bossy . . . a bit independent, yes, but that's what happens when you are single until you're 37 and travel alone a lot. Kevin booked the tickets. Kevin made the arrangements with his old host family. Kevin did the talking, being fluent in Spanish. Kevin paid for everything, knowing the currency. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. I tell ya, it was strange. I may have done some complaining. And some pouting. And then some more complaining. I guess I'm a little bit used to being in charge. :) But big kudos to Kevin, because we had an absolutely fabulous time in Colombia!!

And finally . . . Broken Stereotypes
We spent ten days in Colombia, and guess what? We were not kidnapped, murdered, or even offered cocaine. A part of me wants to keep this a secret, because the beauty of this country was that it wasn't flooded with tourists. I'm afraid if people find out the Colombia of the 80's is long gone, they'll all go and destroy the pristine landscapes . . . but yeah, you should definitely go visit sometime. Just don't invite too many people to go with you. ;)

52 New Things -- Week 18 -- Colombia (Part Uno)

It's ironic -- I came up with the whole "52 New Things" resolution because I didn't think I'd get to go anywhere new and exciting in 2013. I wanted to try and find joy in new things wherever I was . . . and then my hubby booked two tickets to Colombia! I have enough material to last me months, if I were to write about one Colombian experience a week, but that kind of seems like cheating. Instead, I'll do two parts -- we were gone for ten days, so I think that's fair.

The Amazing Race-Style Connection in Atlanta
Ugh. Here's a little update for ya from a few weeks ago when I tried to take up running: it lasted two weeks. It's unfortunate, really, because I could have used the training. Our flight from Minneapolis to Atlanta was delayed, delayed, delayed . . . we arrived with just fifteen minutes to make our connecting flight. We sprinted through the airport, bounded down the escalator, and caught the train just as the doors closed. Five stops later, we ran off the train. I hurdled a suitcase and kept on running, up, up, up the loooongest escalator I've ever seen. I was huffing and puffing by the end of it and started thinking maybe a night in Atlanta and a flight out in the morning wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I half ran/half limped my way to the finish line, staggering breathless to the ticket counter as the agent was about to give our tickets to vultures on standby. Not today, suckers.

Little did I know, it was about to turn into an actual weapon . . .

Spousal Abuse
Our first day in Colombia, my husband smacked me across the forehead with an umbrella. He says it was an accident, and if I weren't so short, my forehead would not have been at the same height as the umbrella tucked under his armpit which inadvertently hit me when he turned to talk to me. I'm documenting it here, just in case.

Potato Protest
Let it be known that this trip was educational as well as entertaining. Did you know Colombia grows huge amounts of potatoes? Nor did I. And did you know that the government has been importing potatoes from other countries, driving down the price of Colombian potatoes? Well, they are. And the potato protestors came to town to make it known they were not happy about it. We saw the whole thing go down. Power to the people.

Bogota Public Transportation at Rush Hour
Bogota buses at rush hour? Cray. Zay. I'd say their bus system is pretty high-tech. Very well done. We just chose the wrong time to use it. We stood in line, watching already-full buses pull up. One or two people would smash themselves on before the bus pulled away. When we got to the front and an already-full bus pulled up, we said, ah, we'll just wait for the next one. The crowd had different ideas. It surged forward and we had nowhere to go but onto the bus. Thank goodness Kevin has a totally flat butt, because if not, when those air-lock doors squeezed shut, it totally would have gotten pinched. I kept saying "sorry" to the girl I appeared to be slow dancing with, but Kevin told me to chill out since they're all probably used to this and I was making myself look crazy. I tried to swivel my head exorcist-style to see who was spooning me from behind but couldn't get a good look at him. Kevin reached up and grabbed the bar above his head; he looked like a mother hen with several chicks under his wings. Two young ladies kept glancing up at him nervously, hoping he wouldn't come crashing down on them. Luckily everyone was packed in so tight that no one moved when the bus lurched. So much for my personal space bubble!

Channeling Ricky Bobby
On day two, we left for the hills at 4AM. After a few hours, we left the wide-open highway for narrow, winding roads through the mountains. I'm pretty sure the further up and out we went, the more narrow and winding the roads became. Often there was no shoulder along the side of the road, just a sheer cliff. Every few miles or so, a little shrine was set up; on top of a pole, a box the size of a mini-fridge featured a glass front and a statue inside of the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus. As we wound our way up and around and around and up, I found myself praying to sweet baby Jesus a la Ricky Bobby, asking him to please not let us get hit by a truck or go careening off the sheer cliff or a combination of the two. The more winding the roads got, I also found myself asking sweet baby Jesus to not let me throw up, which leads to . . .

Colombian Pharmaceuticals

At least the scenery was amazing . . .

We were traveling with two members of Kevin's Colombian "family," people he knew and stayed with when he taught English in Colombia back in 1998. Wilson kindly pulled over at one point to let me get in the front seat when I was feeling sick. A few towns later, he went into a little store and came out with two small tablets. Kevin translated for me that it was something for motion sickness. It didn't strike me until later that maybe I shouldn't take drugs when I haven't read the labels and found out the numerous potential side effects. I guess if I have a three-headed baby in the future, we'll all know why.

No Seaties, Sweeties
Why are there toilet seats on the toilets in Bogota but not on the toilet seats in the mountains? It's a mystery. All I know is that I squatted/teetered for five straight days. Besides cardio, I also should have done some strength and balance exercises before this trip.

Improper Footwear
The people in Colombia were AMAZING! While staying in the little mountain town of El Cocuy, Kevin's Colombian family arranged little trips to the mountains for us every day. Unfortunately, with my language barrier, I often wasn't clear on the plan. For example, the first day in the mountains, I thought we were going for a scenic drive. When we got out at the top of a 15,000-footer and started walking, I shot daggers at Kevin with my eyes and asked why he didn't translate for me that I needed hiking boots instead of the sandals I had on? It wasn't much of a hike, though. We just ate cookies after walking uphill about a hundred yards. No biggie. But later on, when horses suddenly appeared in front of us and we were told to climb on? Yeah. Shoes would have been nice. Worse, though, was two days later, when I specifically asked what we were going to be doing and showed the sandals I was wearing. I got a "yeah, that's fine" and away we went. That day we hiked for several miles, including through a cow pasture with fresh cow pies. I shudder two weeks later, just thinking about it. I was very careful where I placed each step, and I made it out poop-free, but let me tell ya, Kevin got the daggers again for that one.

I know what you're thinking: perfect footwear choice!

Hi-Ho Silver -- Away!
Let's back up to that horse ride again for a minute. Awe. Some. This was not a nose-to-tail trail ride like those I've been on before. This was a no-trail, three-hour ride through the mountains, past this farmer's sheep and that farmer's cows, up, up, up to the clouds. Unbelievable. At one point I found myself feeling that same feeling I had while driving around the country -- totally blessed. I wish I could find that sense of awe on a more regular basis and not just when I'm out doing something new or amazing; I'm sure it's an attitude shift and I just need to work on counting my every-day blessings. It was like being in a movie, looking down on this gorgeous, untouched landscape. But the ride down? A bit more scary. I reignited some of those sweet baby Jesus prayers on the steep parts, especially the couple of times when my horse lost his footing. Eesh. Even more worrisome was looking back at my gigantic husband and the poor horse that had to carry him; at one point on an incredibly steep part, I thought for sure Kevin was going to get launched right over the horse's head. Phew. Made it out alive. No horseback ride in the future will ever compete with that one, I'm pretty sure.

Mere moments before ramming my head into a steel beam . . .

Self-Inflicted Head Injuries
I'd like to say this is the fault of Colombians being short and therefore making their bridges too low, but the truth is I just wasn't paying attention. I was looking down at a camera, and BOOM. I walked straight into a bridge. With my forehead. It was painful. And the Colombians thought I was stupid, I'm sure. Luckily only two of them saw it, but man, did that ever hurt. Note to self: pay more attention to your surroundings. On the upside, we got some lovely pictures there!

Mother's Day the Colombian Way
Sunday morning I heard a siren for the first time in El Cocuy, the picturesque little village we spent five days in. I found out later that this wasn't an emergency, just a little something extra for Mother's Day. Shortly after the siren, some fireworks went off. Mother's Day again. We walked by the town bakery and saw ten cakes in the cases. They looked delish! Then music started blaring from the cathedral, loud enough to be heard all over town. All my poor mom got was a box of chocolate-covered strawberries. I kind of feel like a slacker. Sorry, Mom!

American Idol in Colombian Church
Before leaving town, we worshiped with the Lutheran church of El Cocuy. The night before, the pastor asked if we would sing something in English while the congregation took communion. No prob. I mean, most people there spoke little to no English, so even if we forgot the words, no one would know, right? I mean, we could sing anything. We considered a holy-sounding version of "Call Me Maybe," but neither of us knew enough words to even bluff it. We ended up doing two rounds of "I Love You, Lord" and two verses of "Amazing Grace." And we were both super-nervous, even if we could forget the words. I guess super-stardom is not in our future.

So that's Week 1 . . . .stay tuned for Week 2!

52 New Things -- Week 17 -- Hemming Pants (Shut up, you Martha's! I'm trying to learn a skill here!)

We're leaving for Colombia. Tomorrow. Why am I blogging right now? Because I spent half my day yesterday on this stupid project and I want someone to know about it.

I think everyone knows I hate shopping. I needed some travel pants, though. You see, when we went to India last fall for our honeymoon, it only took me half a day to realize every person there -- male and female -- was staring at my legs. I was wearing a cute little sundress, because hey, I hadn't seen my husband in six weeks and I thought he might appreciate seeing a little skin, even if it was blindingly white. I quickly realized, though, that the India women's saris went all the way down to their ankles. Whoops. Cultural faux pas on my part. 

I don't know if Colombian women are all about the coverage, too, but I thought I'd better play it safe this time. I headed off to Goodwill to buy some cheap pants to make the journey south with me. The only problem? I'm an oompah-loompah, I guess. I couldn't find a single pair of pants that weren't way too long. The price was right, though, so I bought two pair and figured I'd hem them.

I've had a few bouts with Susie Homemaker Syndrome in the past. I don't know if it was Molly Ringwald and her homemade prom dress in Pretty in Pink or my jealousy of other girls' projects in 4-H or what, but I had grand delusions in high school that I could make my own clothes. I took freshman home ec., and while other girls were making shorts, I fashioned a jumper. Yeah. A jumper. Horribly uneven gathers and all, I wore that jumper to church repeatedly. Even worse? I made three more jumpers before I graduated. Not sure what the weird fascination with jumpers was, but I wore those things out in public. For real. (Later on in college I donated them to the clown closet at the summer camp where I worked . . . that's a little taste of how awful they were.)

I took another home ec. class my sophomore year: clothing. An entire semester dedicated to learning how to make your own clothes. I am not making this up. I spent weeks working on the most hideous pair of pleated pants you can imagine. We are talking MC Hammer-but-not-on-purpose pants. I beamed on the day I finished them, then triumphantly strutted to the closet Mrs. Fondroy had us use as a dressing room . . . only to find out, to my horror, that I hadn't used enough elastic in the waistband and I couldn't pull them up past my thighs. Needless to say, I did not get an A.

My delusions of homemade fashions-grandeur ebbed for a few years, only to come back during my senior year of college. Using some of that hard-earned camp counselor money, I went out and bought a sewing machine and some bold sunflower-printed fabric to make my sunflower-loving sister a Christmas present. The look on her face as she opened that gift did not express wonder at my even stitches; when she tried on the skirt, it definitely looked like a sunflower-covered tent. Later on I refashioned it into a tablecloth. Yeah. It was that big.

When I moved away from Colorado, I sold the sewing machine. It had been collecting dust in my closet for ten years and I was not interested in moving it again . . . 

. . . which brings me to the dilemma of the too-long Goodwill pants. How could I hem them when I no longer had a sewing machine? I wasn't about to actually stitch them by hand. That would take forever.

I searched the web for no-sew hem ideas and found that lots of people recommended iron-on hemming tape. Easy peasy. I was in. But when I went to buy it, it was right next to a tube of Liquid Stitch.

Liquid Stitch! I had half a bottle of that sitting at home! I'd used it to make these little doosies for an ugly Christmas sweater party:

I know what you're thinking: can I borrow those for next year? The answer is no, since they didn't last the night. The Liquid Stitch held the tinsel on just fine, but the purple ornaments, hand sewn on, kept falling off on the bowling alley floor all night. I'm sure the owners loved us and our shattered purple balls. What does that tell you about my sewing skills? (And yes, there are lights on those shirts. They were pretty fabulous. I mean, with my track record for craftiness, I knew I had a great shot at creating the ugliest of ugly Christmas sweaters.)

So anyway, why buy hem tape when you can use the Liquid Stitch you've got sitting around at home? And also, why go to the trouble of trying on the pants again to measure how much needs to be hemmed when you could just compare them to a pair of pants you already like, right? So that's how I started this little Martha Stewart of a project.

I remembered using pins back in my home ec. days, so I stuck some pins in. Also, note here that the last time I bought second-hand pants that were too long, I just cut them off and didn't even bother hemming them. They've lasted like four years now, so whatever. 

And then I was like, oh hey, I think the pins are supposed to hold the fabric where you want the hem to be, not just randomly stuck in the pants. I went to move them and found that I had pinned the pants to the comforter on my bed. I'm pretty sure I'll never get hired in a sweat shop.

When I pulled the pins out of my old sewing box, I also found this dandy little plastic six-inch ruler. It has a Bible verse on it and it says, "Lutheran Layman's League." I don't remember exactly when I acquired this important piece of sewing equipment, but I'm pretty sure it was a prize I won playing Bingo with my grandparents at the annual church picnic, sometime in the 1983-1987 time frame.

So anyway, once I figured out how to pin the hems, I ironed for the first time in I don't know how long. If it's any indication, the ironing board cover is an Aztec-y kind of pattern, so back when Aztec-y was an acceptable home fashion trend is how long ago it was. Then I slathered on the Liquid Stitch and let it seal my no-sew hem. Awesome.

Don't you love how I'm showing you pictures and explaining the step-by-step process just like those Pinterest women who tell you how to do all sorts of awesome things that you pin to your page knowing full well that there's not a chance in the world you're ever going to make it? I know!!

Unfortunately, friends, this is where the photo-blog stops. Why? Because after the glue dried and I tried the pants on four hours later, my foolproof method of comparing vs. measuring left me with pants that were still too long. As in, two inches too long. As in, you've got to do this whole stupid process over again if you want to wear these pants without tripping on them too long. I had to wrestle that stupid ironing board back out of the closet and repeat the whole freaking process. I was cursing Goodwill and their cheap pants at that point. 

I didn't bother trying them on again after fake hem number two. They're in the suitcase. I may look like I'm preparing for a flood as I walk around Colombia, but after all that work, I'm wearing the dumb things -- short, long, or in between.

So the final cost of my travel pants?

-- $4 per pair for a grand total of $8

-- Way more of my Saturday than I wanted to spend on this stupid project

-- One partially maimed plastic Lutheran Layman's League ruler (but I really think that's not bad considering I hadn't touched an iron in ten years and could have caused way more damage) but I wasn't using the centimeter side of it anyway

Next time I think I'll go back to the "just cut off the bottom" method. Happy Pinning!!

52 New Things -- Week 16 -- Earth Day Celebration

I have to say, I'm pretty bummed to be leaving the La Crosse area so soon. I mean, we're just starting to grow close to some really cool people, and now we're leaving already. It kind of stinks.

Also stinky? We missed some stuff this year that we thought we'd have plenty of opportunities to check out in the future, not knowing we'd be headed south again so soon. La Crosse has a gigantic Octoberfest celebration, but we only went to the parade; Kevin was leaving for his six-week trip to Asia two days later, and we didn't want our last few days together before the long separation having beer sloshed all over us. Then in December, there was a giant light display in the park down by the river; crossing the bridge over the Mississippi, I could see all the trees covered in lights. I'm not a fan of the cold, though, so I kept waiting for a warm night to go walk through it . . . and it just never warmed up enough for my liking.

So when I saw a flyer for an Earth Day festival, I thought, heck, here's my chance to see a La Crosse event before I take off! It was set for Sunday, and we planned to meet some friends there at 11AM. We went to a church other than the one we normally go to since they had a 9AM service; our usual 10:30 service wouldn't get us there in time. Kevin and I gave each other a little grimace when the pastor included a warning against Earth Day enthusiasts in his sermon; could he somehow tell we were bound for the festival right after worship? He said we should stay away from those who worship Mother Earth and give her all the credit for creation . . .

. . . so we headed out for the park and guess what? There wasn't a Mother Earth evangelist in sight. Just lots of kids and grown-ups checking out rain barrels and baby turtles and bike blenders. And this, the highlight of my day:

One of my goals in life is to be a costumed character someday. Mickey Mouse, Chuck E. Cheese, a fruit or veggie at the La Crosse Earth Day Festival . . . it makes no difference to me. I just want to be in one of those outfits and spread joy to little kids everywhere (and weird adults who love them, too).

And hey, there are still 36 weeks, friends. It could happen. 

52 New Things -- Week 15 -- Macbeth

You would think that as an English major, I would have seen a production of Macbeth at some point in my life, right? Nope. I had the opportunity this week. I won't go into detail since I'm really behind in my blogging, but here's the one thing stuck out most to me that night. Since the audience was made up primarily of high school students, the cast came out at the end of the play to sit on the edge of the stage and answer questions. One student asked how many of the actors had been in a Shakespearean play before, and almost everyone raised their hand except THE GUY WHO PLAYED MACBETH.

For real. He'd never even been in a play before, and what did he take on as his first-ever stage performance? The lead role in a Shakespeare production. Lots of soliloquies. Pretty much the entire show being on his shoulders.

So was I inspired to try out for the lead in the La Crosse Community Theater's next Shakespeare production? Heck no. Who's got time for memorizing all that? But I was impressed with the guy and reminded that trying new things is awesome . . . I just prefer my new things on a smaller scale. ;)