Three Squares

Post #55: Letter Summer

2010-06-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

I have decided to make this the long letter summer. (By which I mean the long email and Facebook message summer.)

It’s the first summer I’m spending in Burlington, away from home, and living with two fantastic roommates, Allyson and Connor, which means that every couple of days I find myself alone, sitting around in the apartment, looking for something to keep me entertained for another hour before Allyson gets back from work. I try to avoid turning on the tv whenever possible (especially when it’s still light outside,) but when I don’t feel like carrying my camera up and down the riverwalk and taking pictures of the Winooski River from every angle at every time of day, I write letters.

I started by emailing my sister, Rebecca. She lives in Beijing, so sometimes I talk to her on Skype and sometimes I send her an email from work, but it wasn’t consistent until a month ago. Now we write about once a week.

Writing someone a long letter for the first time is like planning to visit a friend you haven’t seen in years. It’s fun, but also makes you nervous and awkward, and there’s too many exclamation points because you’re trying to hard to brush together a quick collage of all the things that have happened to you that don’t require too long of an explanation.

Now my emails to Rebecca are much more fluid. A few weeks ago I sent her an entire email just about running a relay for the Vermont City Marathon and how I am thinking of running a full or half marathon next year. Like a long conversation, a series of long letters starts with the broadest stuff (job, family, romance, health) and moves to the much narrower details (i.e. the same topics with more interesting stories.)

I recommend writing a few long letters this summer. It’s a good way to reconnect with people before you visit them, because you will already be caught up on their lives, so when you get together, you can have more fun conversations. You will have already studied up on their daily routines, references to other people, and the details of their most recent life-changing events, so you can pick up in the middle of a conversation instead of starting a new one.

It doesn’t take long to write a good letter (about half an hour should do it) and the process is fun if you focus on writing what you want to write instead of what you what you think you should write. If you’d like to, you can write me a letter and I promise I will respond. Good luck!

Identical Strangers, A Mixed Review

2010-06-14T12:26:00.000-07:00

photo from identicalstrangersbook.com

Identical Strangers: A Memoir of Twins Separated and Reunited

A few times while I was reading Identical Strangers, I tried googling a review of the book (with no luck in finding one), because I kept wondering if other people felt the same way as me. The story of how Elyse Schein and Paula Bernstein were separated as infants and reunited as adults is fascinating. They are a living example of how nature and nurture interact (and according to their experience, nature usually wins.)

However, the writing of this memoir (shared between the two sisters) was consistently melodramatic, and, at times, completely off-putting. I strongly considered not finishing the book several times because I was so annoyed with the twins’ constant complaints that they had not been raised together, that they had not been told by their adoption agency that they were twins, that they had unknowingly been a part of a twin study arranged by the adoption agency, etc.

Near the end of the book, when the women finally meet the scientist who conducted research on twins who had been purposely separated for study, I found myself siding with Dr. Neubauer, not the twins, because I was so fed up with their whining. Both women dealt with undeniable hardship in their lives, but unfortunately they used this novel as an opportunity to bask in cliché-ridden self-pity, instead of focusing all of their energy on how the interesting topic of nature vs. nurture played a significant role in their lives.

I wouldn’t say the book was a total loss, because it did help me form a more educated opinion on the matter of nature vs. nature, but I would say that if you want to read Identical Strangers for yourself, don’t buy the book, borrow it, because it isn’t something you’re going to want to read twice.

Magical Tricks with Food

2010-06-11T11:46:00.000-07:00

Goal: Make the best lunch ever

Challenges: We haven’t gone grocery shopping this week

Advantages: Mass quantities of salad dressing, ketchup, and beef that we put an unfortunate flavor of chicken seasoning on two nights ago

Kitchen Status: 51% clean

Health Status: Hungry

Iron Chef Surprise Ingredient: Worcestershire sauce (we bought it to make Chex mix last winter and there’s tons leftover, so whenever Allyson isn’t looking I put some in whatever I am cooking to use it up)

Ingredients List: Weird ground beef, 1 can tomato sauce, steak seasoning, a few squirts of Ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, carrots (chopped tiny, so that roommates don’t notice the imposter veggies), and curly-shaped spaghetti.

Directions: Put weird beef, tomato sauce steak seasoning, ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, and carrots in a pot and cook them up! Make spaghetti. Eat them together.

Anticipated Outcome: Spaghetti and meaty tomato sauce.

Actual Outcome: I don’t know how or why, but I seemed to have recreated the exact sloppy joe recipe that I was served as a 6 year old at St. Augustine’s School cafeteria.

Results: It tasted good, actually, but not on pasta. I ate it on a toasted hamburger bun the next day and it was MUCH more delicious.

Findings: If you throw all your leftovers in a pot and let them simmer long enough, they will turn into food.

Unanswered question: Why is the pasta shaped like a bobby pin for giants?

Fancy & Russian

2010-06-07T16:02:00.000-07:00

photo of Dumbledore (the light grey one) and Twitch (the black one) by Rachel Salois

When Allyson brought home a pair of fancy Russian hamsters (that’s actually what they’re called) last week, I was able to reaffirm my belief that I have no soul when it comes to cute animals.

What Allyson sees as cute companions requiring nurturing love, I see as living cotton balls that provide poop and a weird odor to the corner of our living room. I know it sounds harsh, but it’s part of my DNA to not enjoy the company of animals. My grandmother, Judy, hated pets, and my mom repeats the mantra “last cat, last dog,” anytime Milo or Fuzby acts out or pleads for food after she has already sat down to read the paper.

It’s not that I would neglect an animal or cause it physical harm; I just don’t see their point. I understand how a fancy Russian hamster can be cute, but not cute enough for me to want to pay $40 to enjoy its cuteness from the comfort of my own home. In fact, at this stage of my life, I can’t think of anything cute enough for me to be willing to pick up its poop.

It’s definitely the poop most of all that gets me. I sometimes lose my appetite when I eat too close to the hamsters, because I get a whiff of the sawdust from the bottom of their cage and can’t think about anything but tiny poop pellets. I am now paranoid of hamster poop being on the chair or coffee table from when Allyson takes them out to play.

I know I’m in the minority here. Most people have fond memories of childhood pets and many of my friends dream about one day being able to buy a dog for their apartment. But to all of the animal lovers in the world: know that just because I can stand your pet, doesn’t mean I love it. And just because I don’t love to spend time with hamsters doesn’t mean I’m not a nice person. Mostly I don’t want to be spending time with your pet because I would rather be spending time with you!

And to Allyson: thanks for cleaning the hamster cage. You have no idea how much I love to not smell those guys.

Scariest Thing Ever

2010-06-01T18:30:00.000-07:00

I have discovered the scariest thing ever. Take this short quiz to see if you have what it takes to write a horror film script that will instantly make you millions of dollars.

Pop quiz:

1. What is the scariest thing ever?
a. Identity theft
b. Nuclear war
c. Clowns

2. What is most likely to kill you?
a. Cancer
b. Gun
c. Possessed devil child who lives in your mirror

3. What thoughts keep you awake at night?

a. Visions of rainforest deforestation
b. Visions of a pale child singing nursery rhymes without smiling

4. What would be the creepiest thing to have you staring you in the eyes when you wake up?
a. Chucky doll
b. Sid’s doll head with spider legs (from Toy Story)
c. Dora the Explorer
d. ____________ (write-in answer)

5. What would be the worst thing to be locked in a dark room with?
a. Bernie Madoff
b. The demon inside Bernie Madoff
c. A marionette doll of Bernie Madoff

Answers:
1. C
2. C
3. B
4. D: You wake up and the Chucky doll is lying next to you, and Dora is staring him in the eyes.
5. Trick question: It’s all of them in the room with you and they are wearing birthday party hats.

Did you get them all right? If so, you have realized that kids and their kid paraphernalia is our country’s worst nightmare. I challenge you to think of anything scarier. That is why I won't be going to see Splice when it comes out this summer.

Nature shots

2010-05-27T18:59:00.000-07:00

Nature shots are so fun to take, but what do you do with them once you have them? Nobody wants to look at pictures with no people in them unless it's freaky deep sea animals or puppies. Regardless, we force our friends and family to admire them, as though a 5 by 7 photograph will give them any sense of what it was like to be there. Let's face it-when you're there in person, nature is magical and muddy and fun. When you're not there, it's boring and muddy and forgettable. That's why I have to go outside everyday. To remind myself.

My Kitchen is a Grocery Store

2010-05-08T12:14:00.000-07:00

Some of our scavenges: a mirror, chair, table, box of tissues, and princess trash can. Photo by Rachel Salois

One week ago, Allyson made a Facebook event called “Give us your leftovers” in which, people would give us all their food when they moved out, and, in turn, we would give a coupon for a free hug (expires June 1st). We were clear about what we wanted: everything except used toilet paper, moldy things, pet fish, and Cheese Wiz.

We had no idea that by making this event, Allyson and I would be the proud owners of 9 salad dressings, 3 jars of peanut butter, 4 containers of salt, a princess trash can, a multi-colored Christmas lights rope, a television, and 3 mega-boxes of instant mashed potatoes. Our cupboards and fridge are literally exploding with food. (No joke: a stick of butter just dove for Allyson’s foot when she tried to put away the pasta salad a few minutes ago. We were able to subdue it and get it back in the shelf with some effort.)

Clearly this is a tribute to the generosity of our friends, and to their love of buying mashed potato flakes and not eating them (perhaps a wise choice—what are they made of?). Thank you!

Dogs in Rain Jackets Driving Dirt Bikes

2010-05-05T13:24:00.000-07:00

Photo by Rachel Salois

You know those crazy people who dress up their dogs in rain jackets, and think that dogs can actually taste the difference between name-brand and store-brand kibbles, and refer to other people’s dogs by family relation, (such as, “Isn’t this dog Snuggie adorable? I just bought it for my step-grand-dog, Poochie.”)

I realized a few days ago I am one of them. Sort of.

Last summer I got a plant named Shorty. Shorty is a six-inch tall fir tree with three branches. He lives in a terra cotta pot with his companion, a plastic penguin. He is easy going, reliable, and doesn’t make a fuss if you don’t water him over the weekend.

After Shorty, there were more: an orchid, a Chinese elm bonsai, two grapefruit trees, and “the salad bar” which is the windowsill garden in our apartment. Over the past nine months I have collected nine plants.

I am obsessed with them. I graze them with my fingers every day, checking for dead leaves. I buy them fancy soil. I tell people long stories about them. I bring them with me when I travel. And if they all died, I might cry.

When my fish, Ramone, died last year, I didn’t cry. When we thought my cat, Milo, died I didn’t cry, (which is good because she had actually just run away for a few weeks.) So what is it about plants that makes me in love with them?

Most of the reason is their personality. Most pets are needy and expensive: food, haircuts, liver medicine. But plants are practical. All of their necessities cost approximately $0. Like me, plants are quiet and methodical in the morning when I water them. They grow in funny and unexpected ways. Sometimes they spurt up quick and sometimes they lose all their leaves in a week.

My plants make me who I am. They’re not very valuable and I have about 12 years to wait until I pick my first fresh grapefruit, but I wouldn’t be the same without them.

When you think about it, everyone has an obsession. My dad is obsessed with dirt bikes. Normally, he is a very frugal spender. He only buys jeans if they cost less than $20. But every year when we ask him what he would like for his birthday he says, “oh, don’t worry about it. I’ve already ordered an exhaust pipe from Motor World.”

My sister spends her money on plane tickets. My best friend, Allyson, is a crazy dog person. (The difference between rain-jacket-dog-people and Allyson, though, is that Allyson doesn’t like dogs because they give her an excuse to buy dog-purses. She likes them because they offer her an uncomplicated type of companionship that people simply can’t replicate.)

In reality, we all have our obsessions. They’re ridiculous and illogical and they’re frustrating when no one else truly understands them, but they make us happy. And since they are so misunderstood by the rest of the world, they depend on us to defend them.

Volunteer Wal-Mart Employees Wanted

2010-04-25T10:50:00.000-07:00

I refuse to use self-check out. When I first saw cashier registers being replaced at Wal-Mart, Home Depot, and Shaw’s, I thought, “Brilliant! I can run into a store and buy stuff without human interaction. The days of making embarrassing Home Depot purchases and shuffling up to the counter while trying not to make eye contact with the cashier are over!”

Then I tried to buy gum and a headband using self-check out at Wal-Mart. First, the computer rejected my bagging technique, and the machine jammed up and asked me to seek the assistance of a Wal-Mart employee, which I did for about the amount of time that it would have taken for a cashier to scan my goods and send me on my way. By the time that was settled, I opened my purse to pay and somehow spilled all of my change across the Wal-Mart supercenter. I left the store embarrassed and confused, and assumed all guilt in the matter.

In the few similar experiences that I had with self-check out, I slowly got better at using the machine, but then about a year ago I realized something: I was in Wal-Mart employee training. Actually, I was a volunteer Wal-Mart employee. In fact, every consumer who had ever used self-check out was in training to be a self-sufficient buyer. Corporate America has just pinched our cheeks and told us that we were old enough to do the big-kid chores, and we, glowing with pride, dashed out the kitchen door to get started.

Now that I’m looking for a summer job, I like the self-check out concept even less. It is another machine that is replacing the need for human labor, which is good for the bottom line of the corporation, and bad for the displaced employee looking for a job. If an ideal corporation is a self-sufficient machine that turns all profit for no cost, where will potential customers go to earn money to pay for its products?

Currently, we are in an unfair bargain with the corporations we buy from. The only way to stop them from telling us what to buy and how much to pay for it is to put our money where our loyalties lie. That means buying from the people we know and respect most. It means waiting in line for one extra minute, so that a cashier can say “hello” to us, and scan our items, and bag our goods, and help us feel unflustered enough to not empty our change purses onto the floor, and say “thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart” as a paid employee should.

Little Love

2010-04-18T15:52:00.000-07:00

You are so

Tiny
My little

Tiny house.

But still you

Beguile,
You

Sweet domicile.

I know these

Words are
To you

Short-selling,

My XS dwelling,

But know that you

Could not be improved

As a petit abode,
Unless you were

served

A la mode.

Photo by Rachel Salois

The Wednesday Post

2010-04-14T18:42:00.000-07:00

I—self appointed Tiny House guru of Champlain College—am finally building a house on campus, which is cool, but harder than I could have imagined when we started this project (if I even could have imagined anything about what it is like to build a Tiny House) . Being a student activist who wants to help other people become student activists, I’m going to tell you what it is like to stand in the culmination of all the work I have put into planning this sustainability week. It is a complicated place, because it is the intersection of my two lives: the “college student doing finals and making summer plans” life, and the “eco-hero of the week “life.

6:45 AM: My alarm goes off in the middle of one of those dead sleeps where I realize later that I may not have moved (even a little) for the whole night.
7:00 AM: A bowl of Kix and a bowl of Frosted Cheerios for breakfast. Yessss…
7:13 AM: Shit! I have to leave. Must catch the 7:25 bus, but my teeth aren’t brushed and my backpack isn’t packed.
7:17 AM: Teeth briefly brushed. Backpack packed.
7:20 AM: At the bus stop in record time.
7:21 AM: Oh. Actually the bus doesn't come until 7:35. No matter, I’ll do my homework while I wait…
7:30 AM: (on the bus) Can’t read with angry republican financial radio talk show in my ear. Oh well. 2/52 pages of reading complete.
7:45 AM: Arrive at Little House worksite in Hauke Courtyard. Randy (the carpenter helping us this week) works hard pounding nails, making measurements, and cutting wood with power tools. I stand around watching him, because I am unqualified to operate all tools in the world.
8:30 AM: Randy gives me a job to do!
8:31 AM: Job is hammering nails into wood.
8:32 AM: Randy chuckles while I hammer away (generally) in the direction of the nail and manage to pound it in about 1/8th inch with about 12 strikes from the hammer. This is the hardest wood I have ever pounded a nail into.
8:33 AM: Randy leaves me to struggle in privacy, which I prefer.
8:45 AM: Have learned to fear nails, because if you hit them at a weird angle when you first start pounding them in, they ping off in crazy angles at 1,000 times the speed of light.
8:46 AM: Ask Randy for safety glasses, which pleases him immensely, because he is the safety inspector on the construction site where he normally works.
9:00 AM: Every nail I hammer in brings me closer to safety.
9:30 AM: Caity arrives and is equally unskilled at hammers, which means it is funny instead of life threatening now.
10:00 AM: It’s funny, but still impossibly hard. I have lost about 20 nails to lightspeed pinging now.
11:00 AM: Have gone back to observing work instead of participating in it, which is where I feel most comfortable at the moment.
12:00 PM: Etc.

INTERMISSION

1:00 PM: Eating Yak meat at Rob William’s Vermont Yak Company presentation. The sun is shining and I am eating free food.
1:15 PM: Time to get to my class that started at 12:30…
1:25 PM: (In journalism class) Being asked questions about the student newspaper. I feel proud but also nervous and defensive about answering them.
1:26 PM: Come off sounding more defensive than proud.
1:30 PM: Class gets out early.
2:00 PM Another class.

INTERMISSION PART II: ATTACK OF THE ZOMBIES

3:08 PM: Class is not boring, I manage to sound intelligent after only reading two pages of homework, and we get out early. Yesss…
3:10 PM: Work at the seed-planting table. I love plants, so feel happy about helping people plant seeds in the sunshine.
3:30 PM: Asked by Chris Yoon and Connor to be in their Zombie movie.
3:31 PM: Get filmed walking into an elevator and screaming at Chris Yoon’s dead body. (No Chris Yoons were injured in the making of this movie.)
3:50 PM: Clean up and prepare to job search downtown.
4:10 PM: Inquire about summer work at Old Navy, Gap, Aeropostal, Bath and Body Works, and Famous Footware.
4:45 PM: Inquire about work at a little gift shop downtown where the girl at the counter says, “Let me get you an application,” and then proceeds to pull out a stack of 50 already filled out applications. Unable to find me a clean one, she prints another off and sends me on my way feeling less confident about the prospect of finding a summer job.
5:00 PM: Call mom to tell her about my job search.
5:15 PM: Bust out in tears on the phone over my nervousness about finding a job and guilt of wanting to pay to live in Burlington for the summer even though I don’t have a job yet. My deposit is due in two days if I decide to stay.
5:20 PM: Mom is calm and reassuring.
5:25 PM: Am all snuffly and puffy red-eyed in public, looking like an ultra-stupid idiot, but have at least stopped crying.
5:30 PM: Hang up the phone and decide to discreetly walk to the locker room to pick up my backpack, even though I look like a hurricane just hit my face.
5:31 PM: Run into my boss on the sidewalk. He is a very nice person, but I would rather not have run into him so shortly after the tear-busting incident.
5:32 PM: Escape by saying I had to go apply for a summer job. I hope he thought it was for a job as an actress in the crying scene of a Zombie video.
5:35 PM: See Lorelei with her shirt half on (everything was covered) in the locker room and run into her arms.
5:45 PM: Tell her my whole story. She cheers me up by telling me jokes and talking about this kid in a totally worse situation. I feel better.
6:25 PM: Get on the bus and go home.
6:45 PM: Get home and none of my roommates are there to greet me.
6:55 PM: Grab a fresh Pillsbury Homestyle Biscuit and my Spanish book and go next door.
7:00 PM: Tucker makes tacos while we discuss jobs, summer, and whether or not Peeps (like wine) get better with age. I also am semi-barely studying Spanish.
7:30 PM: Go back home and eat cod and carrots for dinner.
8:00 PM: Tell my roommates, Allyson, Carl, and Scott about how I won’t find a summer job and will die.
8:15 PM: Allyson finds me an ideal summer job about WRITING about TINY HOUSES, which are the two things I love most (not including any people who I love.)
8:15 and half a minute PM: Scream and kick the yoga ball hard because I am so happy.
9:00 PM: Start writing this blog.

19 Songs to Listen to Every Day and Never Get Tired Of

2010-03-28T17:04:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows that the three keys to happiness are food, nature, and cute animals, so please use this list of fun songs to make sure you get your fix every day.

Songs Regarding Animals:

Hummingbird by Wilco
Three Little Birds by Bob Marley
The Pink Panther by pretty much every jazz band ever
The Chicken by Jaco Pastorius Big Band

Food:
Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson
Whipped Cream by Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass
Sweet Tangerine by The Hush Sound
Pumpkin Soup by Kate Nash
Georgia Peaches by Lynrd Skynrd
Icecream by Lou Bega
Pour Some Sugar on Me by (a sweet remix) The Marginal Prophets
Whisky con Ron by Salsa Celtica
American Pie by Don McLean

Nature:
Island in the Sun by Weezer
Waterfalls by TLC
Sun Comes Up by John Legend
Monsoon by Jack Johnson
Food Chain by Eric Hutchinson
Sea of Love by Cat Power

A Better Way to Wait

2010-03-08T10:51:00.000-08:00

This is me in my latest, almost-finished scarf project.

I never dream about being chased, or dying, or going to school naked. The only nightmares I have are about being late. I’m running to a bus for to a cross country meet or I’m a freshman in high school and my dad is driving me to piano lessons and I already know that I’ll never make it in time.

There’s no doubt that these dreams come from my obsession with time in real life. I like my schedule to fit neatly into boxes that can be stacked squarely atop one another. Unfortunately (or fortunately) real life is not an excel spreadsheet, so I have to wait 20 minutes for the bus on Tuesday nights and get up at 8:30 for meetings on Wednesday mornings even though my first class isn’t until 12:30.

That’s why I started knitting. Unless I have yarn and knitting needles, I can’t stop the TICK, TICK, TICK from going off in my head while I’m sitting at the bus stop. I consider myself a patient person, but even so, I can’t stand those boring parts of my day that are too short to start a project and too long to sit happily with my legs crossed and hands folded.

I’ve tried reading, but it doesn’t work as well. My stomach turns into smashed-up Jell-o for about three hours after trying to focus my eyes on a book for fifteen minutes in the car. My ipod does a slightly better job of entertaining me. I can listen to it for hours in the car without getting bored, but it only works when I’m in motion, because something is being accomplished just by me sitting on a pleather seat. When I’m waiting for the bus, I get frustrated and bored with my music much more easily.

Knitting though. On the car ride home from school last Saturday, I knitted for four hours straight. It also works in small doses, too. If I have five minutes to spare before I need to leave the house, I knit. If I’m not that interested in the television program I happen to be watching, I knit.

I still feel a little self-conscious about knitting before class because knitting has a lingering reputation of being a senior citizens-only activity, even though lots of young, hip people do it. Though from my experience, people tend to leave me alone with my needles and yarn without much comment when I knit in public.

I would recommend knitting to everyone, but I know that it wouldn’t be as satisfying an activity for some as it is for me. I will, however, prescribe this: a quiet, independent activity in which progress can be made. Even though knitting isn’t exciting, it does have a beginning, middle, and an end. The closer I get to finishing a scarf, the more furiously I work to complete it. This is why knitting is a better way to wait.

For some people, reading does the trick because every time they turn a page, they are getting closer to having mastered the story. In the car, an ipod helps me get restlessly to my destination, but when I’m not in motion it just doesn’t do enough.

I know that I spent less time being stressed this winter once I started knitting, and I would recommend that everyone find their own knitting equivalent. If you know you’re going to have to wait around at some point almost every day of your life, why not use the time to relax and feel accomplished instead of useless and stressed?

2010-03-02T13:15:00.001-08:00

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Chic Eco Freak Seeks Equally Freaky; Superhero Capes Preferred

2010-02-26T07:26:00.000-08:00

I used to be embarrassed about being tree hugger girl. Recycling girl. Compost girl. While standing in the dining hall during dinner hours and instructing people that they should compost their paper napkins I would think, “God, I look ridiculous. People must think I have no life.” Even though I knew that what I was doing was important, it seemed pretty boring and stupid at the time.

Then something occurred to me. Some people probably do think that I’m an annoying, plant-worshiping, environmental nerd. But a lot of people think it’s cool. It was pretty lonely standing next to a trash can of food slop in plastic gloves and an apron for a few hours, but in reality, I am one of over three million college students who volunteer (www.nationalservice.gov).

And there are so many activists in the world who are much more dedicated to their causes than me--Bono, Al Gore, Angelina Jolie. I’ve never thought, “Jeez, why can’t the Dahli Lama just give it a break for a second and play some Super Smash Brothers this weekend like a normal person?”

In fact, the only negative thought I can possibly have regarding other activists is guilt because they are much more generous with their time and resources than me. I discovered that there is no reason to be ashamed of being a passionate person. And as soon as I stopped being embarrassed about being an eco-freak, I was suddenly way more hip and interesting.
When I asked Ashley George, the coordinator for the Center for Service and Civic Engagement, one reason why someone should volunteer, she said, activism is “essential to the functioning of our communities and connect[s] us as human being to each other in a way that can’t happen in many other capacities.” Okay—so I didn’t feel particularly connected to humanity during my existence as compost girl, but that’s because I hadn’t found a type of service that could grab my attention. It turned out that environmental architecture was my thing.

With this in mind, I have an assignment for the semester: be a freak. Find an issue that gets you foaming at the mouth, (maybe Champlain being a dry campus, skateboard bans in your hometown, or littering,) and do something about it. Research it. Tell your friends about it. Write a letter to someone with power. Design a t-shirt about it. Meet other people who are interested in it. Bring it up in class discussions. Dress up as it for Halloween, and when people ask, tell them about it!

You might feel foolish and a little obsessed at first, but I think you’ll find that your friends respect you for not hiding the most interesting aspects of your personality from them. Yes, a few laugh and say, “dude, you’re wasting your time,” but in the end, other people will see that they are the absurd ones, not you. Especially for the guys, girls love it when you get worked up about animal abuse or homelessness or cancer research, so don’t be afraid to flout your cause. There are plenty of other bonuses to becoming an expert about an issue, too. You’ll have a subject to write your next research paper about. You’ll meet other people with the same interest as you. You’ll be able to volunteer your time for something that actually interests you. You’ll become aware of other related issues that may interest you even more. And you may find a career focus or lifelong hobby.

The only way to get motivated to do all these things, though, is to find an issue that gets you jazzed. So pick up a newspaper or watch the news--even the Daily Show can get you started. Once you get going, it won’t seem more like work any longer--more like a mission. Ever notice that Superman and Batman seem to be the most popular and lovable characters on their shows? It’s because everyone loves daring, generous, and optimistic people, so be the coolest person you know this year and do something BIG.

Caution: Snowmen Xing

2010-02-25T08:30:00.000-08:00

It snowed for 24 hours straight in Burlington yesterday and I loved it. It’s not that I’m a snow connoisseur—I don’t ski or snowboard or enjoy stepping in slush puddles on the way to the bus—I just love emergencies. This isn’t the first time I’ve said it, either. I’ve admitted it for years.
Actually, I think almost everyone loves emergencies, but we don’t like to say it out loud. It seems mean-spirited to enjoy the panic of a snowstorm when you know someone is probably out there skidding into a telephone pole or worrying if their furnace will run out of fuel tonight. It’s not the pain and frustration that I like about emergencies, though. It’s the …(prepare yourself for gross, clichéd word)…freedom.
In everyday life, I’ve got about 5,000 activities going at once, and for the most part I’m just trying to do all of them well enough so that I don’t have to look at them ever again. I don’t go very far out of my way to help other people in normal life because I’ve got so much of my own jobs going on that I can’t be bothered with someone else’s. Also, on regular days, my “to do” list rules my life. If I’m not doing something productive, I start feeling guilty and force myself to do annoying and sometimes unnecessary work.
In emergencies, though, everything I do becomes more organic, and (for the most part) makes more sense. In out-of-the-ordinary days, I almost always naturally wake up early and have guilt-free time to sit in my bed staring at the wall for 20 minutes before I get up and have a bowl of cereal. (I have this sitting and staring into space problem that Allyson always makes fun of me about. I don’t notice that I do it, but apparently it happens a lot. I think it’s a writer thing.)
During emergencies, I can take the time help someone out, because the 5,000 “important” duties that I would normally have are cancelled or out of my control at the moment. From my window at Spinner I saw a woman offer to push some people out of their parking space because their Oldsmobile had gotten stuck in the snow, and the whole dilemma ended up taking about five minutes to fix (which I think is more time than the lady was bargaining for in her work clothes and ankle-deep slush) but she never let on that she was annoyed with these people for not getting their tires changed since 1981.
The best part about emergencies is that they’re really exciting, but also extremely boring at the same time. During my sophomore year of high school, someone called in a bomb threat every Wednesday morning for three months. We would all get shipped off to the Civic Center to wait for police to check the building, which meant that we had pretty much nothing to do for a few hours. The only way to know you have really, really bonded with people is to forced to be with them and have nothing do, but still have a hilarious time.
It finally stopped snowing this morning and everything seems to have gone back to normal. The only clues that yesterday had been out-of-the-ordinary were the four giant snowmen and one igloo that I saw from the bus on my way to class. It was good while it lasted. More snow this weekend?

Bobsled

2010-02-10T08:26:00.000-08:00

This January I resolved to play outside more. It sounds like a lame challenge, I know. Actually, It sounds like I am trying to revert back to a childish behavior instead of pushing myself to be bigger and badder.

To be honest, I decided to play outside more because I needed more fresh air and exercise in my life than I was getting last fall, so I am now making time for aimless outdoor adventures.

Which is why I went bobsledding last weekend.

It sounded like a quaint Saturday afternoon activity until I saw a bobsled go by me at 80 miles per hour. Speed doesn’t seem that impressive when you’re in a car or train or plane because there’s no wind resistance, so it doesn’t feel that different whether you’re going 20 or 100 miles per hour. Not true with bobsledding.

Bobsleds do not have windshields. They also do not close in the back. They are not cushioned or equipped with airbags. You do not get strapped in to them. Overall, they have less safety features than a banana peel. What they do have is tracks on the bottom that look like wide, iron ice skate blades.

While waiting for my turn to get pushed onto an ice slope in a metal casket, I felt myself becoming my mom.
Mom doesn’t do things like bobsledding. She doesn’t go on theme-park rides. She does not jump off of cliffs into water. Besides cars, she does not drive motorized vehicles. She does not play contact sports. All in all, she does not get any thrill out of danger.

Since high school, I have slowly been collecting her fears. When I was nine, I would jump off of rock cliffs into water. Now, I don’t.

While I shivered in the cold at the “launching deck” for the bobsleds, I wished I had put my foot down (like mom would have) and refused to even consider going to an event like bobsledding.

When I got to the bottom, I was glad that I had done it. Picking up speed on a downward slope is always intoxicating. There’s no way to explain why going faster and faster and faster is fun. Also, I had conquered my fear of the bobsled. I had completed an outdoor activity that wasn’t physically straining, but still hard. I had overcome my mom instinct.

This post is not intended as an anti-mom. It’s an anti-irrational fear post. My mom has already made up her mind about activities she would like to do and activities she would not. There’s nothing wrong with that, and if you’ve ever met my mom, you would know that she’s not changing her mind anyways.

What I’m hoping to do is prevent myself from limiting the things I chose to do, so that I won’t have to fear bobsledding and contact sports in the future. Jumping off of high cliffs into water is already out of the question for me, so now is the window of time when I decide what it is I will do.

Thoughts for a Wednesday

2010-02-03T07:58:00.000-08:00

I thought of this idea in about three minutes this morning while studying for my Capitalism and Democracy quiz. I blurted it all out on the page at once, and it happened to end up in poetry. I've never had this idea before, and I don't live up to any of what I am preaching here, but I think it makes sense for me to start trying.
* * *

Do not reward yourself for hard work.

Do not reward yourself for cynicism, or intelligence,
Or ingenuity, or optimism.
Do not reward yourself for social aptitude.

Do not reward yourself for individuality or rebellion.

Do not reward yourself for feats of manipulation, or humor,
Or romance, or efficiency.

Reward balance.

The Hut

2010-01-31T16:29:00.000-08:00

FOUND (aka another post about the hobo hut, Darin, and my cell phone)

2010-01-25T14:04:00.000-08:00

When we were walking down to check on the hobo hut yesterday, Darin said, “hey, maybe we’ll find your phone,” and I said I hope not, because finding your phone after going through all the trouble of getting a new one is like getting remarried after all the trouble of getting divorced. (I actually have no idea if that analogy works.)
But there it was -- glistening with water, smiling, and still (remarkably) turned on with (even more remarkably) full battery. It was hidden in about the most obvious place ever, a foot away from the entrance of the hobo hut, and about three feet away from where I realized I had lost it. Since the hobo hut seems to have turned into a place for hobos to sleep at night and college students to visit by day, I have no idea how the phone could have possibly stayed there for seven days without getting picked up or stepped on. My roommate Allyson thinks that the hobo must have charged the battery for me at some point during the week. I have trouble disagreeing with her. If someone wasn’t taking care of it, I can’t imagine how it could have survived a week of snow, freezing temperatures, and other people being down there. What I am certain of is that fate and hobos work in mysterious ways and that we should be kind to both of them. Last week I thought losing my cell phone was the worst thing that could have happened, but this week I’m weirdly glad that it did.

LOST

2010-01-20T17:16:00.000-08:00

Day #1: In Denial

Last Sunday I put three things in my jacket pocket before I left the apartment: my camera, my keys, and my cell phone. I also poured myself a quick glass of orange soda before I headed out because it was the only beverage we had in the fridge besides Ketchup. I met Darin at the elevator. Our intention was to do something cool, like build a snow cave or something, but instead we ended up walking up to a large snow bank across the street, kicking it a few times, and giving up. We decided to walk down the trail by the Winooski River to see how Ian’s fort held up over Christmas vacation. Ian’s fort was built by my friend Ian. He made it a few months ago in the woods near our apartment building because we were going through this nature survival tv program phase (i.e. Bear Grylls.) Anyways, when we got there, I saw that someone (college students, a homeless person??) had tripled the size of the shelter with logs added across the front. This was exciting to me, and knew Ian would be thrilled about these developments, so I had to call him to discuss it. That’s when I discovered I had lost my cell phone – which is where I was going with this story.

I panicked when I realized it was gone, and began searching the ground around the hobo hut, thinking that it must have dropped out of my pocket. Darin came up with reasonable explanations for where it might be (at the apartment) and I – being quite flustered and certain that he was wrong – insisted that it could only be in unreasonable places (stolen by a hobo.) When I got back home, I swept over the apartment, but too much in despair to try that hard to look for it. I already knew I wouldn’t find it. It was on vibrate, which mean that if it was in the snow, I wouldn’t hear it, and if it was in my apartment, I would hear it (which I didn’t.)

Day #2: I wish everyone I knew would lose something valuable to them, so that they would understand my suffering.

I was angry at the world for swallowing up my two month old cell phone, and I couldn’t stop obsessing over how gone it was. It was hard to concentrate on homework that day because my thoughts would go, “Okay, I need to read page PHONE ten in this book and answer PHONE questions about PHONE PHONE PHONE it to post PHONE online.” My pocket felt empty. I kept wanting to call people to tell them that I lost my phone. I would be stabbed through the heart every time I realized how much that idea didn’t make sense. I also felt insanely jealous of anyone I saw operating a telephone that day, especially my friends. “Insensitive traitors!” I would think.

I also made a plan with my mom that if I didn’t find my phone by tomorrow, she would replace it, but it would have to be mailed to me, since U.S. Cellular doesn’t exist in Vermont. That meant it would arrive at the earliest on Friday. Friday seemed really far away.

Day #3: Ready to talk about it.

By now, I had realized that my phone was actually gone and I was ready to go public with the news. My Facebook message read: “LOST: 1 grey and orange phone yesterday (sunday) in spinner/skating rink/trail to Ian's fort. Responds by vibrating when called.”

I was also able to think practically about the matter at certain times throughout the day. I cleaned out my desk drawer in case it was buried in the clutter. I made a third trip out to the hobo hut but I didn’t really look for the phone, because it was clear that someone was sleeping in it at night, and I was afraid of being raped and murdered if I hung out there too long.

At other times throughout the day, I was still angry and unreasonable about my loss. I looked at some baby photos of myself on the computer to make my problem seem insignificant in the context of my entire life. It helped a little, but then I just felt stupid about looking at the pictures at all. Also, all of the stress made me want to call my mom a lot. Which reminded me that I didn’t have a phone a lot.

Day #4: Feeling like a pioneer, except instead of traversing the Great Plains in a wagon without getting dysentery, I have traversed 72 hours without instant connection to everyone I know.

I had a revelation about communication today: they way people solve (or try to solve) their problems in 2010 is by announcing them to the world. Think about how many “FML” Facebook statuses are out there. Every time something goes wrong, we whip out our cell phones and call someone for reassurance. It’s how we cope with scary and confusing. Last winter, when I got pulled over by a cop for the first time, I called my dad when I couldn’t find the car’s registration instead of continuing to look for it like a reasonable person would. I probably thought his voice would reassure me, but if he hadn’t picked up, I would or wouldn’t have figured out where the paper was, and either way, I’d have gotten through it.

After that thought, I felt much more Zen about the matter. I did start to feel pretty tough for spending a whole week of college without a cell phone, but then I started thinking about the guy in the hobo hut…

photo from:

http://www.aboutcellulars.com

10 Epiphanies I Remember Having in the Semi-Recent Past

2010-01-13T06:56:00.000-08:00

1. Be upfront about your limitations.

2. You can condition without shampooing, but never shampoo without conditioning.

3. Have a plan that you can see yourself implementing.

4. Don’t rebel for the sake of rebellion. Do what’s right. It will undoubtedly be some type of rebellion.

5. Try to eat something from each of the 5 food groups every day.

6. Practice moderation.

7. Don’t be shy about shutting off the television.

8. Don’t brag. People will be more impressed if they figure you out on their own.

9. Only date someone whose company you could enjoy even if you weren’t dating him.

10. Remember that everyone has a story they aren’t telling you.

Filling Up the Days

2010-01-04T14:30:00.000-08:00

From my house in small-town Maine, you can walk to Bailey’s Apple Orchard about half a mile down the street, and Varney’s gas station a little over half a mile up the street in the opposite direction. In about five minutes, you can drive from my house to St. Denis Church, Whitefield Elementary School, and the Windsor Fair. My nearest friend and the grocery store are in Augusta, a fifteen-minute drive away. Most of the other people and places I that want to get to, like the movie theater are about 12 miles away.

Whenever someone offers to meet me at the mall, or go out to eat, or get together at someone’s house, my first thoughts are parking, lane changing, merging onto the highway, driving in reverse, and navigating rotaries. Even though I’ve had my license for four years, I still haven’t gotten used to operating a vehicle. The only time I like driving is at night. In Augusta, most of the traffic (and by traffic I mean Maine quasi-traffic) has leaked out of the city (and by city I mean medium-sized town) by about 7:30, and that’s when I feel comfortable enough to relax my grip on the steering wheel and turn on the radio. During the day, I drive like an old lady with cataracts. Except that I really don’t because I’ve never been in an accident or close to an accident. I just think that I suck at driving, so I avoid it when I can.

With an isolated house and an aversion to escaping from it before 7:30, I have mastered the art of daytime solitude over school vacations. For those of you who are also two weeks in to winter break, and suffering from boredom/loneliness (even if you live in town and don’t mind driving), here is my advice: make a list and stay busy. Sleeping, watching tv, and going on Facebook will only get you so far, and they are an easy way to waste a week’s worth of time, so come up with an agenda of stuff you want to accomplish. Don’t write yourself a list of chores. Write yourself a dream list of everything you want to do to have a relaxing and productive week. Here is mine:

Work on blog

Knit

Spend time outside every day

Read book assigned for my new job next semester

Study Spanish flashcards to get ahead on Chapter 6

Buy music with itunes gift cards

Watch Bride of Frankenstein

Revive dead orchid plant

Work on logo for spring environmental project

I also have stuff that I don’t put on my list, but I do every day to fill up the time that I don’t have activities planned for myself, like helping to cook dinner, refilling the woodstove, and getting the mail. And, okay, it seems kind of stupid to have to make up little “jobs” to stay busy, but it does work. I never watch tv during the day, and I rarely find myself sitting on the couch without anything to do. When I think of new things that I want to accomplish, I add them to my list, and when I finish things I scribble them out. At the end of vacation, it’s rewarding to look over my crossed-out-and-written-on-in-four-varieties-of-pen-and-pencil scrap of paper, before throwing it in recycling. I admit, if anything about me is reminiscent of an old lady with cataracts, it’s probably more my obsessive list making and activity planning than my driving skills, but this is what gets me through vacations, so I’m sticking with it!

Self Improvement

2009-12-30T12:27:00.000-08:00

2010. Our first glance at the tens column of the 21^st century and our last look back at the decade that we haven’t even hammered out a name for yet. This Friday at 12:00 AM, every alive person on the planet will have survived 2009. And every second of the 31, 556, 926 seconds in the upcoming year will determine whether in 2020 we will say, “2010 – what a great year,” or “what a hard year,” or, “what happened that year?”

I’ve never been that much into resolutions because I’ve never needed to lose weight, but this year, I’m taking change seriously. I don’t want to just “get through” 2010; I want to conquer it. I want to arrive at 2011 the way that I finish 5k races: smiling triumphantly and wheezing like I’ve simultaneously gotten pneumonia and had an asthma attack. So here is my list. It’s short (if you disregard all of my commentary), but it’s meaty. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.

1. Blog more.

I admit it: I don’t just write this blog because I want to share my valuable revelations with the world. Revelations are 90% of the reason that I write it. But there’s another 10% that I’ve been keeping a secret until now because it’s embarrassing to say. Here it is: if I get enough people to read this blog, Google will pay me (in money) to keep it up. This may seem like a natural cause and effect to you, but for young writers, being paid to write gives us this odd sensation that we are scamming people. In my writing classes, professors are tirelessly reminding us that they are teaching us how to get paid to write. I imagine this is less of a topic of discussion with accounting majors, who rarely seem to fear that they will end up living in their step-grandparent’s basement because they won’t be able to support themselves from the compulsive 2 AM budget balancing that they do by candle light in a cat hair covered Snuggie. So every time one of you adds yourself as a “follower” on the right hand side bar of my website, I feel like Jesus did every time he recruited another disciple: overall excited about my extended ability to do good in the world, but initially just shocked that I could con another sucker into buying this thing.

Therefore, I must blog more. By resolving to provide you with more thought-provoking and entertaining posts, I am increasing the chances that someone will want to advertise hand-carved, polished, stone beads on the sidebar of Three Squares blog. I can just imagine myself, hands trembling as I open my first envelope from the internet/money people. My eyes will widen, and then a sly smile will curl up on my face as I shove that $10 check in the face of my tuition bills.

2. Send myself out to play more.

There are two types of memories: ones that you remember and ones that you forget. Over the course of this past fall semester, I have forgotten most of my essay writing memories, and my tv watching memories, and my working at the gym memories. The stuff I do remember tends to be activities that were more daring, spontaneous, and just plain different than what I usually do. I remember dance parties, the photoshoot in Scott’s hats, the night we played Queens, the night me and Trevor worked on the France puzzle for like 5 hours and finished it, the one night of the semester Allyson and I did crunches, Fakesgiving, the fire out at Ian’s Bear Grylls-inspired shelter, and the World’s Tallest Filing Cabinet *.

The reason I bring this up is because those nights – the ones I remember most –weren’t necessarily more fun than staying in and watching Say Yes to the Dress, but they do have a story behind them, which automatically makes them better memories. Going on an adventure -- especially if it’s freezing cold, late at night, and a little dangerous – puts you in an exclusive club. Only you and who ever you were with can claim to have done what you did, even if it seems more fun in retrospect than it really was. Our stories belong to us. And that’s what the value of a life comes down to, isn’t it? The great and terrible things we remember doing. I figure if I’m going to do something in 2010, it might as well be something I remember. That’s why I’m resolving to try new things, do old things that I know are good for me, and send myself out to play more often.

I realize my list only has two items on it, but I figure I might as well do a super job on two resolutions than do an okay job on many. If I set too many goals, I’ll probably just get overwhelmed and not start anything, anyways. Plus, it’s 2 AM and I’m getting over-heated in my Snuggie. Happy New Year to all and make it a good one.

* The World’s Tallest Filing cabinet resides in Burlington, VT. If you would like to know what it looks like, picture a rusty filing cabinet with all the drawer handles broken off in the middle of a barren field/abandoned lot. Now vertically multiply the filing cabinet by 15. That’s more or less how it is, but I encourage you to go have a look for yourself.

Store Bought: Part 13

2009-12-18T15:45:00.001-08:00

When Judy died, she branded her initials, JDP, in swirly blue letters on everyone who remembers her. And with that one dramatic stamp, we each became her. Everything that we loved about her – how she knew when to laugh at herself, how she could choose the perfect shade of paint for a room, how she let people enjoy each other’s company by giving them a big kitchen table and a bag of M&Ms – became our tradition to keep. And we have. For every medium regular coffee, and bunch of yellow roses, and puff of Chanel No. 5 in which we have indulged to make Judy sensory and tangible again, there has been another time that we have scheduled election day into our calendars, had the courage to be no-nonsense about an issue, and decided to turn up the radio and sing when it’s midnight and we’ve got seventy five more miles to go. Those are what make us whole again. The products are our comfort, but her character is our salvation.

Store Bought: Part 12

2009-12-18T15:44:00.001-08:00

Our brands do not define our legacies, but they do fill them out and give them shape, which is why what we buy says so much about who we are. I am satisfied that my history will include TJ Maxx, Prismacolor colored pencils, and the pancake recipe on page 126 of the Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook. They aren’t particularly luxurious items, but they make me truly happy, which is a rare quality in the products that I use.

Store Bought: Part 11

2009-12-18T15:43:00.002-08:00

Gaudiness, tackiness, or impracticality has no relevance when you sort out someone’s house after the funeral. Everything from their diamond rings to the Cream of Wheat in their pantry can be an heirloom. Their personality becomes an heirloom as well. They will always be the person who ate toast with jam for breakfast, and was not afraid to buy herself diamonds, and stubbornly asserted that everyone should have a nice, neutral suit in their closet because they don’t want to have to be rushing out to Filene’s Basement at the last moment to get one. Death is an opportunity to accept this. Even if you consider yourself a humble and non-material person, wearing a gold ring that has the pull of ten diamonds at your finger keeps reminding you, “This is your mother’s. Make her proud.”

We don’t need Chanel No. 5 and Tiffany’s to remember who Judy was. We love them because they were her indulgences, and therefore ours. What we really need are the memories of her that we are surprised to find in each other.

Store Bought: Part 10

2009-12-18T15:43:00.001-08:00

In high school, we talked about middle school. I went to St. Augustine Catholic School, where gym class was held in the carpeted basement off of the girls’ bathroom. Our sixth grade English teacher wore flamingo-print shirts and spent a week’s worth of class time showing us slides from her vacation in Alaska. The cafeteria served baked bologna. These stories speckled our high school lunch tables and bus trips to Mt. Blue for cross-country meets.

In college, nobody else has ever heard of baked bologna, so we have to talk about the only things we have common: TV, video games, and cereal. Everyone at college remembers Legends of the Hidden Temple, Mario Kart, and Count Chocula cereal. Except me. I remember Zoom, Klutz books, and Berry Berry Kix. Consequently, during these conversations, I usually direct my attention back to the television or think about what I should make for dinner, because there’s no use in trying to change the subject. A conversation about childhood nostalgia is a freight train. Every detail reminds someone of something else, so the conversation picks up momentum quickly, and pretty soon if any non-video-game-playing pansy who doesn’t know a single Hanson song steps in the way of it, she’s going to get squashed.

People are passionate about their childhood products. Walk into a room filled with children of the 90s and shout, “I hate Spice World! Nerf guns are for losers!” You’ll quickly find that you have just made a lot of enemies. The interesting part of this phenomenon is that the crappier the products were the more protective people are of them. Think of pogs and wax lips and Sabrina the Teenage Witch. They are all intensely stupid, and that’s what makes them so popular. It’s instinct for us to stick up for our childhood products, because those are our personal histories. If you tell someone that the TV show they spent 500 hours of their childhood watching is dumb, you are insulting 500 hours of their existence. Nobody ever remembers that for 465 of those hours that they watched TV it was because they were bored and no one would play UNO or basketball with them. People remember the time they were watching the show with their brother and he laughed so hard that Sprite squirted out of his nose. They remember that snow day when they came in from epic fort–making and watched the show while they drank hot chocolate and felt their toes tingle back to life.

It’s impossible not to be biased about our childhood products because they are our personal histories. Nobody else will ever understand as precisely well as I do how wonderfully purple my milk turns when I eat Berry Berry Kix. However, this nostalgic bias can create new bonds between people as well. Every girl with the memory of buying her first Backstreet Boys CD and listening to it on repeat for all of sixth grade will appreciate every other girl that hums, “you are (beat, beat) my fiiiiii--rrrrre” while flipping through the sale rack at the mall. Other times, our biases give us baked bologna, which our new friends will never understand, but which will always bond the graduates of St. Augustine Catholic School in a way that no other food could have. When television shows and salted, baked lunchmeats become our legacy, we must extract the best parts from them to claim as ours – their humor, their back-stories, and their familiar disasters.

Store Bought: Part 9

2009-12-18T15:42:00.001-08:00

I remember that week in Belmont as stained peach and yellow and soft orange. The walls of the guest bedroom where Judy had moved were the color of a strawberry banana smoothie. The leaves outside were fiery yellow, red, and orange. People had pumpkins on their front porches, except us. The new comforter was goldish brown with autumn-colored smudges all over. The cancer had made Judy’s skin jaundiced. Yellow roses were Judy’s favorite, and even though it was late in the season, we noticed one blooming in her garden after the funeral.

Judy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on October 16^th, and she died less than a month later on November 4^th. I was 12 years old. A few weeks before, she had asked my mom to take her shopping at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. She wanted a new comforter.

It is a testament to my grandmother that I feel comfortable calling her by her first name. My sister, Rebecca, my brother, Josh, and I were the oldest grandchildren by a decade. Judy was too classy to be the “Grammie” type of grandmother back then. The three of us still feel smug that we were the only “Judy” grandchildren.

During the weeks before and after her death, every time someone came in the house in Belmont, they were carrying at least one of three things: chocolate Halloween miniatures, a tray of four medium regulars from Dunkin Donuts, or a CVS bag of prescriptions.

For months after she died, there were still calls to the house asking if she’d like to picket for so-and-so issue for the Democratic Party.

I think I was about seven years old when Judy decided to have the kitchen remodeled. They took out a wall and expanded it into where the other living room used to be. Judy decided on chestnut-colored cabinets and a granite-top island in the middle. There were hardwood floors and a big table with leafs that could be added on for Thanksgiving.

Judy and Baba had the biggest bed I had ever seen. When we visited, I would go into their room in the morning and climb onto the vast mattress with the old blue and white comforter. Baba read the newspaper. Judy wore those pink silk pants and button shirt pajamas that people had in the movies. She bought me a pair to match.

Judy came into the living room where I was playing Barbies behind the couch one morning and I said, “What’cha up to, Judy-ba-doo-di?”

I loved visiting Judy and Baba’s house because there were different Barbies to play with and a dozen aunts and uncles patient enough to play with me. Once, Judy tried to take an old suitcase and line it with fabric for a Barbie box. She stapled all the material in and realized too late that she had also stapled the suitcase to the table. My dad told that story at her wake and we all laughed with red eyes and tight throats.

Judy surprised me with a giant shopping bag full of new clothes one spring. There was a green and yellow stripe FUBU shirt in there and neither of us knew that FUBU meant For Us, By Us. I proudly wore it around the streets of Boston.

There was also a spring dress in the bag. It was yellow with a band that tied around the waist. There were three daisy appliqués on the front of the waist ribbon that I will never forget. I hated them. When my mom made me wear the dress to my piano recital, I announced on the way that I wished a bolt of lightning would come and singe the daisies off of my dress.

The day after my 9^th birthday party, mom and I drove to Belmont, and on the way there I discovered hives on my face and belly and arms. I made reports up to my mom in the front seat along the way. Judy was a nurse and Baba, a doctor, so I was under close supervision for the whole weekend. When I came down for breakfast in the morning, Judy would inspect me, but she knew to be discreet. I didn’t want the whole family to see my speckled stomach, or worse, my pink cotton bra.

Anyone who knew Judy could tell you that she wore Chanel No. 5. She was the only person I ever knew to own a real fur coat, too, though I never saw her actually wear it. On holidays at Judy and Baba’s house, we used china plates and Waterford crystal.

I wasn’t born yet when she worked there, but my mom told me that she was a pediatric nurse at Boston City Hospital. Many of the patients she worked with were HIV positive.

Judy loved show tunes and she was determined that we, too, would know the classics. By the time I was seven, I could sing along to “Mein Heir,” “Two Ladies,” and “Don’t Tell Mama,” some of my favorites from our soundtrack of Cabaret.

In my dad’s barn, there is a framed photo of Judy in nylons and a skirt, sitting on Josh’s red Honda 100 dirtbike.

Store Bought: Part 8

2009-12-18T15:40:00.002-08:00

No matter what my age, I will defend Barbies against any feminist with good, (but ill-directed) intentions to eliminate the plastic – and yes, generously proportioned – women whom I have loved since my childhood.

People say that Mattel is demeaning women by selling chesty dolls in skimpy suits. The truth is that Barbie-haters are not taking the time to get to know the young women who they are ruthlessly tearing down. The Barbies I grew up with were much more than long legs and a head full of air. My Barbies were scuba divers. They camped out in pillow caves on my couch. They opened their own shoe shops, complete with Lego display cases. They willingly wore the outfits that I made out of tissues and tape without a flinch in their uni-tooth smiles.

I say, if a girl can go camping in stilettos and her salsa dancing dress, more power to her!

Store Bought: Part 7

2009-12-18T15:40:00.001-08:00

Belmont, Massachusetts was the magical land of stuff that I visited twice a month for the entirety of my childhood. It was the land of Chinese take-out, of Macy’s, of tickets to the Omni Theater, the planetarium, the movies, STOMP, Blue Man Group, the Museum of Fine Arts, and Boston Duck Tours. Everything could be done with the help of money in Boston – even parking. People paid to have their nails painted and their houses cleaned. They called taxis. They went to drive-thrus every day.

Belmont was where my grandparents lived and spoiled us rotten. One Christmas at their house, my brother burst into tears and announced, “I DON’T WANT TO OPEN ANY MORE PRESENTS!” It was Baba who funded my sticker collection and my connect-the dots-book collection and my jungle-themed stuffed animals collection. Judy would buy outfits for the three of us, and then, to our ungrateful dismay, pose us for pictures in the garden.

The Belmont house was fascinating to me. I would shift from room to room, holding cockle shells in my hand, admiring the china cabinet, running my fingers down the spines of books. There were four bathrooms, a baby grand piano, and bookshelves filled with CDs.

Besides my grandparents, the greater Boston area was also overflowing with aunts and uncles and great aunts and great uncles who would slip me ten dollar bills when they stopped by the Belmont house to visit. I would always save my money for weeks and then ultimately end up spending it on one of two things: Klutz art books from Barnes and Noble, or more art supplies at Michael’s Crafts.

Belmont became my other life. The one my friends didn’t know about or understand. The one that made me giddily impatient during the three-hour drive there. It was my glamorous life. The money fascinated me. I loved the shock of seeing the things people would pay money for in Boston. I don’t remember wanting to buy things with my own money while I was there. It was thrilling enough to watch other people shop and tip and order delivery. The lifestyle seemed foreign, but natural and lovable.

Store Bought: Part 6

2009-12-18T15:39:00.001-08:00

My dad taught us that you don’t buy anything that you already have. When my parents purchased our house, there was no plumbing, just an outhouse in the backyard. My dad used the boards from the outhouse walls as wainscoting in the new, real bathroom that he made for us which has plumbing and electricity.

My dad taught us that you don’t buy anything you can make for yourself. A few winters ago, he asked to borrow my sewing machine and spent a weekend cutting and stitching together new fabric for his snowmobile seat. It didn’t look like a craft project when he was done with it, either. It was sleek and professional. Dad taught us that you don’t throw away something you can reuse. When the old movie theater in town was being demolished, my dad went and found old wrought iron railings that were going to be thrown out. They now adorn our staircase.

He taught us that you don’t buy something new that is just as good used. Our kitchen stove was made in 1917. It’s the kind that’s pearly white, and has long sleek legs, because the oven and stove are side by side. No one had thought to stack them yet.

He taught us that you don’t throw things out if you can fix them. My dad bought his snowmobile suit the year I was born for fifty cents at a yard sale. He still wears it, and every few weeks during the winter, he sits on the couch with a sewing needle, dental floss as thread, and patches the knees or the pockets or the zipper.

My dad has systems for cutting wood, stacking wood, and storing wood. Every year he makes new plans and sometimes draws little sketches in his notebook of how he will stack the wood this year so that we can fit enough in our garage to last us from the end of September though the beginning of May. Last year we didn’t have to turn on the thermostat for the oil furnace once, because we were able to keep the woodstove burning all winter long. My dad taught us that you don’t buy stuff you don’t need.

As a kid, these were difficult concepts to accept. New stuff is exciting. Did you know that other families have linoleum floors? In other houses, there’s a window on the oven door, and you can see dinner cooking without even opening it. Have you ever seen a movie on a big screen TV? It’s amazing.

As a young adult with a budget, though, it’s convenient to have grown up with a “cheap, cheap man,” as my brother, Josh, used to call him. There are so many things that people think they need – or want to need. Like anyone, I covet the unnecessaries – trendy nail polish, cell phones with lots of tiny buttons, cell phones with no buttons, and limited edition ice cream – but it’s more comforting than inconvenient to know that I will never be a victim of stuff.

Store Bought: Part 5

2009-12-06T10:45:00.002-08:00

Check in later for more Store Bought posts.

Store Bought: Part 4

2009-12-06T10:45:00.001-08:00

For us, Judy’s death was like one of those scenes when a guy walks through a door, looks down, and realizes there’s no floor and he’s just stepped off the edge of a cliff. None of us saw it coming and afterwards we realized that everything that we thought was normal and reliable about our lives was not.

Store Bought: Part 3

2009-12-06T10:43:00.000-08:00

In my family, you were not allowed to open your toy until you finished your Happy Meal. Not that I ate Happy Meals very often. I bet I’ve eaten less than fifteen of them in my life. I’ve eaten enough, though, to remember that after you eat your french fries, your fingers get all greasy and it’s difficult to pry the plastic packaging open to get your miniature Barbie out. I remember the excitement of holding a warm bag of salty food on my lap on the way home from one of Rebecca’s hockey games. I remember sitting at the McDonald’s in Gardiner, Maine, with my Dad, dipping greasy nuggets into sweet and sour sauce and thinking that I was experiencing fine dining.

Around eleven or twelve – the prime age to switch from Happy Meals to Number Five Meals with soda instead of milk, and cardboard, not paper packages for fries – I stopped eating fast food almost entirely. I’m not sure why it happened. Maybe once my sister went off to college we spent less time on the road. Maybe I had learned to pack my own dinners by then. Maybe once I started running track my body craved more wholesome food. Maybe I was finally old enough to sit through the entire three hour trip to Belmont, Massachusetts to visit my grandparents a few times a month without needing to stop at the Kennebunk rest stop on I-95. Most likely it was a combination of all these things. It wasn’t a sudden decision on my part to protest fast food. It just happened.

During the fall of my sophomore year at Cony High School I was in cross country, jazz band, jazz combo, pep band, symphonic band, and piano lessons. Eating at the Bangor Street McDonald’s became a necessity some days, but I was surprised to find that I wasn’t hungry for Number Five Meals. I didn’t particularly want anything on the menu, except, perhaps, a Happy Meal. My memories of them endured, and I can truthfully admit that they were happy meals.

I didn’t get Happy Meals anymore, though. Usually I bought the Fruit and Walnut Salad. It wasn’t particularly good, but it at least didn’t make me queasy to look at like the burgers did. McDonald’s had slipped out of my identity. When I walked in, I no longer saw la vie en rose. I saw dusty corners and plastic forks in plastic wrappers. I saw a line that stood between me and symphonic band in fifteen minutes. And when I saw it like this – all naked and splotchy – I couldn’t defend it. I couldn’t convince myself that yellow-green pickles and moist hamburger buns tasted good.

Store Bought: Part 2

2009-12-06T10:41:00.000-08:00

When somebody dies, the first thing you do is think about walking in their front door and seeing them look up from the magazine they are reading on the couch. You drop your keys on the counter and give them a quick hug. Then you think about how you can never, never do that ever again. Even if there is a God and you both somehow end up in heaven, you think about how it couldn’t possibly be as good as being able to see them in real life, with their worn in skin and marble eyes.

What you realize much later after someone dies is that the person will be gone forever, but the front door and the magazine and the keys are still there. Home & Garden will be what heals you. You’ll see it on the coffee table while everyone is clearing away plates and cups after the post-funeral brunch. For a few minutes, you’ll settle on the couch and flip through the pages. You’ll stroke the creases in the pages and fall into the advertisements for cabinet stains and luxury vacuum cleaners. An article about raised-bed gardens will catch your attention and a photograph of them will make your vision all blurry. Now every time you see Home & Garden, it’s like a squeeze on your hand.

Store Bought: Part I

2009-12-06T10:27:00.000-08:00

For the last few months I have been working on a memoir called Store Bought, about how products can become heirlooms and what the limitations of comfort are in commercialism. The piece will be posted in sections, so keep in mind that to read the sections in order, you must read the oldest ones first.

Newsflash: There’s More Than One Way to Get News

2009-11-16T21:01:00.000-08:00

The last time I watched the news voluntarily for more than two minutes was the 2008 presidential elections. The time before was that was the 2004 elections, I think. I try to read the New York Times more often, but that endeavor usually turns out to be as successful as my sporadic flossing regimens. To be honest, I usually find traditional news simultaneously boring and overwhelming. There are a few sources that do keep me in the loop, though. This American Life and The Daily Show are my two regular media fixes that I can enjoy while keeping track of the world outside my window.

1. If you’ve never listened to This American Life on public radio before, you’ll think it sounds stupid when I say that I was stirring my boiling macaroni in captivated suspense this afternoon while I listened to a story about a man trying to produce a puppy channel on TV and why guys like Rupert Madoff rejected the idea. Without encountering This American Life before, you couldn’t understand how this weekly radio show breaks apart the folklore of American life – faith, disaster, love, entrepreneurship, history, and epiphany – and separates it into the tiny, personal stories that created these mega-themes. This American Life is not a news show. However, it does spend a lot of time explaining American trends and culture that I hadn’t understood before listening. For me, the one hour show is the opportunity to reflect about the unique and sometimes absurd directions people's lives can take them and consider the route that I am taking. Download a podcast of the show for free from itunes and check out their site at thisamericanlife.org.

2. Okay – it’s not a real news program. Real news doesn’t make poop jokes or have nearly as diverse a team of reporters. However, despite the fact that The Daily Show is intended to be entertainment, you still get more truth per minute (tpm) than you would from watching FOX and you can catch quick highlights of the day’s events without having to pretend that you are a current events/world affairs expert. Of course, The Colbert Report is another legitimate fake news option if a faux depiction of right-wing conservative republicans is what you are after, but I still find Jon Stewart’s satire a more daring attempt to unveil the biased, misleading, and self-serving beast that American news media has become.

Traditional TV news is just not right for me, and for all I know, my methods might not be right for you. However, I do think that keeping up with the news is important, and should not be painful to injest. If you need a new method, try reading blogs; checking out local newspapers (which are usually much thinner/quicker to read than The Globe); or reading newsmagazines like Time, which give more in-depth stories once a week, rather than brief stories every day. Be realistic while you’re looking at your options; if the source bores you on the first day, you’re not going to be able to force yourself through it week after week, so don’t waste your time.

Even though keeping up with the news seems geeky, it provides many useful skills, like being able to relate history to current events in essays for class, and being better at shouting out answers while watching Jeopardy, not to mention molding you into an informed and engaged citizen. Once you find a good source, it can be easy to do thoughtful, interesting, and intellectual activities all on your own!

Playing Tricks on Yourself ... in a Good Way

2009-11-08T06:44:00.000-08:00

Those looming essays – “How the Invention of the Barometer Effected Modern Society,” “Political Trends that Impacted the Renaissance Movement” – always tend to pile up at the back of your head, building intensity until the night before they are due, and then KABOOM! You remember you have to do them. You freak out. You try to start, but you can’t concentrate. You panic. You finally resign yourself to doing it. You take a late dinner break. You crank out a conclusion in the morning and when you pass it in, you feel like you are getting rid of a slimy piece of uncooked animal fat that has been rolled out and stapled to a works cited page.

Procrastination.

Everyone puts off work at some point, but the problem with procrastination is that it can be stressful and it can take all the enjoyment of a task that isn’t even that bad. The truth is that writing essays (or cleaning the bathroom, or balancing your checkbook) can be boring, hard work, but it doesn’t have to be the terrible beast that you’ve imagined.

The most common thing that people do to make their homework less enjoyable is to go at it unprepared. You wouldn’t decide to go out for a 5-mile run, stand up, and run out the door in your jeans and socks, holding a mug of tea. So why would you torture yourself with spontaneous homework? Instead, try coming up with a brief ritual to get yourself warmed up. You might already do a few things naturally, but take some time to think about what you need. I know that I don’t like to start my work until after I’ve, got 1) a mechanical pencil, 2) a comfortable chair 3) a snack 4) my books and computer within reach and 5) a snack. What is it that you need? A 15-minute walk? A cup of juice? Some Mozart? Pamper yourself before you get started, and hopefully you’ll find that it’s easier to concentrate when you have already taken care of all your needs.

Another reason that people procrastinate is because the project that they have before them seems so huge and intense that they are afraid of getting started. This, of course, is an illogical way of looking at a problem, but everybody does it at some point. One way to solve this is to coax yourself into getting started. Gather everything you need for a project and get to work, but only for 30 minutes. Time it. It will be much easier to concentrate without stressing when you know you only have to work for half an hour. And once you’ve gotten started, it will be less painful to get to work on it again tomorrow.

The final piece of anti-procrastination advice I have is this: get excited, even if you have to force yourself. Homework is much easier to do if you enjoy it, so when you have to work on something that doesn’t seem interesting, MAKE IT INTERESTING. Think of a creative way to present your information; choose an essay topic that you are passionate about; bring your own hobbies and interests into a topic that you find boring; and most importantly: be open minded. Usually assignments don’t turn out to be as bad as we imagine them, so stop worrying and start writing.

A Conversation about Talking

2009-10-20T15:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Allyson and I were talking about how people complain so much. Our conversation began when we were getting on the bus for our 10-minute ride home and by the time we unlocked our apartment door and threw our stuff on the kitchen table, we had come to three conclusions. 1. The art of complaining is a mastery of clichés. 2. Complaining is the easiest way to murder conversation. 3. Complaining involves generous amounts of lying. That wasn’t exactly how we said it, but in essence, that was what we decided. Let me explain.

1. Clichés: Read Facebook statuses to become acquainted with America's most beloved complaints. “Tired”, “lame,” and my personal favorite/least favorite, “FML - fuck my life” are a good place to start. Allyson especially enjoys/hates the “if I was in charge of this, it would be so much cooler” scenario. (For example: “Calculus is so lame. There’s obviously no point to the quizzes he gives us. Why don’t we just have one test at the end of the year like a normal class!?”) These phrases are so versatile, that one could easily keep ongoing Facebook statuses going for a year just based around different variations of these 4 complaints. For example: “Had and 8 AM class AND dropped my phone in a gutter today. FML” and “Raining outside. Lame” are both wonderful takes on a few simple pessimism must-haves.

2. Murder: Everyone knows the problem with clichés. The first time you tell your friends a funny story about how bad your day was, and then finish it off with a crisp and satisfactory, “fuck my life,” everyone laughs at your clever use of pop language. The next time you say it they sympathize with you by letting out a kind-hearted, “awwww..”. Once you’ve really begun to over use it, they hurry through the conversation with a distracted, “ya, dude.” After a while you’ll stop getting any reaction at all. This can lead to problem #3 with complaining: you have to make up your story a little to get the amount of reaction from your audience that you deserve.

3. Liar: Aside from embellishment, there’s another type of lying involved in complaints. I’m going to use the word “tired” (as in, “How are you?” “Tired”) for an example. The problem with tired is that it can partially mean that you are literally fatigued or sleepy, but it often has a meaning in context that says much more. “I’m tired” can mean, “I’m bored and don’t want to admit it.” It can mean, “I’m feeling self-conscious about how lame I look right now.” It can mean, “I’m trying to imply that I was up late partying last night.” It can mean, “I think I like you more than you like me, so I’m going to seem distant and uninterested.” Or it can simply mean, “I can’t think of anything to say to you right now, so please go away.” Sometimes it can be tricky to determine which type of tired is being used, but the good news is that actual tiredness is usually quite easy to detect. It typically involves lying down, choosing not to do things that one would normally enjoy, and it can sometimes be followed by some sort of actual resting. (p.s. don’t be fooled by gangsta slouching. This is when someone sits in a chair with their knees apart and their arms all strewn and relaxed, so that they look really cool. It is the epitome of faux-tiredness.)

My point here is not to bash pessimists. It is in some people’s nature is to be sulky and I respect that, even if I don’t understand it. What I don’t appreciate is spreading bad-will for no reason, which is why I’m starting an experiment with myself. I recognize that as much as I hate it, I complain too, so my goal is to stop. Before I open my mouth to say something negative I need to think, am I saying this because it is constructive or funny or helpful? Or am I saying it because I want sympathy, or I just can’t think of anything else to say? Please don’t misinterpret my goals. I don’t think people should stop talking about bad things. We can’t fix what is wrong if we don’t talk about it. What I do think is that many people -- including me -- over indulge in complaining as a way of filling in the blank spaces of our lives with unmemorable little scribbles that prevent us from having to spell out the things that are most important to us, and often, the most difficult to discuss.

Baby with a Credit Card

2009-10-06T20:00:00.000-07:00

The only issues that my roommate and I get really heated about are motorcycles and computers. Neither of us is particularly computer-oriented (though we do check our Facebooks and use word processing quite frequently) and neither of us ever rides a motorcycle. I am Mac and she is PC. She is Harley and I am… anything but Harley. Regardless, we are fanatically passionate about these products. She argues that it’s crazy to spend $1000 on a computer when she only needed to spend $600. I argue that my computer is twice as fast and will last twice as long. Truthfully, though, I didn’t pick my Mac because of its processing speed. That was a factor, of course. But there was something deeper, more instinctual about my decision. Macs are nostalgic for me. I remember playing KidPix and Dark Castle on our old Mac, where you had to choose the “365 color” button on games to make them run better. That is, if they had color. I used iMovie on my dad’s Mac to edit my first movies. I watched my sister head off to college with a blue and white MacBook. I get that comfortable and homey, “fresh from the oven” feeling when I use my laptop that I just don’t get from the PCs at the library.

One could argue, of course, that I am simply more comfortable using the applications on a Mac, but what about the Harley debate? The only time I rode a motorcycle, it was a Honda 50 on the trails behind my house. The activity ended with me haphazardly driving across a small stream, up onto the banking again and stopping about 3 inches from an ash tree on the other side. That was the beginning and end of my motorcycle career. So why the hell do I care that Allyson used to clunk around her high school in a pair of black leather Harley Davidson boots? The origin of my product preference is again from my childhood. My dad and brother and uncles all ride motorcycles and I grew up a victim of endless dinnertime conversations about Gas Gas and KTM and Kawasaki and KDX. Even though I didn’t ride them or know a single thing about them, they became the motorcycles of my childhood. Likewise, Allyson had an uncle in Mosinee, Wisconsin with a Harley shop and she has fond memories of visiting her family there, and doubtless listening to Harley stories just like I heard Honda stories.

These debates got me thinking about other products from my childhood. I started to wonder, “do I really love the products I love? Or do I love that the people I love love them? And is that reason enough to be loyal to a brand?” My fondest retail memories from childhood were Barbie; Cinnamon Toast Crunch; Klutz books; Dunkin Donuts; and Chanel No. 5, which my grandmother was famous for wearing. I remember flipping through Tiffany’s catalogues and picking out my engagement rings with my aunts when I was 7, and now, the Tiffany ring given to me by my mom when I turned 16 is one of my most treasured belongings. My new self-awareness about the products I subconsciously love made me realize how dangerously routine I can be with brand loyalty. I was surprised at how deeply shocked I was when I discovered that my college roommates used margarine, not Land O’Lakes butter. Margarine just seemed wrong. It made me uncomfortable to realize that I was so affected by the margarine that it felt like an ethical issue turning over in my stomach, not an issue of what to spread on my bread.

Even while I write, I still can’t help myself from smiling as I think back to Nerf guns and Double Bubble and dinner at the Olive Garden. Of course, it was what I brought to these products, not the items themselves that make me so nostalgic. If the job of a brand is to make you happy, then clearly all of the above have succeeded. The issue is not that I still consider myself a PBS kid and an American Girl, it’s that the commercial decisions I made in the 3^rd grade are still affecting the products I value the most today.

When I asked Allyson to describe those old Harley boots to me, she couldn’t stop talking about how chunky and horrible they were, but when she finished her description she paused and said, “man, I love those boots.”

What to Wear on Halloween

2009-09-29T19:08:00.000-07:00

In Burlington, Halloween is the biggest holiday of the year. The celebration usually starts the Saturday before October 31^st and continues until the night of September 1^st, which is always filled with tired, stained costumes from its previous nights of being worn. With this in mind it’s easy to see why we college students need to begin pondering our Halloween costume options around the beginning of August. After many thoughtful costume discussions with my roommate, Allyson, I have come up with a set of guidelines for sporting the proper attire on All Hallows Eve.

1. Don’t order a fully made costume from online. It shows that you have no creativity or style, and you will be forced to wear a cheap, 100% polyester outfit that is highly flammable and highly shiny.

2. Don’t spend a lot of money or brag about how much you spent on your costume. Halloween is all about being resourceful and frugal. If you want to blow your paycheck, go celebrate Christmas instead. Usually, clever and inventive costumes made out of items you have in your kitchen drawer are as popular as expensive props bought at a costume store.

3. The best costumes are unexpected and catchy. Everyone has seen pirates and cowboys and hippies and it’s time to move on from these clichés. An easy way to come up with new ideas is to think of very specific things, like a flying squirrel, mayonnaise jar, or a red blood cell. It’s not hard as you think to make these costumes either. For mayonnaise, all you need is a clear laminating sheet to make a label to wrap around your stomach and a mayonnaise jar cover to wear as a hat.

4. Use caution with indecent exposure. Many girls think that the fun part about Halloween is that they get to wear their lingerie out in public. While this may seem fun at first, it’s actually trampy and annoying. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t wear something that you feel good in. I’m saying that sexy for the sake of being slutty automatically becomes immature. A costume that is geeky and fun and happens to be sexy is cool.

5. Incorporate something that you already have as your “base” item for a costume. While it’s fun going to second hand stores to find Halloween apparel, it can be frustrating when you have a specific idea in mind and you can’t find all the parts that fit into it. That’s why it’s a good idea to build a costume off of some weird hat or funny prop that you already have at home.

6. Consider the weather. October nights are cold in Vermont and it’s no fun walking around Burlington with miniskirts and cut off shorts in 40 degree weather, so keep the forecast in mind while you plan.

7. If you’re thinking of doing a group costume, make sure you are working with motivated, reliable people, or keep the idea very simple. Groups are hard to coordinate and take a lot of planning, especially if each person needs a unique and specific outfit. It’s usually best to have a back up idea, in case your crew leaves you hanging.

Thursday is October first, so it’s time to start getting ready if you haven’t planned your outfit yet. Of course, it may end up that you won’t get a burst of creative inspiration for your costume until the night of the 30^th, but even so it’s time to start collecting possibilities and keeping an ongoing Post-it note of your ideas. Happy October to all and best of luck with your costume endeavors!

My Guide to a Busy Lifestyle: Time Machines and Outer Space

2009-09-16T20:02:00.000-07:00

Now that I have embedded myself in a Jenga-dangerous schedule of academic and extra curricular activities this fall, I wake up panicking. Whenever things are busy, I come to my senses every morning with high blood pressure and my teeth clenched, worrying that I’m forgetting the books that I need for class, or that I’ll double book myself for meeting, or that I’ll disappoint someone who will be writing me letters of recommendation someday. Today I found a remedy for that. It came to me during a discussion in Scientific Revolutions, and I scribbled, “wake up on Pluto” in my daily planner so that I wouldn’t forget about it later. It’s a sort of quasi-meditation activity to make me feel better when I am feeling like the Pentagon will implode if I don’t post my online response to the reading questions 3 days before it’s due.

Before you start the process, make sure you have someplace moderately relaxing and where you won’t feel self-conscious for closing your eyes. (Just put your earbuds in and pretend you are sleeping). It’s a good mental exercise to do when you wake up or anytime throughout the day that you find yourself panicking.

First picture yourself on Pluto. Stereotypes work. I’m thinking about cratery purple terrain and frigidness. As soon as you get the feeling of being on Pluto take one giant jump through space and land on Neptune. Then, before your other foot even has time to touch the ground, push off onto Uranus. When you land on Uranus, say the Uranus/Your Anus joke once to yourself, and then skip to Saturn and Jupiter. Dive face first through the asteroid belt and do some sort of cartwheelish gymnastics move over Mars and onto Earth. Just so you know, you landed on Earth in year infinity BC and time is now moving at 5,000 years per second. Before your eyes plants spring up, and then animals, and then dinosaurs. Eventually, you see a caveman inventing a wheel, which rolls into Greeks statues, the renaissance, the Revolutionary War, and BAM it’s you being born. Now your entire life zips before your eyes in exactly one second. Any more time than a second is boring and difficult, so get yourself to the present pronto. Congratulations, you have just traveled through an immense amount of space and time.

Now picture the current set of problems that you have to fix. They should feel small in comparison. If not, keep worrying, because there is probably about to be a nuclear explosion or something extremely monumental about to happen. If your problems do seem more manageable, get to work. And if you can, give all those planets and history a tiny, tiny nudge.

The Road Never Before Traveled

2009-09-08T09:28:00.000-07:00

Anyone who’s taken high school English knows “The Road Less Traveled.” Important choices, Robert Frost, one clear and breezy path, one rooty and dark path, etc. In class, I remember discussing how the easy path makes boring, unchallenged people and the trickier path makes inspired, happier people. Then the bell would ring for my next class and I would continue to be manhandled into a traditional, rule-following, white collar-destined person bound to a diploma, college, marriage, kids, career, retirement, death.

In truth, I am satisfied with the notion of experiencing all of these stages, but I have decided that I need to do it on my own terms. That begins with rethinking everything. There has never been a lifestyle designed to precisely fit my personality, so it would be unfair to my existence to recycle anyone else’s. It is my challenge to create a personal biosphere, and I already have some ideas about where to start. 1. I need a habitat that allows me to be synched with nature. Sunlight should ribbon through my window when I wake up in the morning (unless its cloudy), and I should be able to experience the awesomeness of a forest or a river to chastise me whenever I am feeling too smug about the beauty of my existence. 2. I need the company of someone who I love. We should to be able to support each other without constricting our personal independence. We should never have to be ashamed of how much we love each other, and we should never have to lie when our feelings change. 3. I need to have enough quietness to be able to reflect. Being I writer, I cannot produce anything worth reading without making a discovery about myself. I should have a place and time when I am not bothered by others. 4. I need to be busy with activities that always lead me towards a more meaningful and happy lifestyle. Otherwise, I will fill my life up with unimportant “obligations” that waste the significance of my existence. I should set myself up to make charity, gentleness, and understanding habit, not circumstance.

Now that I have arranged my priorities (which are changing by the second), I am already aiming myself towards a life that I desire, not just one that I can accept. I hope that my life will prove that traditions (even pleasant ones) give people a limited view of their options. I do plan to take a road less traveled, and I expect there to be some rocky ledges and prickly grass in it, but I’m not going to choose a dark path for the sake of having some gloominess in my life. Instead, I want a path that will let me trip and fall in a gross, leafy mud puddle, and know it was totally worth the trouble. That, I am sure, is what will make all the difference.

Dessert for your Health

2009-08-31T11:18:00.000-07:00

It seems like everyone has been ganging up on dessert lately. They’re bad for your body. They’re high in fat. They don’t have any nutritional content. And that’s true if what you’re eating for dessert it chocolate cake and fudge brownie ice cream. Everyone knows that. What I’ve discovered is that dessert can be more that cake, ice cream, and cookies. Of course, I do enjoy some fudge brownie ice cream on occasion, but I’ve also found that most of the time I can settle for a lot less calories and much more nutrition to satisfy my sweet cravings. The most important part of my dessert conversion was simply a habit change. Instead of reaching for the Chunky Monkey as soon as dinner was over, I had to take a bit more time to think about what I really wanted. Not what I thought I wanted.

The first and most important thing to do when picking a dessert is to think about how hungry you are. Do you really want the double scoop ice cream? Or will a single scoop satisfy your need? Next, think about all of your options, not just the obvious ones. Clearly you could have a cookie. But what about dried fruit? Popsicles? (Edy’s coconut pops are my favorite.) How about Stonyfield chocolate yogurt for a taste of organic dairy? Maybe canned pineapple would suit you. Or, if you can’t live with out ice cream, try topping it off with some delicious (and filling) banana slices, walnuts, strawberries, frozen blueberries, or even a handful of granola. Oftentimes I am satisfied with a small bowl of honey nut cheerios or frosted flakes when I’m craving a new flavor in my mouth after eating dinner. This might sound absurd, but sometimes, an orange or an apple might be sweet enough. If you’re craving something in the middle of the day, try some chocolate Graham Crackers instead of a chocolate bar. Once you find some favorites, they will be easy replacements to some of your blacklisted items with some more nutritious alternatives.

Now that I’m in the habit of thinking twice, I find that I don’t really ever feel like having a gigantic piece of cake or a double scoop of ice cream. Suddenly, just enough feels like enough.

A Wardrobe Diet: How to Make Your Favorite Jeans Fit into Your Closet!

2009-08-17T07:55:00.000-07:00

The August heat was so dense in my upstairs bedroom last night that it made me uncomfortable to even look at the cotton sweaters that I was pulling from the depths of my walk-in closet. Despite the temperature, I was able to reduce the amount of clothes and in my closet, dresser, and shelves by 23.4%. I went from an ostentatious 254.5 articles of clothing (and shoes) to a slightly trimmer 195 pieces in a little more than an hour’s worth of spontaneous energy.

I got the idea to sort through my clothes on my way home from Ogunquit, Maine yesterday. I had just bought myself a pair of brown, leather, 60% off boots at the Bass Outlet. If I could have designed a pair of boots to be made for me, they would look just like these babies. The problem was, I felt guilty about even having them. Although they were perfect, I knew it was ridiculous to spend half a week’s worth of pay on a pair of boots when I already have so many clothes and shoes at home. Plus, my goal had been to bring less stuff back to college this year, so why was I buying more? That’s when I got the idea to do a total closet cleansing ritual. Even without boot guilt, I usually drop off a shopping bag’s worth of clothes at Goodwill every 3 months or so, but this was going to be a wardrobe liposuction to tell my great-grandkids about.

I started a chart on the back of a used piece of computer paper to keep track of how much I was ditching. At first, my categories were broad, like “shirts” and “shoes,” but I realized that I needed to narrow my listings because I was losing count. I had to separate my “shirts” category into “tee shirts,” ”sports shirts,” ”tank tops,” and “dress shirts,” which doesn’t even include my separate “sweatshirts” and “sweaters” groups. I also decided to keep track of how much I was donating and throwing away so that I would know exactly how much progress I had made. Here are the numbers:

	Shirts	Skirts	Dresses	Jeans	Pants	Shorts	Sport shirts
Original	23	7	15	4	3	3	25
Toss	4	0	0	0	1	0	2
Donate	2	2	2	0	1	0	2
Keep	17	5	13	4	1	3	21

	Sport shorts/pants	Pairs of socks	Bras	Underwear	Bathing suits	Tank tops	Sweatshirts
Original	11	36.5	13	22	6	18	13
Toss	0	9.5	1	4	1.5	0	0
Donate	1	4	4	0	1.5	3	3
Keep	10	23	8	18	4	15	11

	Sweaters	Dress shirts	Sneakers	Flip flops	Boots	Shoes	PJ pants/ shorts	Belts
Original	10	8	7	6	4	8	4	8
Toss	0	3	0	2	0	0	0	0
Donate	3	0	0	1	0	1	0	3
Keep	7	5	7	3	4	5	4	5

I found these numbers shocking. For a girl who considers herself a minimalist, 13 dresses seem a bit extreme. And even though I only ever wear the same 2 belts over and over again, I still could only part with 3 of my 8. What I found most surprising was that even after getting rid of 19 shirts I could still wear a different top from my closet for 54 days straight (not including dresses)! That’s almost 2 month’s worth of shirts.

I’ve definitely still got some work to do to slim down my closet, but I did make a lot of progress last night. I was able to get rid of 57.5 shoes and clothes combined, 31.5 of which was donated to Goodwill. I also discovered 2 systems that I plan to enforce in my closet. The first is to make trade offs. When I come home from the Gap with 3 new shirts, I need to get rid of 3 old shirts. The second idea addresses the clothes that I always keep but never seem to wear. I had a blue sweater with sleeves that may have been inspired by the elves in Lord of the Rings in my closet for years. I never wore it, but I always thought that an occasion might come up when I would want it. There’s other stuff that I don’t wear, but keep. Shirts with memories. Pants that are nice, but I never seem to notice in my drawer. Instead of keeping them all eternally, I put aside 10 questionable pieces at the beginning of the summer. They stayed in the back of my closet and I didn’t look at them for 4 months. Last night, I took them all out and realized that I didn’t miss a single one. For some reason it was much easier to let go when I knew that I had already lived without them and, for the most part, forgotten about them completely. I recommend these two systems to anybody who, like me, has a morbidly obese wardrobe. It sounds silly, but I felt lighter this morning when I got out of bed. It was like I had been carrying those 57.5 clothes and shoes on my back until today, when I noticed the load was gone.

Even if you don’t have 13 dresses like me, I recommend taking a guillotine to your wardrobe. Get out a pencil and paper and blare the radio. It only took a few extra minutes for me to write down my progress, and it made me more motivated to let stuff go. Knowing that I had 36.5 pairs of socks exactly shamed me into getting rid of some questionable ones. Another piece of advice I have is to not skim anything in the sorting process. Even stuff you wear regularly. Does it have a tear? Armpit stains? Bleach stains? Ditch. Chances are you put it on out of habit, but if you saw it at a store in its current condition you wouldn’t consider wearing it. Not only are you getting rid of stuff you don’t need, you are also refining your style. By trashing the crap you are making sure you will only go out dressed in your best!

How I Made Lasagna in Less than 4 Months

2009-08-15T14:49:00.000-07:00

Before this summer, I knew how to cook pasta of many varieties, fried eggs, and pancakes. I had never experienced the tender crunch of holding a frozen chicken breast or the pleasure of preparing a meal that had the delicious, steaming aroma of all 5 food groups.

What made me nervous about pulling out the chopping knives was that I knew from observation that cooking is an art, not a science. Baking I could handle. I had been carefully sifting, making wells, and mixing until soft peaks form since the 5^th grade. During my first few weeks of cooking lessons I would ask my mom how much olive oil to add, and not turning from her cutting board she would say, “two glugs.” Aside from teaching me her famous recipes for lasagna, stuffed shells, and shepherd’s pie, my mom showed me how to transform my tight-ass baking techniques into “glugs,” “shakes,” and “sprinklings.”

Another bonus was that I was also able to bond with my mom while standing over the simmering pans on our 1917 Hotpoint stove. This eased some of the college-student-home-for-the-summer stress that I was nervous would arise during my first extended stay back home. Instead, we planned meals, went grocery shopping, and experimented with new recipes together. At a quick glace, we could have been mistaken for a Pillsbury Doughboy commercial, both happily grasping our wooden spoons, laughing at spilled batter, and voluntarily poking at that strange, pudgy, and completely white little man dancing around our kitchen table.

As a dessert to a successful summer, my mom and I went to see Julie and Julia together on its opening night. Being a new blogger and chef-in-training, I was enthralled by a blogging and cooking-themed film. Meryl Streep gave, as always, a show-stealing performance that made me leave the theater hungry, and brewing some great ideas.

If you’ve been thinking of giving the old meat cleaver a go, first take your mom out for a date to see Julie and Julia and get inspired to make your first lasagna. You’ll learn the basics faster than you think and you’ll have a skill that is perfect for staying healthy, saving money, and impressing a date.

Recipe for Rachel’s Mom’s Lasagna

Lasagna Pasta

2 eggs

1 cup grated cheese

1 package ground beef or ground turkey

1 container Ricotta cheese

Half an onion

Tomato sauce

1. First cook the pasta and begin browning the ground beef on the stove. Chop up the onion and add it to the meat.

2. While the pasta and ground meat are cooking, mix together the 2 eggs, ricotta cheese, and grated cheese.

3. After straining the cooked pasta, you can begin assembling the lasagna in a large glass pan (approx. 8x13x2). Begin with a layer of tomato sauce, then meat, then pasta, then cheese mixture and repeat for about 3 layers or until you have used up most of your ingredients (there tends to be leftover pasta). Pour a bit more tomato sauce on top and bake in the oven at 350 degrees for about a half hour or until you see it start to bubble.

so like, what is Three Squares?

2009-08-12T10:25:00.000-07:00

This week I have been sunbathing, eating baked goods, going for scenic runs and taking an excessive amounts of naps in Wilton, ME with 20ishof my Salois relatives for company. The weather has been beautiful and the water warm, so, of course, the only thing that I’ve been lacking is my beloved cable Internet connection. Today, I made a jaunty 20 minute hike to the Wilton Public Library to fulfill my craving with a bit of Wi-Fi. The library is dainty-sized with elaborate woodwork embellishing its walls, making it a petit fours of architecture and the perfect place to get back to the blog that I have been missing. Really missing. I don’t want to seem clingy because I know it’s only been 5 posts, but I think I’m starting to fall in love with Three Squares. I started it as a project to keep my writing sharp over the summer and also start a portfolio of pieces that would make me irresistible to future employers. Already it’s become more. Three Squares has been the fuse to an explosion of ideas. It seems like an obvious concept, but I’ve realized that what I really, really want to write is words that make people understand their responsibilities to the world and to themselves. I’m not a self-help writer. I don’t want a photograph of myself on the cover of a book and blocky red letters that say, “A BETTER YOU!”. My purpose now is to become a writer who can articulate meditated ideas in entertaining and approachable ways. I have a goal is to change the world with a mosaic of lifestyle tweaks. I hope you will keep reading as I pick my way through words until I find exactly what I want to say.

Being Prepared in Matters of Life and Death

2009-07-31T14:25:00.000-07:00

When I die, I want to be composted. Undoubtedly, I will stink and begin to look disheveled briefly after my departure, so please cover me with corn husks and potato peels until I am in a more appealing state. (i.e. dirt.) When then time is right, put me in a terra cotta planter with an apple seed and a bit of water. After I’ve outgrown my pot, plant me in a sunny, convenient spot.

This statement may be premature, since I have death scheduled into the “ripe old age” department of my daily planner, but I want to make my intentions clear because I find caskets to be the creepiest overpriced thing you could buy.

I got the idea for sending my corpse out with the moldy leftovers when I read Stiff by Mary Roach. Though its title may leave you feeling flustered about the novel’s content, I assure you that this book gives an educated, thorough, and humorous account of human corpses throughout the ages and our persistent quandary of what to do with them. Before reading this book, I tended to be squeamish about anything to do with blood and gore. CSI Miami was my limit. I won't say that Roach made me want to sign up for medical school, but reading her novel made me feel more comfortable with the countless disgusting things that are occurring beneath my skin right now. The book reads similarly to a Bryson novel, because it is a delectable parfait of historical fact and personal experience. Roach does spend some up close and personal time with cadavers and gives some graphic descriptions of what happens to bodies after death. Not only is this a thought-provoking summer read, it’s also a great book to leave on the coffee table as a conversation starter at a dinner party.

Although cadavers may seem like a morbid sort of conversation, mortality and death can usually spur some interesting and unexpected ideas from people who you think you know well. My new favorite question to ask people is what their last meal would be. A last meal is much more personal than a favorite meal. A favorite meal might be spaghetti and meatballs. A last meal requires more thought and questioning. For example, do you want the last pasta you taste to be spaghetti or fettuccini? Should there be peppers in the sauce? Is there garlic bread on the side? Do you want your dying breath to taste like garlic? Calories no longer matter. Neither do allergies or nutritional content. A person’s last meal reveals something about him. Whether he finds comfort in carbs, protein, or dairy. Whether it is his mother’s banana bread or Wendy’s milkshakes that make him feel nostalgic. It reveals his passions and weaknesses. His fondest memories and his legacy. As horribly simple and unmistakable as it is, we are what we eat.

My last meal would begin with a tall glass of ice water; 4 sliced cucumbers with Kraft Italian dressing; and red, seedless grapes. The next course would be seafood Alfredo. (Pasta would be mini shell shape.) There would be shrimp, crab, scallops, and lobster meat, as well as zucchini, finely chopped broccoli, and carrots tossed with Alfredo sauce. There would be a small handful of Parmesan cheese sprinkled on it. My dessert would be key lime pie with graham cracker crust and a tuft of whipped cream on top. There would also be a small square of dark chocolate on the side and a pina colada with coconut shavings. I would also like a copy of the Kennebec Journal Life and Leisure section alongside my meal, with extra care that the Anne Lander’s column is included.

I’m curious to know what other people’s last meal would be and I encourage you to use the question whenever you find yourself in a boring or awkward conversation. Push people to refine their answers and change their minds completely as they consider their options. Inventing your last meal is one of the most delightful ways to ponder death. I hope you will post your own last meal as a comment to this story and please look into Mary Roach’s novel, Stiff if you would like to continue to ponder your fate this summer.

What I Did over my Summer Staycation: A Story about 7 Eco-Experiments

2009-07-27T15:31:00.000-07:00

I’m totally into the “green” trend that’s been going on, but I want to do more than wear t-shirts with recycling signs on them, so this summer I experimented with 7 eco-ideas that were easy and cheap to try. Here’s my countdown of the sweetest greens of the season:

7. Goodwill: Let’s face it, Goodwill is not the store to buy favorite jeans or a pair of running shoes. Some of the stuff you and I need just has to be brand new. Other stuff doesn’t. Goodwill is my one-stop shopping for t-shirts that are ironically outdated, Halloween costumes, and sweet 80s-themed accessories. For those of us who appreciate vintage, Goodwill is an oasis of overalls in a desert of maxi-length dresses and gladiator sandals. This summer, I bought a practical and cute sweater at Goodwill for $5 and some dishware for my new apartment that only knocked me back $12. Brand new, the combined cost for my two purchases would have probably been around $50. Donating to Goodwill or shopping there is a rewarding way to recycle, reduce, and reuse, since it helps keep clothes and household goods out of landfills and in the homes of people who need them.

6. Organic Make-Up: I’ve been suspicious of all-natural beauty products ever since I bought an organic face wash at Trader Joes that made my eyes burn and smelled like swamp water. Naturally, this made it difficult for me to part with $10 to buy myself some organic tinted moisturizer at Rite Aid last month, but it was a purchase that I didn’t regret. My new, Organic Wear make-up doesn’t stink and works just as well as other brands that have an ingredient list with a word count that gives the 7^th Harry Potter a run for its money. Sometimes my moisturizer does get liquidy and I have to shake it before using, but I would not say that this minor inconvenience makes me less than a completely satisfied customer.

5. Recycled Toilet Paper: This stuff is certainly not a luxury brand, but it gets the job done at an affordable price. Recycled paper is definitely worth the trees it saves, but like any product that claims to be “recycled,” “organic,” or “all natural” be sure to check the packaging (or online) to see how eco-friendly its claims really are.

4. Cloth Napkins: Cloth napkins are the most colorful way to reduce and reuse this summer. Shop around for some inexpensive ones that match (or clash trendily) with your dining décor. They last for years, take up barely any room in the washing machine, and will make your friends jealous. Who doesn’t want to dine in style?

3. Homemade Bread and Other Delicacies: I didn’t bake it myself, but I got the most delicious bread at my local farmer’s market last week. Not only did the bread travel less than 20 miles from oven to mouth, but it also allowed me to support the friendly, local woman who sold it to me with my $4 purchase from her small business. Our market also had strawberries, radishes, lettuce, organic meat, and a tempting variety of desserts available, so I’m planning to treat myself to a trip to the Augusta farmer’s market every weekend this summer.

2. Best Product of the Summer: When I bought Yes to Carrots face wash a few days ago, I instantly became addicted. It made my skin smoother and softer than any other cleanser I have ever used. Now I can’t wait to get out to Target, Rite Aid, or Walgreens to try some more Yes to Carrots products like their lotion, lip balm, and shampoo. The packaging for these treasures is recyclable and the products contain at least 95% organic ingredients. Yes to Carrots is also not tested on animals, so you can indulge in these vitamin-laden beauty necessities without guilt for about 10 to 15 dollars.

1. Food Inc.: A $6.50 movie pass changed the way I eat when I went to see Food Inc. last night. This is the best horror film/food documentary since Supersize Me came out in 2004. Food Inc. gives a thorough explanation of exactly what we are buying at grocery stores and in restaurants and why our current farming techniques need to change. For example, I learned that since Mickey D’s is the #1 buyer of beef in the U.S., it is up to them (not the farmers) to decide how beef is produced and -- trust me -- it’s not a pretty story. Go to http://www.foodincmovie.com/ to see the trailer and learn more.

If you feel inspired to try out some other green products please comment about them, so that I can decide that I need them. For me, supporting the planet is a worthy excuse to indulge, so I’ll keep you posted about more eco-goodies as I discover them.

Random Acts of Fabric (and Another So-Sew Pun)

2009-07-23T14:57:00.000-07:00

Most people probably don’t have this problem, but I’ve got this near-lethal issue that I love to sew stuff for myself and I hate to get rid of leftover fabric. Near-lethal, of course, for my storage space. I’ve got a bottomless drawer in my bedroom that contains scraps of prom dress, throw pillow, and a wolf costume fabric. Sew these scraps together and what do you get? A hippie bag -- my solution to an overabundance of blue mermaid material from the 1^st grade (and other embarrassingly long relationships I have had with half-yards of cloth). Hippie purses (or hobo bags) are stylish AND practical AND quite roomy inside, which is extremely useful for people who have trouble letting go of things. I am posting the directions on how to make one in case there is anyone out there in the world with the same problem as me. These directions are not precise. I recommend reading over them once and then making up the rest as you go.

1. Cut your fabric as shown above. You will need two circles for the bottom and 4 panels for the sides (liner included). You will also need fabric or wide ribbon for the handle. To give you an idea of the size, my circles had about a 9-inch diameter.

2. Sew the bottom of two panels (the part opposite the notches) to the edge of one circle so that the entire circumference of the circle has been stitched. Now sew the panels to each other, to make the sides of the purse.

3. Repeat step 2 with the other pieces you have cut out to make a liner.

4. Now would be a good time to sew a button or other clasp on the front, if desired.

5. Turn both parts of the purse inside out and stitch the tops together, except for the notches. Those should be left as holes on each side so that a piece of long fabric or ribbon can be inserted to make a handle.

6. Make a handle and put it on. You figure out the details on this one. My handles tend to be an improvisation with whatever scraps I have left.

This project works best if you do NOT use pins, measuring materials, or directions. Work with the shapes of fabric that you have and don’t be too careful -- these bags hide flaws. If the bag comes out good, take it to the beach or out on the town and impress your friends with your sewing skills. If it comes out bad, throw it away -- at least you’ve used up some fabric!

Cooking Something You Already Know How to Cook: Smoothies

2009-07-13T16:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I rediscovered smoothies. I’ve always loved milk, fruit, and yogurt, but I forgot how delicious and surprisingly different they taste together. The inspiration came to me when I found my brother’s unused blender sitting in our garage. Since it’s July, I was able to use fresh, local ingredients like strawberries and blueberries to make my smoothies.

This is the recipe that I used to make a chunky and sweet, classic-tasting smoothie:

A blender (you can find one for under $20)

1 banana (a medium sized banana has fiber and potassium, as well as only 105 calories)

1 small handful of blueberries

5 strawberries, sliced

Approx. ¾ to 1 cup 1% milk (don’t measure, just pour it in)

Approx. ¾ cup yogurt (consider buying a large container if you’re going to make more than one smoothie)

These ingredients made enough to fill one large drinking glass. The recipe has approx. 2 servings of dairy and 2 servings of fruit.

Today, I made another smoothie that I could eat during the winter, when most fresh berries aren’t available. It had two teaspoons peanut butter, one banana, and a cup of milk, which made it more smooth and creamy than the berry one. The peanut butter also added a bit of protein. Both recipes were filling and would be a great breakfast for me to bring along to class in the fall. Another great aspect of smoothies is the cleanup. Everything was mixed in one pitcher, which meant I only had to wash two dishes, including the glass that I drank it from!

Mud for Mental Health

2009-07-12T15:16:00.000-07:00

Running was my salvation this summer. For 21 out of 30 days this June, there was rain in Augusta, ME. Instead of watering our potted plants, we spent the month emptying the rain out of them. Normally, that much gray sky would hurl me into a nasty funk of boredom and crabbiness. I couldn’t lounge on the deck with my books, or eat breakfast in the sunshine, or hang my laundry on the line to dry. Ironically, it was my conviction to embrace the weather (or at least give it an awkward one-arm hug) that prevented me from becoming a werewolf this summer. In May, I had signed up for an Independence Day race, and I was determined to be powerful and fit by the 4th of July. For eight weeks I trained, usually in a steady drizzle.

With sunny weather, getting myself motivated to run is a major daily challenge, so forcing myself to throw on sneakers and shorts in a 54 degree rainstorm took superpowers. It was like deciding to jump into a cold swimming pool five days a week. I wavered at the edge, but once I was outside with socks soaking up the puddles and lines of mud across my calves, I didn’t regret it. Running got rid of the numbness in my butt that came from sitting inside all day. It helped me sleep well at night. It made me hungry for hearty food like baked potatoes, mushrooms and pasta, shepherd’s pie, and my mom’s Dominican rice and beans. Every day, my legs were happily tired and I appreciated the misty air -- cool and delicious, like watermelon.

I’ve been a runner on and off for years and I know that I always feel best when I’m in shape. I was surprised though, at how upbeat being in shape made me during one of the rainiest summers in Maine’s history. If you’re feeling lazy and cranky and are considering trying getting in shape because it sounds kind of (but not really) fun, I URGE YOU TO DO IT. Here’s how it will go:

Day 1: Enter with enthusiasm, but finish first workout with the impending doom of having to repeat something equally difficult from now until eternity.

Day 2: The same, without the initial enthusiasm.

Day 3: The same.

Day 4: A sense of accomplishment.

Day 5: Satisfaction and impeding doom combined.

Week 2: The beginning of a slow realization that you can only think about one workout at a time. Running forces you to start focusing on the “now” because it’s too tiring to think about the future.

It took me a long time to come to terms with being a runner. It’s a backwards sport, because I enjoy it most when I’m not actually running. It was my 5k goal that kept me motivated to run five days a week. I envisioned myself smug and exhausted after whizzing past crowds at my first race of the summer. That’s what kicked me out the door on my grossest, least enthusiastic days. If you’re thinking of starting to run, sign up for a race that’s about eight weeks away. Put it on your calendar with a count down and start training immediately. I hope that by the end of your first or fifth or tenth race, you will learn to love it as I have.