Moment of Clarity: Refuse To Chaperone a Trip to Santa Claus, Indiana

"...at that time I did not know what kind of influence I was going to need."

Wendell Berry "spoke" these words in reference to Wallace Stegner, author and Stanford professor whose subtle, yet inevitably, profound, impact shaped the man, the writer, and the conservationist that Berry has become. In "The Momentum of Clarity," an essay reprinted in Imagination in Place, Stegner's influence is reflected in Berry's masterful, but unassuming, literary style, just as his appreciation for and acknowledgment of "place" is central to Berry's understanding of "a good life" (and of more philosophical concepts of "self," "truth," and "rationality"). If you have a few minutes, I encourage you to read the excerpt below, taken from the part of the essay that I find most thought-provoking and in some sense, inexplicably redeeming (I say "inexplicably" because "redeeming" admittedly seems an odd choice of word for an essay that traces neither moral conflict nor emotional catharsis; it nonetheless seems an accurate descriptor of what I felt while reading - as someone who has both found significance in retrospect and who has become unacknowledged bits and pieces of people whom I have never thanked, I take comfort in being in the company of Wendell Berry).
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"Though I remain certain in memory and feeling of the impression this Mr. Stegner made on me, I have a hard time describing it, perhaps because he was not in any sense a 'type.' He was a fine-looking man of about fifty, gray-haired, courteous, generous, smiling (though perhaps not at something we knew), neatly and even elegantly but never ostentatiously dressed; sometimes; as the class carried on its business of reading and talking, he would smoke meditatively a cigar. He did not seem to be a professor at all, and when he was in it the Jones Room did not seem part of a school. He had, of course, been to school, but one could tell that to a very considerable extent he had not been made by school. He managed somehow to imply that the work and the interest that had brought us together were matters in some respects practical. He did not deal in infallible recipes, or guarantee results. He did not suggest that all our problems were solvable. But there was in his presence and bearing the implication that we could work at our problems, and that we should. I thought, and think still, that he was a good teacher. When I sit at my worktable now I am aware of certain attitudes, hesitations, and insistences that I think are traceable to that seminar thirty-five years ago.

I wish I could say that I then understood him as an influence - that I saw what he was about, or saw how to apply his example to my own life. But the fact is that at that time I did not understand him as an influence, and the reason was that at that time I did not know what kind of influence I was going to need. At that time I wanted only to be a writer; beyond that, I had little self-knowledge, and not an inkling of what I wanted to do or where I wanted to do it. I was living outside my life.

I got back inside my life in 1964 when I returned to my own part of the country. From that time I began a long and still continuing process of understanding Wallace Stegner as an influence, and of being influenced by him. But here again I am embarrassed. As I failed to understand him as an influence when I first knew him, so have I failed to know very exactly how his influence has grown upon me; it has been involved in my life as I have lived it."

-Wendell Berry, "The Momentum of Clarity," in Imagination in Place (2010); originally published as "Wallace Stegner and Influence," in Wallace Stegner: Man & Writer (1996)
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Today I encourage you to think about those people - whether they be teachers, or family members, or random strangers whose acts or words have stuck with you - that have given credence to your passions while skillfully avoiding completely useless sugarcoating; those who have made you more accountable; those who have done wonders by simply acknowledging that sometimes things just suck; those who you would like to think are proud of you and those whom you would be proud to be; those who have simply helped you "get back inside your life."
Forget just "thinking" about them...write them a hand-written letter.:)
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Recipes for Today:
Recipe...to make someone's day:
Send them a handmade recipe box featuring designs, objects, colors, and words that could not possibly look more like them. In short: Be Alexus Tolley.



Recipe...for a good laugh:
Imagine Andy at Holiday World today with 200 8th graders. As of 7:00 am, two kids were already bus sick.

Recipe...for a smile:

Recipe...for 1) giggles; 2) followed by descriptive statements like "those are big"; 3) followed by "this is the best breakfast I've ever had; 4) followed by an unfortunate, but worthwhile, stomach ache:
Join with me in the Cream and Sugar pancake-eating competition that I really do want to plan.

So, Mikey and Mr. T Walk Into a Bar...

I've never been someone who required a lot of sleep. In Kindergarten I would fake a deep slumber during nap time in hopes of procuring a sucker. My exaggerated snores surely fooled Mrs. Beth and Mrs. Maggie. Even after a week of hard core "sallying down the alley," canoeing with/getting stuck in the middle of the lake with Kristi Carter, and enjoying archery to the point that I convinced myself that having my own recurve bow television program might actually be a better career path than truck driver or marine biologist, I returned from 4-H camp bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. In college I could stay out all night [library time was important to me] and be up by 6:30 am raring to go (I made this up to Caroline by 1)inadvertently getting a bowl cut and 2) driving her around Danville in my little blue Ford Ranger blaring NSYNC).

Not much has changed as I near no-longer-in-my-20s years old. Nonetheless, I have been waking up surprisingly early, even for me, over the past few weeks. At first, I attributed this to the obvious: during the spring semester, I had to get up at 4:00 on T/Th in order to make it to UK on time; my body just got accustomed to that schedule. I have decided, however, that perhaps there is more to the story. ...[dramatic pause]

Revised conclusion: I just really love cereal. I have been waking up between 4:45 and 5:15 am for absolutely no rational reason. When I do, however, the happiness that results from the thought of witnessing a calming sunrise (which I do so enjoy) pales in comparison to that inspired by visions of cereal combinations I can put into my favorite deep blue, hand-thrown, ceramic bowl (I reserve the Chilly Willy bowls for ice cream). No joke, I wake up nearly as excited as Leigh and I used to do on Christmas Eve upon hearing the unmistakable sound of reindeer hooves.

I've had a lot on my mind lately and although this sounds silly, I really like the fact that little things like this bring me joy. I hope that you all have things equally unimportant to smile about.:)

So, I choose to spend today honoring neither my mother nor my best friend, but the social good that is Cereal.

Liza's Current Favorites (this changes every so often):
1. Golden Grahams
2. Honey Nut or Multi-Grain Cheerios
3. Ohs
4. Close race - Frosted Flakes or Rice Krispies
5. Trix
6. Quaker Oatmeal Squares

A little impromptu poem:
My eyes brighten when I spot the politically incorrect syrups.
Neither enticingly packaged frozen desserts, nor ripe avocados, can steal my attention.
For the syrup, so stickily alluring, implies breakfast and breakfast implies love,
love in the form of 1/2" X 1/2" squares and circles,
love in completely unnatural colored nuggets,
love promoted by stuttering tigers and impossibly waif rabbits,
love in each of those boxes so magnificently reflected in Aunt Jemima's apron.
Cereal aisle, I am home.

Excerpt from "Breakfast with Gerard Manley Hopkins" by Anthony Brode
Serious over my cereals I broke one breakfast my fast
With something-to-read-searching retinas retrained by print on a packet;
Sprung rhythm sprang, and I found (the mind fact-mining at last)
An influence Father-Hopkins-fathered on the copy-writing racket.

Parenthesis-proud, bracket-bold, happiest with hyphens,
The writers stagger intoxicated by terms, adjective-unsteadied—
Describing in graceless phrases fizzling like soda siphons
All things, crisp, crunchy, malted, tangy, sugared and shredded.

Far too, yes, too early we are urged to be purged, to savour
Salt, malt, and phosphates in English twisted and torn,
As, sparkled and spangled with sugar for a can't-be-resisted flavour,
Come fresh-from-the-oven flakes direct from the heart of the corn.

***

"Cereal" by Shel Silverstein
Rice Krispies stay crisp, though they now and then lisp
As they whisper their “thnap crackle pop” in your bowl,
And though you pour a tall can
Of milk on your ALL Bran,
It never will turn into glop (so I’m told).

I know Shredded Wheat will stay crumbly and neat
Though you soak it a year in the depths of the ocean,
And from breakfast and lunch
Your Post Toasties will crunch
To show you their love and undying devotion.

Oaties stay oaty, and Wheat Chex stay floaty,
And nothing can take the puff out of Puffed Rice.
But I wish they’d invent a cereal for someone
Who like it

All floppy
And drippy
And droppy
And lumpy
And sloppy
And soggy
And gloopy
And gooey
And mushy
And NICE!

***And, a video tribute to my morning delight***
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Despite the fact that I had already had a far-more-than-one-serving-size bowl of a Frosted Flakes/Honey Nut Cheerios concoction, I decided to treat myself (because I had worked so hard watering my tomato plants and feeding my pups) to one of the Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins that I in theory made for the Morgans' vacation drive. And, by the way, I love that when Leigh said, "well, we know the drive [to Destin] will take two days; we're just going to head out and drive as far as we can before Isabella gets too upset about being in the carseat," Lisa Perdue followed with, "Oh, a Celina vacation."

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins
You may have noticed from previous recipes that I really love treats that remind me of fall (by far my favorite season)- scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, pumpkin. Regardless of bias, however, I do think these muffins are quite tasty. I also know that they are much easier than the Pumpkin Scones or Gingerbread Biscotti. If only I had something comparable to Lindsey's Avocado Yummy Scale...

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup granulated white sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3/4 cup solid packed, canned pumpkin puree
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips (I used regular sized, but the mini chips might work better)

Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (177 degrees C). Place rack in the middle of the oven. Line 12 muffin cups with paper liners or spray each cup with a non stick vegetable spray.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, ground spices, and salt.

In the bowl of your electric mixer, or with a hand mixer, cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in the vanilla extract. Then alternately add one-third of the flour mixture and one half of the pumpkin puree, mixing after each addition. Begin and end with the flour mixture. Fold in the chocolate chips.

Fill the muffin cups evenly with the batter using two spoons or an ice cream scoop. Place in the oven and bake for about 18 - 20 minutes, or until firm to the touch and a toothpick inserted in the center of one of the muffins comes out clean. Place on a wire rack to cool.

Makes 12 regular-sized muffins.
Note: The batter can be baked in a 9-inch (23 cm) loaf pan. Butter or spray the loaf pan with a non stick vegetable spray. Bake the loaf in a 350 degree oven for about 50-60 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the loaf comes out clean.

Anti-Intellectualism and An Avocado

People often assume that because one is in a certain profession, they are well-versed on most everything about that topic. So, because I am a history teacher, I occasionally get asked some obscure question about a random historical era or figure and when I respond with "I don't know," get frustrated looks in return. While I'm certain all you teachers understand what I'm talking about, I imagine this phenomena knows no occupational boundary. Many mechanics probably can't tell you what oil filter goes on a 1972 powder blue Ford pinto, nor should nurses be asked to explain why your elbow feels funny.

While we often equate a specialized skill set to vast knowledge of anything that might possibly be connected in a brainstorm web, it seems we also assume passion for all of those outlying concepts and ideas as well. I know for a fact that this is not true. I am working on my PhD in history and have spent the past few years teaching at both the high school and college level. But, big deal, there is a lot about the profession and the subject matter itself that does not interest me in the least. I have no desire to be interviewed for a PBS special; I couldn't care less how many books, if any, I publish; I will never expect acquaintances to call me Dr. Turner; I would rather work at Centre or Berea or a community college close to home than any renowned research university across the country. Most pertinent to this particular blog entry, I hope to never become the kind of historian so entrenched in archives and the dry regurgitation of facts that I forget the importance of thought-provoking and socially relevant ideas. History without analysis intrigues me very little; why produce something that does not inspire questions or make people think?

This stuff is on my mind because I've been (re)reading work by Richard Hofstadter, a former Columbia University history professor, Pulitzer Prize-winning author, and cultural critic whose political leanings were invariably nuanced throughout most his life. As I mentioned in the previous paragraph, there are many historical narratives and styles that make me want to poke my eyeballs out. Hofstadter's work does not. I appreciate the fact that he is an intellectual historian who allows ideas, not archival minutia, to ground both theory and thesis (this is the primary critique of Hofstadter, that he did not rely enough on primary research). Even when I don't necessarily agree with a stance or interpretation, I so enjoy reading his work. It is occasionally biting and irrefutably smart, yet the writing itself is relatively understated and approachable (it seems a good sign when the arguments and wit speak for themselves without need for pretentious presentation).

Hofstadter has been on my mind because I have been trying to put some of the stuff I talk about on here in context of historical scholarship (I'm trying to push myself to write more on the dissertation rather than on Pillowbook). While I don't think it imperative to justify why my community or family makes me happy, I also see the value in occasionally stepping outside of my subjective experience. There just comes a time when tiny eyebrows and dreams of being Beyonce just don't cut it.

In Age of Reform, Hofstadter's 1955 publication that is perhaps his most renowned and influential work, he explains Populism within the context of "the Agrarian Myth." Basically Hofstadter suggests that Populism, the late 1800s political movement associated with agriculture and localized politics, has been evaluated by audiences in rose-colored glasses. His point: the self-sufficient, innocent, yeoman farmer didn't exist in the Gilded Age; instead, Hofstadter warned of putting too much stake in sentimental concepts of republicanism (pick yourself up by your bootstraps type stuff), the democratic potential of the local in wake of industrialization, and of democracy itself.

Hofstadter's argument could be easily applied to modern politics, just as it could to my blog. Occasionally, I think I border on, if not completely embrace, romanticism. I see the local as a bastion of comfort and goodness, but tend to ignore those qualities I would characterize in any other circumstance as narrow-minded and/or regressive. Is there a danger (and if so, what is it) in propagating my own agrarian myth?

With that being said, here's more "Adventures of the Yeoman Farmer" for you:):
When out mowing my yard today, the gentleman who happened to be mowing the Carhartt lot came over and introduced himself. Before asking why I had never grilled hamburgers and hotdogs for he and his coworkers instead of making them eat their bologna sandwiches for lunch (have you all noticed how bologna seems to be a part of many stories?:)), he got to telling about how he used to help my dad on the farm. In fact, he knew "Curtis Lee and Miss Jackie" even when they "were just courting," recalling how he used to drive Mom's blue pinto when she would come down from Glasgow to visit dad for a few days.
This conversation made my day.
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And now, the long-awaited debut of (and the obvious segue way from Hofstadter)...
LINDSEY AND HER AVOCADO
My avocado recipe for today is a pretty traditional use for my favorite fruit - my version of Starbucks Huevos Racheros Wrap. I somehow had myself convinced that statewide testing=trips to Starbucks for Mrs. Devore. This was working out quite well until my SB gift card ran out and I had to choose between my new morning fix (wrap and green tea) or gas in my car. I decided to attempt the wrap at home today. Thanks to my friend Terri, I have a new found love for corn tortillas and decided to use those instead of the whole grain flour used by SB, otherwise I used most of the same ingredients. Cilantro would have been a great addition to this dish (I am strangely fond of this herb and really think you can never add enough to any salsa or Mexican dish).

Lindsey’s Huevos Rachero Mini Wraps
Two eggs, scrambled with salt, pepper and garlic powder
Add shredded cheese, tomatoes with lime juice, diced avocado
Add black beans (optional)

I put the wraps in foil and ate them once I arrived at school. They had time to “steam” in the foil and I think this improved the taste and the texture of the corn tortillas. I had Salsa Verde at school and added this to my dish (I am also strangely fond of salsa verde- “keep pouring it on”).

My wraps were quite different than Starbucks, but satisfying all the same. I give Lindsey’s Huevos Rachero Mini Wraps 4.5 out of 5 avocados on my avocado yummy scale.

I'm Not Bossy, I Just Have Better Ideas

On Friday I mentioned that my grandma likes stuff. Amongst actual antiques, none of us are ever surprised to find giant stuffed rabbits, baskets of seashells, Rhett Butler postcards, pictures of grandkids with significant others who have not in fact been significant others since 1993, Reynolds wrap – not encasing something, just the wrap itself, Christmas garland, or cutlery just nonchalantly hanging out as if there is no other place for it to logically be. This past Christmas, I sat down on the red leather couch in the living room and quickly realized that I had crushed something, possibly the pickle that would be hid in the tree later in the evening (and that Leigh would inevitably win $20 for finding…don't ask) or a small child. A typical segue way here might be “But to my surprise,” however, nothing could be farther from the truth; making complete sense, I stood up and realized that I had sat on a knife handle. A steak knife, not a butter knife. With furrowed brow, a result of curiosity as to what she had been doing with it, not with the fact that a potentially deadly weapon was in the couch, I took it into the kitchen. Grandma, with the laugh that it unmistakably Lois Nunn’s, grinned and said, “Well, there’s my potato peeler."

This is the kind of stuff that makes Grandma’s so incredibly fun though. One literally NEVER knows what is going to happen, what someone is going to say, or what funny little trinkets will be stumbled upon by overworked eyes. Furthermore, all the “stuff” that is so worthy of conversation, good-natured eye rolls, and “collective stare, silence, ‘huh’” is matched only by the absolutely gorgeous assortment of roses so meticulously maintained outside the house and by the laughter and love inside this relatively small brick abode. It just wouldn’t be “Grandmas” if order and time management abounded.
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I say all of this simply because I love my grandparents and want to share them with you all, but also because the inspiration of today’s entry comes from one of the newest decorations in G-ma’s den. Now resting in the pale pink fabric-covered antique chair that Grandma and Granddaddy have owned since they got married (57 years ago) is a navy throw pillow with the invariably wise mantra used in today's title. ...
So, here is me, not being bossy, just having really great ideas:):

1) I’ve mentioned this before, but I want to reiterate (basically because I received
really thoughtful gifts this weekend and need a way to tell you about them): really think about the gifts you give. This weekend Mom handed me a cheery pink and red heart bag (I fuss on her for not recycling so she made a point to say “See, I recycled it from Valentine’s Day”) and inside I found my beloved Birthday Care Bear and a note that said “Dear Liza, I found something that you once cherished. I can still see you with this in your arms.” Mom had found it in her attic and cleaned him up for me. I love it. Perfect Gift #2: Leigh Ann and Isabella sent me a “thank you” letter accompanied by a bag of goodies. First and foremost, the card itself was incredibly meaningful: the outside, beautifully austere and streamlined, the inside, two pages of words that took time and thought – my favorite line: “Isabella and I ‘shopped’ around the house this morning and found a few things that ‘look like you’…and probably a few that don’t, but she thought you’d like the nail polish anyway!” In addition to the nail polishes, the bag contained herb, dip, and drink mixes (see recipe section), soaps, and even a shirt (that I, in fact, have one just like, but in a different color). What wonderful surprises.

2) I mentioned this on facebook, but I think it bears repeating here. If you have a chance, find Love Me If You Dare on DVD. This French film was made in 2004 (I think) and stars Marion Cotillard (who was in last fall’s musical, Nine; scenes from her film Public Enemies were also shot in one of Caroline's old apartments) and Guillaume Canet. I watched it yesterday and fell in love with, yet, still feel unsettled, by it. The cinematography is beautiful, it is well-acted, and there are definitely traditional elements of love story. However, it would be nice to talk to someone about, and think through, the dark humor (which I appreciated, but that turned off some reviewers), and the questions raised about responsibility v. all consuming love.

3) Buy a 12-pack of Clover Valley Diet Cola for $2.50 rather than a 20 oz. Diet Dr. Pepper for $1.70. You all know my affinity for both DDP itself and the convenience store experience, but even I, have finally drawn the line (that cliché doesn’t sound right, but you know what I mean). On Friday, I excitedly placed my soda of choice on the Marathon counter only to realize that it had gone up $.12. “That’s it,” I thought, “No more.” Later that afternoon, I picked up a pack of CVDC at the Dollar Store. It is bad. But, it does alleviate my caffeine cravings a bit and more importantly, it is making soda seem less and less appealing. Before you know it, I may, to my horror, be drinking water for fun.

4) Visit the Tastefully Simple website for tons of ideas on using the spice and dip mixes: http://www.tastefullysimple.com/Cultures/en-US/Recipes/ . Even if you don’t have the Tastefully Simple products, you can still adapt the recipes to things you normally cook with (most of the mixes have basic things like basil, dill, rosemary, seasoned salt, garlic salt, pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar). Here’s one I plan to try tonight (I’ll get back to you with results on Wednesday):

Balsamic Pesto Smothered Chicken
Ingredients
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
Flour
Seasoned Salt
2 servings of Dried Tomato & Garlic Pesto Mix, prepared
1 tsp. oil
1 tomato, chopped
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
Balsamic & Basil Dipping Oil

Directions
Pound out chicken until about 1/2 inch thick and lightly dust with flour. Sauté chicken in oil over medium heat for 2 to 3 minutes per side. Transfer chicken to an oven safe dish; sprinkle with Seasoned Salt to taste. Spread with prepared pesto. Top each chicken breast with chopped tomatoes and cheese. Drizzle lightly with Balsamic & Basil Dipping Oil. Bake at 350° for 25 minutes. Makes 4 servings.

And don't forget, The Adventures of Lindsey and Her Avocado (not sure if that should be italicized or in quotation marks. hmmm.) starts on Wednesday...!:)

Adrienne, Get Your Markers Ready: Presenting Jackie Turner!!!

Some holidays baffle me. I don't wear an American flag shirt on June 14 (but now that I've typed it, I think I will this year just for kicks); I have no desire to be a catholic school girl or naughty nurse on October 31; I know not how to spell Ponksetawny nor really care if the great oracle groundhog sees its shadow; James K. Polk has not once crossed my mind on any President's Day.
Suggestion: This Halloween, if you do choose to dress up, please pair a plaid skirt with a groundhog t-shirt. Stand outside in the sun and watch the shadow of the American flag you are waving.

With that being said, cynics who pretentiously complain that sentimental holidays are nothing more than fabricated, money-generating, ploys geared toward the melodramatic baffle me as well. Are Mother's, Father's, Valentine's, Labor, and Memorial Day made up? Well, sure. Is there a positive correlation between these days and consumerism? Yep. Do they have the potential to spawn indulgent poems and gaudy flower arrangements? Most certainly. But, let's get off our high horses for a minute. While I agree that we should honor and be mindful of those people and those relationships who/that make our lives better everyday, what does it hurt to have a particular 24 hours devoted to them? At the most elemental level, acknowledgment is nice, even if it is unnecessary.

I admit, however, that perhaps I would not embrace these holidays quite so much if I didn't have people in my life so deserving of recognition. As I mentioned in Wednesday's haiku, my father honestly is one of my heroes. I have grown up around people who have worked incredibly hard to provide for their families; sure, Labor Day is a welcomed reprieve from work, but I think it does have a more ethereal value as well. Paying tribute to people whom we have lost seems a healthy sentiment and simply, the "right thing to do." I thus decree these holidays can stay.

As Sunday draws near, however, Mother's Day is obviously the designated holiday on my mind. And, without question, I will spend the day honoring one of the most unselfish, most giving, and most hilarious people I will ever have the honor of knowing (and I say this out of no sense of obligation). Jackie Turner is the one who makes sure everyone else is comfortable before she worries about herself; the maker of the homemade bread that is enjoyed at every family get-together; the entertainer who ensures both a sense of ease and funny conversation among company; the shopper who would let her daughters wear something she just bought, saying, "Oh, when will I ever have a chance to wear it anyway?"; the retired teacher who still inspires stories of "remember when Miss Jackie did a cartwheel?"; the open-minded giver of hugs when I chose/choose paths less traveled; the masterful stater of the obvious who finds a way to still be really, really funny; the dancer from whom I have learned all of my awesome moves AND, the reason why Isabella will be "raising the roof" when her Kindergarten teacher suggests a fun activity; the devoted replier to all emails and forwards and the typist who has decided that "LOL" means "lots of love"; the utterly unselfish wife who, I genuinely believe, has contributed as much to my Dad still being around as the ten years of treatments and surgeries.

I truly feel fortunate to be able to line the pockets of greedy company CEOs on this commercialized, manufactured holiday.
Leigh Ann and Nonna both epitomize all of those qualities and sentiments Sunday should honor. I have the cutest parents in the world. And just FYI, this is my grandmother's house, not my parents. Mom likes "stuff," but she has never had plates in the Christmas tree, used the dishwasher or vents for storage, and thankfully, shuns doll collection. Time means nothing to Grandma. Yet, Mom will still take her antiquing. I told you she was a good woman. Bet Mom would never throw Tucker out of the kitchen for spilling his milk. I can't believe my belt loop was still attached to my pants. I'm telling you, she's foolish. These sunglasses "look" like Mom.:) This was the same day we paid a bunch of attention to I-65 as we merrily made our way to Opryland, entertaining ourselves with versions of Jason Mraz Christmas carols.

Euell Gibbons Probably Didn't Eat Enough Wraps

Random #1: I know the whole "Caroline is wonderful" shtick is getting a little old, but too bad, here's another one for you. I've told you how much I love getting mail, new music, things that "look like me," and the stories told through handwriting. Sometime in between pillow shopping and gardening, Caroline managed to combine all of these into the perfect gift. This is what was waiting for me in my post office box yesterday:
I love this CD cover. Sometime over the next few days, use old cards, contact paper, or magazine ads/articles to do a CD cover for someone you love. Trust me, it will make their day.
Caroline's renowned handwriting. And a CD title that just makes me smile.

Random #2: I think I first had to do a "haiku" when I was in Mrs. Judy Frederick's (and our KET rep, Liz) Arts & Humanities class in high school. Although I don't remember the specifics, the content was likely both sophisticated and thought-provoking. ... (for those who don't remember, a haiku is a 3-line poem; the first line has 5 syllables, the second, 7, the third, 5). They can be a useful tool to relay a message to someone who you care enough about to be creative for, but in a situation where time and/or embarrassment do not allow for an all-day "ode to X" preparation.

Suggestion: Write one just for fun. Don't take it seriously, just jot down something that makes you laugh. Or, consider writing one for someone who is on your mind (maybe it can be the case cover for a CD). Perhaps you'll find that the friend will reciprocate with something like the following - a girl I know received this last Thursday; it was too sweet not to share.

""XYZ's" Thursday morning haikus:
my heart hangs like grapes
suspended from your trellis
made into fine wine

In the words of twins
I would walk 1000 miles
To fall at your door

I’ve written haikus
To my love because she is
My best friend and muse"

For those of you who aren't gagging, my own haikus and, surprisingly, even more randomness lie ahead.

LMT's Haikus
Spinach, where are you?
I put you out weeks ago.
Sprout right now mister.

Cowboy boots and hat.
Curtis Lee is my hero.
Ironing wranglers.

Red is the new black.
Zucchini bread is divine.
Teaching has its perks.

Incredibly Important Random #3: I love wraps. And, I would argue that A) nearly all food tastes better when nestled neatly inside a bready something and B) Point A is a definitive and universal fact (see Russian blini post; citizens of one individual country tend to choose these rather than McRibs...point proven). See, I told you this one was super important.

I found these wraps at the grocery today (bread aisle next to the bagels and english muffins) and no joke, they are fantastic. They are easier to wrap than regular tortillas (they're longer and thinner) and seem to be healthier for you as well. Today for lunch I had one with the following: deli-sliced chicken, colby cheese, spinach leaves (from Mom and Dad's garden), tomatoes, sliced olives, kraut, and mustard. Sounds gross, but it was delicious. Plan to grill some burgers tonight and will use the wraps again; I am currently debating topping combinations (spinach, havarti, tomato; avocado, sprouts, salsa; homemade pickles, colby, ketchup; mushrooms, mozzarella, Italian dressing). If any of you have suggestions for unique/unexpected/tasty filler options, please share!

Random #4: I mentioned in one post that I mentally keep a list of celebrities with whom I think I would be friends (at least I haven't written it down; that makes it a little better, doesn't it?). Lauren Graham was on that list and solely because, for six seasons, she played Lorelai Gilmore on one of my favorite shows of all time. Alongside The Cosby Show, the mere mention of Gilmore Girls makes me hold my hand over my heart and sigh. It is the show that I will watch on ABC family with Adrienne, the show that I would get in a fight over if someone claimed it was "guilty pleasure," the show that combines quirky music, witty conversations, and great character development.

I will pull a Sandra Bullock and give you copies of my DVDs if you insist it is bad. I will then win the academy award for distinguished and really important blog entry the following night.

In each of the DVD season collections, there is a "Your Guide to Gilmore-isms: The 411 on many of the show's witty and memorable wordplays and pop culture references." Here are a few from Season 2 (maybe my favorite - the one where Jess moves into town)

* Baz Luhrmann - Film director of Moulin Rouge, Strictly Ballroom and William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
* Cher, Greg Allman - The singer Cher was married to Allman Brother Greg for nine days in 1975. They later reconciled, then divorced in 1977.
* The Damned - English punk band formed in 1976. Their debut album Damned Damned Damned was released six months before the The Sex Pistols' debut Never Mind the Bollocks.
* Euell Gibbons - Spokesman for the vegetarian lifestyle as being beneficial for longevity, died of natural causes in his early sixties.
* John Cleese - Member of British comedy troupe Monty Python. Amongst his stock of characters was "The Minister of Silly Walks."
* Mensa - Mensa is an organization for people with high IQs.
* Napoleon and Elba - French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled to Elba in 1814.
* Vicious Circle - A term often used to describe the members of the Algonquin Roundtable, the group of literary greats that included Dorothy Parker.
* "Who's on First" - Popular Abbot and Costello routine concerning a baseball team and the confusion over player names.

See, bet you're missing those "ode to Caroline"s now, aren't you?

Presenting Liza Turner!!

Well, there was that one time that I threw my sage green hairbrush at Leigh Ann (and I'm pretty sure that despite my best hiding attempt, Dad found and subsequently spanked me). Oh yeah, and that time we basically got into a fist fight over wrapping paper in the downstairs hallway. Her friend Kristi used to pretend beat me up. She watched and giggled.

Once upon a time, an eight year old wanted to sing the national anthem at her older sister's last high school home basketball game. Upon finding out (just a couple of hours before the game), older sister yells something along the lines of "I know she's eight, but I don't care, she sounds horrible." Dreams of superstardom crushed right alongside the self-esteem of a 3rd grader. Oh, but you know what they say about karma (who is "they" by the way?). Years pass and I found myself subjected to eye rolling and exasperated sighs and huffs. C'mon Adrienne, I put my make-up bag on "your" bathroom counter, I didn't ask to perform "Single Ladies" at your college graduation.
...
This weekend was a good time for reflection and reading. Sure, I did my fair share of piddling - watching both movies and the Marrowbone Creek rise to ridiculous levels - but I also spent some time contemplating, thinking about my hometown, my house, Caroline's explanation of community, and my family. I pulled bell hooks' Belonging: A Culture of Place from my bookshelf and reread a few passages that I had marked over a year and a half ago:

“We are born and have our being in a place of memory. We chart our lives by everything we remember from the mundane moment to the majestic. We know ourselves through the art and act of remembering. Memories offer us a world where there is no death, where we are sustained by rituals of regard and recollections."

“Living away from my native place I become more consciously Kentuckian than I was when I lived at home. This is what the experience of exile can do, change your mind, utterly transform one’s perception of the world of home. The differences geographical location imprinted on my psyche and habits of being became more evident away from home."

“I have returned to the world of my childhood, the world in which I first sowed the seeds of my being and becoming, a seeker on the path, the contemplative intellectual choosing solitude, ideas, choosing critical thinking. Here in my native place I embrace the circularity of the sacred, that where I begin is also where I will end. I belong here.”

I went through the boxes and bags I had moved off of the basement floor. In my old green high school backpack (which I rarely carried because in 1998 - my gosh, I'm old - having a backpack at Cumberland County High School wasn't cool. The fact that my senior picture outfit choices suggest a very low threshold for "hip" is beside the point), I found a collection of memories, seeds of my being and becoming, that reminded me why I belong exactly where I have ended up. The drawings, letters, and cards speak of silliness and happiness and love. In the handwriting, I see not hairbrushes or wrapping paper or the dawn's early light; I see how much love I have for my sisters. Notice how Leigh even put a "stamp" on it.
Last year's birthday present was a great success.
This must have been before I crushed her ego with the "you're a horrible singer comment." (00 was my basketball number)

I intrinsically "get" hooks' notion that exile makes one more consciously a native of that place that will forever be considered "home." I experience and appreciate Cumberland County in a way now that I could have never done had I stayed after high school or even if I had returned a few years ago. More importantly, however, I think I am more consciously a sister, daughter, and granddaughter than I have ever been in the past. Semantics are incredibly important to me; I get so frustrated when I can't think of the exact word or phrase that would accurately describe my thoughts or feelings. But, this is one of those instances. I don't want to call it "obligation," as this seems to denote a sense of burden and/or unwelcome responsibility, but I do feel some desire to establish a particular role in my family, a desire to more openly "be" in the family. And this is not to suggest that I have ever felt disconnected or disinterested. Instead, it is an acknowledgment that sometimes we don't do enough to make our appreciation, compassion, and love known. I think it would do us all some good to wear our various hats in a more purposive manner.

I am thankful for all those things I get to be, sister, daughter, aunt, and granddaughter. Drawings like this one are merely icing on the cake... Adrienne made me look pretty.