Wedding

I have never seen my friend Tim look so happy.  That moment everyone talks about–when the groom first sees the bride start down the aisle–happened just as everyone said it would.  Tim looked as if he were about to cry, explode from happiness, and faint from nervousness all at once.  I almost burst into tears just to see it.  A small edit: I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look that happy.

Children, that’s the look your partner should have on your wedding day.

The wedding was in a church in Fergus Falls, Minnesota.  I drove from Minneapolis with two friends, and drove from Sauk Centre to Fergus Falls with those same two friends plus Ben.  He still goes to Morris, the lucky dog.  It was a long three and a half hours in the car, punctuated by a visit to Keith’s Kettle for lunch.

Keith’s Kettle is advertised via billboard for about one-hundred miles of highway, and every billboard features a color photograph of Keith himself, smiling and pink-faced.  It has long been a goal of mine to pay a visit to the famed establishment, and now I have.  My chili was actually fairly delicious, if you’re looking for a recommendation.  And we saw Keith himself, greeting diners from the front desk.  He was wearing the exact same polo shirt he wears on the billboards.

When we arrived in Fergus Falls, we piled into the church bathrooms to change.  I called dibs on the shower stall, and was able to shimmy into dress and heels with relative ease.

Then we found the groomsmen, two fellow Morris graduates and former Pine Hall (my freshman dorm) residents, and were brought in to hug the groom before we found our seats.

It was a beautiful, beautiful ceremony, draped with white tulle and navy silk.  I fumbled a little through the rock version of “Amazing Grace” (rather unlike the solemn Catholic version), but that was largely overlooked.  Tears were shed again (in case you’re looking to tally) when the bride and groom distributed roses to their parents and grandparents.

The reception began with an announcement asking guests not to clink glasses in order to get the bride and groom to kiss.  We at table five, self-dubbed the “kids’ table” (made up of a smattering of Tim’s friends from elementary school, high school, and college) hid our disappointment and politely obliged.  A half hour later, the mother of the groom came by our table to say hello and to tell us quietly that if we clinked, she would pretend she didn’t hear.  So we clinked and cheered at the resulting kiss.  An hour later, the bride walked by and told us quietly to clink again.  Not wishing to deny the bride anything on her wedding day, of course we complied.

After cake was eaten and another round of hugs swept the hall, we piled back into the Prius for the ride home.  King was with us now, squished between Ben and I in the dreaded middle backseat.  It was just like freshman year.  We played twenty questions.  King and I sang about the ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall until Evan made us stop.  We talked endlessly about how happy Tim and Morgan had looked.  And how much older they had looked, suddenly.  How impressively distant from the rest of us unmarried, freshly independent, jobless folk.

As we passed illuminated billboard after billboard plastered with Keith’s welcoming grin, I could almost believe that we had been on just another Perkins run in Alexandria, and were now on our way back to campus.

Photo credit: SR Photography

Sidenote: best wedding photograph I’ve ever seen.  Photo credit: SR Photography.

Out East Road Trip Day 6: Gettysburg, PA

I expected Gettysburg to look like a battlefield.  To be wide open, possibly filled with uniformed reenactors, and flanked on all sides by tourists with lens-heavy Canons.  And strewn with Civil War bullets, just waiting to be spotted by a sharp-eyed speculator like myself.

More subtle than my imaginings, Gettysburg is a town in Pennsylvania.  Before the battle, it was small.  It contained shops, a seminary, and a few brick houses with porches protruding into thick hydrangeas.  It was a town dissected by roads running from every direction.  These roads made it attractive to both the Union and Confederate armies:  Supplies and men could be brought in easily.  But there was never meant to be a battle, our guide explained.  And somehow it ended up being the bloodiest of all.

Outside of town, the ground slopes up and down softly.  There are hills with familiar names.  I remember my middle school history teacher reciting them to us: Cemetery Hill, Little Round Top, Culp’s Hill.  Between the hills and the advantages they provided to those upon them, are other battle landmarks.  The peach orchard.  The wheat field, which switched occupants–from Northerners to Southerners and back again–four times in one hour.  The boulder-studded field that Pickett’s forces charged across, headed for the clump of trees upon the ridge and the perceived weakness in the Union line.  Wooden fences and rock walls (leftover from some long-ago farmer’s plowing) border fields.  The wooden fences are not original, but are built, so we were told, on the same spots they once occupied.  The crops, too, are in the process of being planted in their pre-battle places.  The peach trees are young.

DSCN3041

The only bits of modernity which have been left alone by the National Park Service are the monuments.  A few decades after the war, veterans returned to the battle site to explain to researchers what had happened where.  And to dedicate monuments to their brave regiments, to their commanding officers.  States built monuments too, so that scattered throughout almost all of Gettysburg are marble pillars and metal statues.  Most northern states are represented, but–unsurprisingly, given the location of the battlefield, the outcome of the battle, and the outcome of the war–there are fewer monuments from southern states.

DSCN3048

In order to know what we were looking at, we went to the Visitors’ Center first.  It boasts a brief film narrated by Morgan Freeman, a museum packed with artifacts, and something called the Cyclorama.  Mom and I decided that the Cyclorama must be a ride of sorts, and spent the first part of the presentation waiting for the floor to move.  It didn’t, but the room-sized, cylindrical painting depicting the entire battle of Gettysburg was impressive.

IMG_1424

Later in the afternoon, we took a bus tour led by a licensed guide.  That’s a federally licensed guide: apparently when Civil War veterans went back to visit the battlefields, they were appalled by the inaccuracies spread by unofficial tour guides.  The veterans managed to pass a bill requiring those who give paid tours in National Military Parks to obtain licenses first.  The process for getting such a license is grueling: application, written exam, training seminar, and oral examination.  It was a good decision to take the bus tour.  Undoubtedly as a result of his extensive testing, our guide was able to go into great detail regarding the battle.  Using landmarks, he explained to us how far the lines of troops extended, where different regiments were stationed, and how both sides moved on each of the three days of the battle.  I typically don’t care much about military tactics, but it was fascinating to learn about the struggle for high ground and the usefulness of the roads and the town.

DSCN3031

Most interesting to me was the aftermath.  Once both sides had moved out–the Confederates first and then the Yankees “in cautious pursuit”–the town was entirely altered.  Wounded men, most of whom were already or would shortly become amputees, filled all corners of nearly every building in town.  Trees and homes were pocked with bullet marks or decimated from cannon fire.  Crops were trampled.  Bodies choked the land for miles.  One witness reported that on July 4th, 1863–the day after the battle ended–one could walk from one end of the wheat field to another without touching the ground.  The dead were buried in shallow graves, many to be uncovered by heavy rainfall.  Horses were considered too difficult to bury, and so most were piled and burned.  Even four months after Gettysburg, when President Lincoln arrived to dedicate the cemetery and deliver his Gettysburg Address, audience members reported feeling nauseous from the lingering stench of death.

DSCN3044

It was a haunting place to visit, more so because it doesn’t look at all as you’d expect the site of 51,000 deaths to look.

DSCN3036

Out East Road Trip Day 3: Charlottesville, VA to Washington D.C.

Yesterday was the day we attempted to tackle both Jefferson’s Monticello and Washington’s Mount Vernon.  Our house tour reservation for Monticello was at 9:00 a.m., and our house tour (or “Mansion Tour” as the brochure so elegantly dubbed it) for Mount Vernon was at 3:30 p.m.  The estates are about 2 hours apart by car.  And we needed a lunch/gas stop in between.

We felt a little rushed, a little like we should be humming the Mission Impossible theme as we sped through the Virginia countryside, but for those of you who also want to see both estates in one day, let me tell you that it is entirely doable.  That’s with a Jimmy John’s lunch, Exxon stop, and end-of-weekend traffic included.

Before I get to the Tom Cruise-esque madness, however, I need to talk a little more about Charlottesville.  Or Cville, as the cool cats say.

There were a few pilgrimages to make in Cville.  First, to Thomas Jefferson’s adored University of Virginia.  What a lovely university.  Before driving through the UVA campus, I had been able to keep my post-grad pangs at bay for the most part, but as soon as I saw the clusters of brick buildings, the shaded sidewalks, the Dinkytown, it suddenly felt so wrong not to be buying textbooks and color coding notebooks and folders (not that I’ve ever done that).  While I swallowed the lump in my throat, Mom attempted to locate the famed UVA Rotunda.  We knew basically what it looked like.  Brick.  Pillars. Dome. But even when we spotted this:

DSCN2887

we weren’t convinced that it was the Rotunda.  So we drove around some more, rapidly punching buttons on Bea The Misguided GPS, until we ended up back where we started.  At the Rotunda.

IMG_1376

And Jefferson was all

DSCN2889

I bought a $20.00 mug at the Monticello museum shop to make it up to him.

The next pilgrimage is slightly more creeper-ish.  Kath’s blog is one of my favorites.  I actually squealed loudly in the UMM library upon seeing the announcement of her son’s birth last September, which drew a few glares from those in deeper study mode than I.  I never imagined that I would actually make it to Charlottesville, but since I did, I thought I should swing by the Great Harvest owned by Kath and her husband, Matt.  Alas, they are closed on Sundays.  I settled for a photo of the infamous building (the creeper part).  Wish I could have met you, Kath!  And eaten some bread!

IMG_1378

Here are my thoughts on Monticello:

1. Our house tour time was 9:00 a.m., which was the first tour of the day, and so the grounds were nearly empty.  This meant that we didn’t have to wait in line to peer into various rooms and to read the signs attached to various sites.  As someone who likes to take the time to read everything while touring, I rather liked being there early, and would recommend it for future visitors.

2.  Monticello didn’t feel like a tourist destination. It didn’t feel like a sight that had been paved over with excess pathways or altered for the sake of the public.  It felt like Jefferson’s house, and it was easy to picture the man himself walking around and living at Monticello.  This I appreciated above all else.  Tour guides and signs were candid about what had been restored and/or supplemented, but when they had needed to, say, repaint a room, they were careful to match the color exactly to the original.  Hooray for history buffs who take the time to read through journals and records just to find evidence of a specific paint color.  You make the world a better place.

3. The house tour was phenomenal.  If I ever return, I’d like to do the nooks and crannies tour, which covers the upstairs of the house, but I was plenty content with the standard tour.  The standard tour covered the exterior, entrance hall, sitting room, library, Jefferson’s bedroom/study suite, dining/tea room, formal parlor, Madison Room, and terrace.  Our guide explained what was special about each room and included interesting tidbits that humanized Jefferson as much as praised his character.  I gained a good deal of new perspective about Jefferson that only came from visiting his property.

4. Next we tried the garden tour.  I say tried because we are bona fide tour ditchers.  We are the tourists other tourists look down on.  But we also didn’t care to listen to the guide explain each tree and flower on the property.  I say that respectfully, because the guide was doing a wonderful, thorough job of it.  We just weren’t interested.  So we hung back and then made our getaway and were perfectly content to wander the gardens on our own.  Everything is nicely labeled at Monticello; I never spent any time guessing what the significance of something was, even sans guide.

Here are some Monticello photos:

Monticello means "little mountain."  Naturally, then, views were involved.  This was taken from the practical garden, which grows the same fruits, vegetables, and herbs today as would have been growing there in the 18th century.

Monticello means “little mountain.” Naturally, then, views were involved. This was taken from the practical garden, which grows the same fruits, vegetables, and herbs today as would have been growing there in the 18th century.

The house.

The house (back view).

The house (front view).  I really try to take straight pictures.  I really do try.

The house (front view). I really try to take straight pictures. I really do try.

Part of the storage/workrooms that lay under the terrace.  Jefferson apparently liked to keep those bits hidden.

Part of the storage/workrooms that lay under the terrace. Jefferson apparently liked to keep those bits hidden.  (Sorry about the out-of-focus.  I try to get that right as well.)

The kitchen.  All set up and reading for someone to start mixing up hoecakes.

The kitchen. All set up and waiting for someone to start mixing up hoecakes.  A sign on the wall that I found funny mentioned that Jefferson “never visited the kitchen except to wind up the clock.”

Jefferson's grave, with what he considered to be his three greatest achievements inscribed upon it.

Jefferson’s grave, with what he considered to be his three greatest achievements inscribed upon it.

Thoughts on Mount Vernon:

1. We did successfully make our tour time, but unfortunately, it fell during the hottest part of the day.  The time of day when I am prone to both grumpiness and sleepiness.  It was also a time of day when the estate was crowded and the lines are long.  Hot+grumpy+sleepy+crowds don’t a happy camper make.  So there were parts of Mount Vernon which I perhaps didn’t appreciate as much as I might have had conditions been ideal.  It’s not Mount Vernon’s fault.  Visit early, friends.  Don’t let George see you cry.

2.  Mount Vernon felt a lot like Versailles to me (the only comparison I can think of.  I apologize for whipping out my “this one time, when I was in Europe” line) in that the estate was huge, mostly self-guided, and more often than I would like, I wasn’t sure of the significance of what I was looking at, or whether it was original.  Because of my garden tour ditch, you know that I don’t always jive with guided tours.  But I do like information-laden signs.  And there weren’t enough such signs, in my opinion.

3. The best part about Mount Vernon was the fact that there were various buildings to explore.  Most of them were located in a semi-circle on either side of the “mansion.”  So, for a selection, we peeked into the overseer’s house (and read a brief description), the salt house, the stables, and the kitchen.  Washington’s estate was self-contained, and it was interesting to see its various operations.

4. Most of the Mount Vernon guides were as grumpy as I was!  Perhaps they were merely responding to my chi, but my goodness, people were being barked at left and right instead of being helpfully directed.  I didn’t feel as welcomed as I had at Monticello, which lessened the experience for me.

5. The mansion tour was not the typical small-groups-led-through-by-one-guide tour.  Instead, a continuous line wound through the entire house.  In each room was a stationary guide who repeated a memorized spiel over and over again.  They answered questions, too, but as we were kept moving, there wasn’t much time to ask.  Some of the guides were animated and entertaining, but some recited their pieces in a monotone which again, dampened the quality of the tour.  I didn’t feel Washington come alive at Mount Vernon.  I had trouble convincing myself that we were really in his home, on his lands.  I wish I didn’t have to speak so negatively about an important historical site, but I want to be honest.

6.  Lest you think I hated the experience, here are a few big positives: first, the original blacksmith’s forge is still being used.  The blacksmith was pounding away as visitors watched, and often paused to hand onlookers examples of his work to examine, and to explain the various steps involved in making axe heads or hooks or hoes.  Further (and this is the really cool part), the blacksmith–who again, does his work where it would have been done in Washington’s time–makes all of the pieces necessary for restoration projects on the estate.  The second positive is an honoring ceremony that takes place at Washington’s gravesite twice a day.  The guide pulled two veterans from the crowd to place a wreath on the grave, asked two girl scouts to lead the audience in the Pledge of Allegiance, and asked another audience member to read from a passage about Washington.  I thought it was wonderful that visitors to Mount Vernon are allowed to participate in the honoring of Washington and his contributions. Third, there are animals at Mount Vernon.  Sheep and pigs and cows and horses.  And they smell and lay in the shade and chow down and otherwise behave as naturally as could be.  They lent some authentic ambiance to the place without even trying.

Mount Vernon photos:

The "mansion."  Okay, it really is a mansion.  I'll stop with the quotes.  But why is Monticello a house and Mount Vernon a mansion?  I'll never know.

The “mansion.” Okay, it really is a mansion. I’ll stop with the quotes. But why is Monticello a house and Mount Vernon a mansion? I’ll never know.

Because he had an abundance of timber on his estate, Washington chose to use it for the mansion and surrounding buildings.  But, since stone was considered the classier siding choice at the time, Washington had the wood siding made to look like stone.  This simultaneously baffled and delighted me.

Because he had an abundance of timber on his estate, Washington chose to use it for the mansion and surrounding buildings. But, since stone was considered the classier siding choice at the time, Washington had the wood siding made to look like stone. This simultaneously baffled and delighted me.

The Potomac!  I won't say how much I squealed when I saw it.  It's rawthur a famous river, you know.  I'm partial to the Mississippi, but I have to say that this view from Mount Vernon's backyard was quite grand.

The Potomac! I won’t say how much I squealed when I saw it. It’s rawthur a famous river, you know. I’m partial to the Mississippi, but I have to say that this view from Mount Vernon’s backyard was quite grand.

The stables still smelled like horses!  Amazing!

The stables still smelled like horses!

No offense TJ, but GW's gardens were better than yours.

No offense TJ, but GW’s gardens were better than yours.

The overseer's house.

The overseer’s house.

The blacksmith's shop, where we spent a good deal of time gaping.

The blacksmith’s shop, where we spent a good deal of time gaping.

My sheep friends.  Notice the ones dozing against the cool stone wall.

My sheep friends. Notice the ones dozing against the cool stone wall.

Out East Road Trip Day 2: Dayton, Ohio to Charlottesville, Virginia

Virginia does not look like Minnesota.  I’ll come back to that.

Our day began, as all productive days surely must, with Mom and I accidentally attempting to force our way on to the Dayton Air Force Base.  We were under the impression–thanks to Bea the British GPS–that the Huffman Prairie Flying Field and Interpretive Center was there.  The nice young man with the green eyes and the machine gun who was responsible for checking IDs at the gate pointed us in the right direction.

DSCN2879

What we also didn’t know was that the HPFFIC (as the locals know it.  Not really.) is a national park.  And that inside the Interpretive Center there is an actual park ranger who will teach you how to fly a circa 1911 plane, via video game simulation.

IMG_1331

The left lever could be pulled back for nose up/altitude gain or pushed forward for nose down/speed gain.  The lever on the right (between my mom and the park ranger) could be pulled back for a right turn or pushed forward for a left turn.  Operating both levers simultaneously, the goal was to stay in the air without incident for three minutes.  You had two chances.  Needless to say, I crashed on my first try, and only lasted for three minutes on my second because the ranger next to me was guiding my altitude subtly.  Nevertheless, I was awarded a certificate that henceforth allows me to pilot any plane.  Any place circa 1911, that is.  As the ranger handed the certificate to me, he said ceremoniously, “If you can find it, you can fly it.”  I pray that I’ll get my chance someday.

Outside, there was the Wright Brothers Memorial which overlooks the Huffman Prairie Flying Field.  Huffman is where Orville and Wilbur perfected their plane (having had the first successful flight in North Carolina).  Huffman is referred to as the “first flying field in the world.”  Imagine that!  No one had flown in such a way until the Wright Brothers decided to dedicate their time and money to figuring out how to make an airplane work.  And the world thought they were nuts.  But that’s usually how it goes, isn’t it?

DSCN2880

After a few hours of driving, I happened to check the map only to discover that we were very near to the turnoff for something called the Leo Petroglyph.  It sounded too intriguing to pass up, so we wound through three miles of back roads and were stared at by dozens of western Ohioans who were sitting on their front porches enjoying the day.  Then we came to this:

IMG_1345

I thought this was clever, to stick my foot in near the footprint carvings.

IMG_1342 IMG_1347 IMG_1351

Carved seven hundred years ago.  They look like they were done yesterday, don’t they?

We spent the rest of the day touring West Virginia via freeway and admiring the scenery.  West Virginia is I think the prettiest state I’ve seen thus far on this trip.  Mountains are something we don’t have in Minnesota, though, so there was a lot of: “Are those mountains?  Or just hills?  They’re tall, but I’m not sure … let’s check the map.”  I think I actually Googled “West Virginia hills vs. mountains” at some point.

We entered Virginia at twilight and entered Charlottesville when it was dark enough that fireflies flashed near the tree line.  Admittedly, I mostly wanted to come to Charlottesville because this is Kath’s stomping ground, and she makes it sound quite idyllic.  Having walked up and down the Mall a few times, having had homemade smoked salmon ravioli from Bizou, and having wrapped up the evening with ice cream, I have to say that I like it here.  I have a feeling I’ll like it even better when it’s light enough for me to rave about the historic buildings and to clomp around Monticello like the Jefferson groupie that I am.

Out East Road Trip Day 1: Minnesota to Ohio

Good morning from scenic Dayton, Ohio.  We got in late last night, so I can’t speak to much of why it’s so “scenic,” but from what I saw of the bluffs and the trees, it is.  I love a city with bluffs and trees.  Probably because I’m partial to my native St. Paul, which has both.  Which leads me (I kid you not) to my next point: isn’t it funny how when we travel (or at least, when I travel) we admire or gape at or disparage sights based on where we’re from?  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said “This or that looks like Minnesota,” often with an air of disappointment, because for heaven sakes I’m driving cross-country!  I want vast scenic differences!  It’s not your fault, Ohio.

This post, by the way, will cover what happened yesterday.  I meant to write it last night, but you know how comfy hotel beds are, and how tempting they are after thirteen hours on the road.

The drive yesterday from Minnesota to Ohio was punctuated by two primary events: 1. I ate a McDonald’s egg McMuffin for breakfast that made me feel, for the next eight hours, like I had a softball-sized ball of grease roiling in my stomach.  It was awful, and the likes of Tums, Coke, and pretzels (to soak up the grease) were of no avail.  I really should know by now that McDonald’s never ceases to have dastardly effects on my innards.  No worries that I’ll forget again: I think yesterday served to build up a strong aversion.  2. The van began to act up whilst we were on the seven-lane freeway in the traffic-y Chicago area.  I pointed out to my Mom that our family, not unlike the Griswolds, never ceases to have car trouble on road trips.  She didn’t think it was very funny.  Anyway, luckily there’s a Chrysler dealer in Dayton that was willing to have a look.  It was a loose battery cable, apparently, which would explain the flickering of gauges and the random bursts of hot air from the vents.

Today, after I shower and clean up the contents of my suitcase–which always seem to end up strewn about the room–we’re heading over to see the Wright Brother’s flying field.  Then it’s off to Virginia, which I feel certain will not “look like Minnesota.”

P.S. I know I’ve neglected to talk about the Killers concert.  I’ll write about that soon.  Right now, I’m under the pressure of a looming check-out time.

The Killers and Preparing for Departure

Here’s the thing.  Tomorrow evening I shall be attending one Killers concert in Minneapolis.  I’ve talked about going to see the Killers for years: it was this band, you see, that plucked me out of my oldies reverie and forced me to take interest in–heaven forbid–music that people my own age were listening to.  Of course, I still like oldies, but “Change Your Mind” saved me in those days.  It was what I listened to on the bus during my nightmarish first year of high school, when the lime green iPod Mini I clutched was still considered a novelty (I actually remember kids asking if they could just hold it).

Some time has passed since then; now I’m twenty-two-nearly-twenty-three and adult enough to go see my saviors live without a parent.  Imagine that.

Here’s the other thing.  Following the concert, I will be setting off on a road trip of presidential proportions.  Which is my way of saying that I will be visiting Jefferson’s Monticello, Washington’s Mount Vernon, and Washington D.C., among other eastern United States destinations.  There is quite possibly no one on Earth (except perhaps Mr. McCullough) who would enjoy such a trip as much as I will; it’s as if all of my history buff dreams are coming true at once.  I feel undeservingly lucky, but plan to take you along via this blog, if you’d like to come.

We saw the West last summer:

DSCN3021

My word, my hair was short.

My word, my hair was short. (Badlands)

Salt Lake City LDS Temple

Salt Lake City LDS Temple

Let’s go East this summer.

Inaugural Friday Favorites

When I’m not writing blog posts–that is, when I’m not slaving away in a garret with only a stubby candle to light my laptop and a small mouse for company (A Little Princess style)–I am often reading other blogs.  And what I have noticed over the past few months is that many “other blogs” have a feature called “Friday Favorites.”  Friday Favorites is typically a pictorial-with-captions list of some of the blogger’s favorite products, techniques, memes, recipes, etc. from the week.

I’ve explained before how much I love information in blurb form when it comes to the internet and magazines (funnily enough, since I am a rather long-winded blogger myself), so needless to say, I am a fan of Friday Favorites.  I am also a fan of having a weekly tradition.

Therefore, I have decided to start a kind of Friday Favorites of my own.  I can’t promise anything cute or crafty or delicious, but I can promise you a pictorial representation of my week.

Here goes:

This book

Unknown

I’ve been eyeing The Pillars of the Earth for years.  Every time I passed it on the shelf in library or bookstore, I would pause briefly, sometimes pick it up, but always eventually put it back.  For some reason, it never seemed the right time to dive into such a massive volume.  But last week I was finally finally in the mood for a real story.  A story that wouldn’t be over quickly.  Now I’m almost 300 pages in and entirely hooked.  I plan to write a real review once I’ve finished the thing, but if you’re another TPOTE (pronounced tee-p-oh-t) stalker, I advise you to give it a chance now.

This song

Can I like Taylor Swift now?  Now that she’s pop and punk and all grown up?  Because I’ve been listening to this song all week.  What can I say?  I swoon for acoustic duets.

Writing at a desk

Hemingway_at_his_writing_desk.

Yeah yeah, it’s a little presumptuous to choose a picture of That Crazy Genius Bastard Hemingway* to accompany this post.  But to get back to my point, I have only recently begun to write at a desk.  Before, I was in the camp that believes that in order to truly focus on creating, one can’t be distracted with the discomfort a desk chair often provides.  Now, I’m in the camp that believes that in order to truly focus on creating, one needs to get their rear out of bed and into the kind of chair that screams NOW WE’RE GOING TO WORK.  And you know what?  I’ve never been so productive.

This Brand

imagesLike most high quality outdoor outfitting brands, Patagonia is ridiculously expensive.  But they also make the kind of comfy, fleecy, that-girl-could-climb-a-mountain gear that I could quite easily live in.  In fact, Patagonia fits perfectly into this daydream I have about living in the North Woods of Wisconsin and rolling out of bed each morning for flannel, coffee, and writing.

This child

1374688572_kate-middleton-prince-william-prince-george-lg

There were some fiery Facebook posts this week concerning young George Alexander Louis.  Apparently, it’s a terrible sin for people to stop and pay attention to the birth of a baby when there are so many “more important”–and much more sober–things happening in the world.  I say, the world would be a terrible, terrible place if we couldn’t take a break from tracking violence and death and injustice to celebrate something joyful.  I certainly admit that I will likely never actually meet George.  Nor do I live in the country which he will someday preside over as king.  But I think it’s silly to pretend that the small family in the country above doesn’t impact the world at all, or to pretend that the way they live and dress and speak to the public doesn’t say a great deal about the modern times and the modern monarchy.  This is culture happening, and I think it is deserving of our attention.

Road trip planning

National-Lampoons-Vacation-e1362095010677

I will not at this time disclose the destination of the road trip, nor the date of departure.  But you’d better believe I’ll document every sweaty, touristy, awe-inspiring bit of it.  For if any family can match the Griswolds, it is surely mine.

*A literature professor called Hemingway this when I was a sophomore.  Since then, I haven’t been able to shake it.