Growing as I go

Teaser

2010-10-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

The sooner you help me figure out how to widen my header, the sooner we can get to the real posting around here! I tried to google instructions, and based on those instructions I fiddled with the html... but either I'm square, or Blogger is uncooperative, so now I need assistance.

the Franc seal of approval

2010-06-19T14:47:00.000-07:00

If you need to know if you made the right decision buying your living room furniture, I would be happy to lend you my Franc (pictured below).

With his special skills in catnapping, light sleeping, drowsing, and snoozing, Franc is uniquely qualified to offer your furniture the Franc "Fattycakes" Kovach seal of approval. Seeing how completely he relaxes on our couches makes me (jealous that I work full time to support his habit) confidant I bought the right stuff.

In unrelated news, there are still backpacking pictures forthcoming. Our internet was down for a while, and we've had some other projects to tackle.

Advice for backpackers

2010-06-16T08:30:00.001-07:00

The weather reports were spot-on this past weekend while we were backpacking. Isolated thunderstorms? Exactly: isolated to wherever we were hiking. Picking along the soggy trails, I came up with this handy formula we can all use on our next camping trips:

Check the weather. Pay attention to the percent chance of precipitation each day.
Add those percentages. In our case: 30% Saturday + 40% Sunday + 30% Monday = 100%
Multiply by three. From our formula, we now know that there is a 300% chance of thunderstorms over the weekend.
Pack accordingly - and with a 300% chance of rain, bring your best attitude.

When you're backpacking, it's hard to decide how much to pack. You want enough for just-in-case, but not so much that you carry extra weight all the way there and back. So you wrestle: Do you take the extra socks? The extra long sleeves, for if it rains? What about that heavy tarp? 300% chance of rain says, "Yes!"

Abe was the one who bought the duck's back covers for our packs, the one who wouldn't negotiate leaving the tarp at home, and the one who told me "you need rain pants!" and came home with a child's pair that's still too long. And he was right.

(Pictures to come.)

Camp out

2010-06-11T10:29:00.000-07:00

A word of advice: If it's only Monday, and you have a lot to do, do not furnish your living room. The previous owners of our house left behind some furniture, including the World's Ugliest Couch. So until this week, I can't say I've sat in the living room more than once. Until this week... when the World's Ugliest Couch went to Goodwill, and we went to Ikea.

Now, my top priorities are:

Nap on the sofa.
Nap on the armchair.
Nap on the loveseat.
Oh, yeah. Going to work.

Unfortunately, my priorities haven't exactly aligned with reality. Instead, our gear for our upcoming annual "walk in the woods" backpacking trip has taken over the living room.

from left: my husband, the unabomber, my Dad (man of the hour, on his Father's Day backpacking trip), my Mom
not pictured: deadly wild ponies, me

Defeat

2010-05-28T10:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday and the whole past month, everything has happened at once:

We bought a house -
that came with not just a mortgage. We also got an outdated electrical system and several truckloads of furniture to get rid of.
We put in the garden!
which grew weeds much bigger and tougher than me.
The cats got comfortable in their new home
by getting sick, sick, sick.
We planned to go furniture shopping,
but my car broke down.

I've been feeling overwhelmed and a little bit lonely, despite the fact that we've already had more people over at our house than we did in our entire last year of apartment dwelling.

Sometimes I feel like there's an expectation that I should be clever here, but lately I've just not felt clever. So today I decided that's okay, and this is my blog, and I'll cry if I want to.

Another day older and deeper in debt

2010-04-28T09:55:00.000-07:00

On the most beautiful day ever, I signed my life away to the bank, and Abe and I are now the proud owners of Our Very Own Home... where there is, unfortunately, not yet any internet, so please wait patiently for pictures, and feel free to post congratulations.

Uhaul would be great... actually Wehaul.

2010-04-27T08:40:00.000-07:00

Today is packing day. We're celebrating by renting ourselves a uhaul, which turns out to be (a) cheaper than paying for gas in all of our friends' trucks (b) more convenient than driving back and forth across town all day, and (c) easily accomplished online.

And tomorrow is closing!

So you understand, then, that I am much too busy to blog. Unlike Franc, I'm not quite ready for the big move.

I have officially become my dad

2010-04-21T19:37:00.001-07:00

Today I went to Home Depot, and I liked it.

I wanted to stay there. I wanted to stay so that I could look at things like lawn mowers and flooring and cabinet hardware. We even looked at boards for our raised bed garden, and for a while. (Until I said. "Okay, I'm 'board.'" Because I am always that clever.)

So, please! Come to visit us in our new home. I'll take you on exciting outings to my favorite home improvement stores, and we can have lively debate about the merits of a 32" versus 48" cut. Or, you know. Not.

becoming

2010-04-13T11:04:00.001-07:00

May I speak frankly? Because I am going to talk about what I have become - and I don't mean fat, by any stretch of an American imagination (well, maybe by an imagination horizontally stretched. But that's all). I realized yesterday, as I packed an entire box with clothes that I can hardly squeeze into, that I am a little overfed.

My new summer goal is to have a reason to unpack that box, which I labelled "tiny clothes." (Kina, our girl cat, loves to sit on my tiny clothes box, like she's saying "I'm tiny, so these are mine. In fact, everything is mine, because I am in charge.") This means refusing the rice krispy treats, birthday cakes, and corn dogs that are served at work, and remembering two good reasons why I don't keep those things around my own house: they are not healthy, and they make my clothes so very tiny.

Speaking of what I am becoming, my hair is growing out of control. Today when I got out of the shower, I looked like a female, lighter-haired John Travolta - but without the leather jacket, because who wears leather in the shower? Crazy folk, that's who.

The quick multiplication of rabbits, and please leave the baby carrots alone

2010-04-13T10:30:00.001-07:00

Two things I know about rabbits: they want to devour my vegetable garden, and they want to make more rabbits. We hadn't been driving Ben and Lexi's for a week when Abe knew he had to have one of his own.

A seventeen hour trip to Asheville later, and voila! A little silver rabbit to call our own.

Pictured: Ben and Lexi's blue rabbit (front), relieved to have a cousin.

Interruption

2010-04-09T09:25:00.001-07:00

We interrupt your regular internet perusal for the following Very Important Announcement:

Only eleven days until we have a house of our very own! As you might expect, if you know us, Abe has been busy packing, I have been busy crafting "we've moved" postcards, and Franc has been busy eating our cardboard boxes. Kina has found more and more creative places to hide for the secret naps she likes to take, and is possibly more neurotic than usual: she stands at the door and meows for 15 minutes at a time, like she's afraid we'll leave her behind, so she wants to get a head start moving to our new house.

You are all welcome to come visit; please bring house plants.

Happy Easter from the Kovaches!

2010-04-04T19:14:00.000-07:00

For us, Easter is about ultimately important things like atonement and redemption. It's a celebration of things made new ... and of cats wearing bunny ears.

Materials: white felt, pink adhesive felt, scissors, needle & thread, ribbon.

Me vs. cats, cats vs. cauliflower... the wasp wins every time

2010-03-31T12:46:00.000-07:00

The cats love to sit on our seed flats. So far, they have squashed all of my baby cauliflower and most of the brussel sprouts. The peppers seem to be safe so far, because they show no sign of germinating. Are you serious, Peppers? You are so immature for your age. Grow up.

Cats have no respect for the money or effort that goes in to growing heirloom all-season cauliflower. They have no vision for the glorious brussel sprouts to come from the tiny sprouts in their flats. All they see is warm dirt to nap in. From this, I deduce that cats should be indoors and gardens should be outdoors, and no good can come when their lives intersect.

By "no good," I mean that this is what happens when you cross cats with gardening indoors:

dirt all over your house
dirt all over your cats
lopsided seed flats (I would be lopsided too, if Franc sat on me all day.)
a lean harvest

I thought I was really, really angry at the cats for the destruction, and I thought I really, really wanted to punish them. But then Franc got stung on the paw by a wasp he was trying to eat, so I take it back now.

Make It! March : DIY Garden Markers

2010-03-28T16:59:00.000-07:00

Today, our baby nephew was dedicated at church. (Yes, he was the cutest, thanks for noticing! He took off one of his shoes, and then chewed on it like a champ.) The pastor talked about planting seeds - which is perfect, because our dining room table has turned into a nursery. The table gets better light than the rest of the apartment, so that's where we set up our three flats of seeds: four kinds of tomatoes, three kinds of basil, four kinds of peppers, brussel sprouts, cauliflower, thyme, chives, parsley, cilantro....

I had hoped to have rows and rows of tiny plants to show you. But the hard truth is that without a professional photographer (cough -Ben- cough) or a camera with a microscope to work visual magic, a seed doesn't do anything to brag about in just three days. I admit that I ran out of time/became too lazy after planting all those peppers to change my craft at the last minute. So this week, we have pictures only thanks to my parents, who let me dig random holes in their yard with very little notice.

Let me introduce the final craft of the National Month for them, just in time for your own spring seedlings:*

5 ways to make your own garden markers

1. Pottery shards are perfect to label your herbs and veggies. (If you don't have any broken pots, I recommend Goodwill, or our cats would be happy to come over to break some for you.)

2. Find some children to collect flat rocks for you. Wash them thoroughly, and then use paint or markers to decorate them and mark them with veggie names. Use a couple coats of polyurethane or clear spray paint to seal.

3. For artsy garden markers, raid your local thrift shop for old silverware. Find some with cool, mismatched handles, and write your labels with a sharpie on the metal. In scientific testing I performed, permanent marker holds up to water but not hard scrubbing, so you should be able to reuse your cutlery again and again. (Good. I don't know how to grow mulch.)

This at least is truth in advertising.

If you prefer something simpler, use white plastic cutlery. It looks neat, photographs much better, and stands out in a garden.
4. Use scissors to cut the top and bottom off of an aluminum soda or beer can. Cut the can into strips. You can either cut these into regular-shaped garden markers (rounded on one side, pointy on the other), or you can create whatever shape you want, hole punch it, and hang it with wire.

Chances are, this sign is too illegible to mislead you.

You can try to "engrave" your plant names on to the aluminum, but I had limited patience/success with that, because even using a nail, the words didn't show up very well. But permanent marker looked fine.
5. Oh, your cats also chewed and destroyed your blinds? Before you throw them away, salvage what you can! Scissors and a permanent marker will make these into perfect plant markers.

*Did I intend to photograph all of them? I did, until I remembered that my blog photographer returned to Haiti and anyway, haven't your imaginations been dormant all winter? And gotten flabby?

Spring fling

2010-03-26T10:29:00.000-07:00

I wanted to take this slowly, because I've been hurt before. But spring came, and I couldn't wait any longer. Please meet my potential new daffodils in the potential new yard of my potential new house.

It Could Happen To You :: Three Short Stories About Buying a Home

2010-03-25T13:41:00.000-07:00

One
It was Sunday night, and we had an online meeting with our realtor. We were tired, so we took the laptop into the bedroom and sat on the bed. We logged in to his meeting program, and watched his mouse all over the screen as we talked through details of an offer we were making on a property. I was sitting with one leg tucked beneath me, and realized my foot was falling asleep. I leaned back to move my leg, and fell out of bed.

Online meetings are hazardous.

Two
We had some paperwork to take to the bank regarding our home loan. I remembered to take my W2's from 2008, my last pay stub, and even my glasses. We pulled up at the bank, parked, and walked in. I don't remember who noticed first, Abe or I. "That's weird. They must have redecorated." I turned around, looking for something familiar. "Abe. We're in the wrong bank."

Someone had already approached us. "Welcome to Wachovia!" We made a hasty retreat, got back in the car, and drove 25 feet to the bank we intended.

Three
Buying a house has made me obsessed with home decorating magazines. At work, we have about 8 months of old 'Better Homes and Gardens' magazines (which should come with a warning: These products and remodels cost more than the home you're buying, Karen. Put the magazine down.). I have read all of them.

In August 2009, I came across this idiotic tip (p. 83). "A teacup or dipping bowl makes a pretty organizer on a desk, dresser, or nightstand. Check your cupboards - even a small, ceramic pet-food dish you no longer use can work." Clearly, the person with that idea has never met a pet, or at least has never met pets like mine. Given half a chance, Franc and Kina will chew the tops off the q-tips, the elastics for my hair, and the rubber bands we keep in the kitchen. Pets don't need an invitation - like putting it in their bowl - to eat your stuff. And unless you plan to spend your money on the interior of your cat, instead of your home, I suggest you organize your office supplies in a container with a lid.

Make It! March : The Perfect Pet

2010-03-21T12:36:00.000-07:00

This week, I'm pointing the way to a wonderful free pattern that will save the day if everyone you know is having cute babies. All of those shower gifts start to add up... and besides, look!Thanks to baby Samson, this puppy's slobbery mouth is as real as it gets

Every baby needs a disproportionately skinny-limbed, large-headed stuffed animal to suck on. And all you need to make one is:

a pair of gloves
needle & thread
three buttons
stuffing (skip the craft store and buy yourself a $0.99 throw pillow at Goodwill. A single pillow still half-stuffed in the closet has so far supplied the insides for this little pup here and a whole flock of birds)
Martha Stewart's free "Glove Animal" pattern: download here! There are also instructions for a rabbit, so if you get started soon, you could have a bunny in time for Easter.

I found these perfect googly-eye buttons. Are they not the cutest? In the end, I felt like my dog's head looked weird (boys and girls, that happens when we have no necks), so I used a little yellow hem tape to make a collar with my nephew's name on it.
The collar fastens with a hook and eye, like so:

Make It! March : And Then Have Pants To Nap In

2010-03-13T21:06:00.000-08:00

excellent advice from my brother-in-law, who excels at modeling, among other things (like protecting his family from rabid cats in Haiti, becoming my personal blog photographer, and bike trials)

Pajama pants are great for all kinds of activities, like sleeping, yoga (for bonus points, make a matching bag for your yoga mat!), washing dishes, baking, surviving an earthquake, walking the cat.... If you don't already have a pair, you should make one. Or four. I made four.

With all that experience, I can tell you that the fabric for pj pants is great. I chose cotton flannels, and made a navy pair with little mooses, one with a blue cowboy theme, a pair with a hilarious print of bears, tents, and camping equipment, and one in a beautiful beige and tan plaid. Check out all the cotton flannels, and find something with a sense of humor.

Exhibit A:
Everyone makes pajama pants patterns - except maybe Vogue. I bought Simplicity 2541, because it comes with men and women's versions of the pattern, and includes pieces for a pajama shirt -- that, come to think of it, I am 99% sure I'll never use. But it seemed cost effective at the time.

The pattern is very easy to follow, and produces a great pair of harem pajamas if you don't cut down the length above the crotch by an inch or two... or probably three, for a woman's pair. (Seriously, this pattern is long in the crotch to pigeon-smuggling proportions.) Don't forget to add the length back at the bottom of the leg when you cut, or you'll end up with pajama capris.

I'm fresh out of clever things to say about this project, so get thee to a sewing machine to earn yourself a nap and the pants to do it in.

How to bathe a cat

2010-03-08T18:57:00.001-08:00

It's that time of year in America for responsible cat owners to take on their animals' winter coats. (Today it was 70 degrees, or as I thought of it, 70 things I would rather be doing than going in to work.) With the weather warming up, your kitty really doesn't need all that hair anymore... so here is a helpful guide to get you through.

Things you may need:

Sedation. This will work best if there's some for you and some for the cat.
A trip to your local Petco, so-named because you will go co-mpletely crazy before you leave... with $30 worth of organic cat shampoo, pet nail clippers, and useless toys that will interest your kitty less than an empty cereal box or toilet paper roll. That is if you're strong. The weak leave Petco with catnip "candies," perfumed body mists for pets, plug-ins for their homes that periodically release chemicals "calming" for cats, and homeopathic concoctions to slip in a cat's water to treat their "nerves." I think there's a special place for people who give roofies to their animals, and it's called the nut house. Although, let me get some... [See 'Things You May Need, #1.]
At least two sets of hands
At least two sets of towels
Divine intervention

I shouldn't have to tell you to get your $6 out of those nail clippers before you crack open the $11 pet shampoo. But I will, because you need to know.

Use the expensive grooming tool you may have bought at your recent trip to Petco (or a cheap comb for people) to brush your pet as best you can. The hair you pull out now is hair that you won't have to clean out of your tub, so spend some time on this.

And then introduce your pet to the water. Don't forget your pet's inner Goldilocks - the water should be neither too hot nor too cold; it must be just right. Also, at this time put both sets of hands to good use.

Your heart may break halfway through the bath, when you see your pet reduced to a dripping, scrawny, broken-spirited thing. DO NOT LOOSEN YOUR GRIP. That is when they will suddenly extend a paw, grip the edge of the tub with the strength of 1000 men, and bolt free. At that point, you should give up washing the cat, and start washing your bathroom, which will somehow be messier than the kitty was to begin with.

I suggest using some kind of cup for rinsing - fill with bath water, then pour - rather than trying to force a live cat under running water, if you value your life. And speak in a soothing voice! It's nice for your cat and stress level. Then when your cat is rinsed, get ready with the towels!

Once you have your sopping wet cat bundled up, find someplace warm to sit, and soak it in. Literally, the water from the cat will come through the towel into your clothes. Figuratively, you should enjoy the moment. Change out the towel if you have to. Unless your cat is afraid of your blow dryer (Franc), you can use it on a low-setting to help them dry out faster.

I can testify that in the end, spring cleaning your pets is well worth all the effort, because what is nicer than a soft, frizzy, sleepy cat that smells like papaya pet shampoo? Maybe nothing.

Make It! March : The Yoga Edition

2010-03-07T12:07:00.000-08:00

BREAKING NEWS!!! March is National Craft Month. Can you imagine? You did not even know until March 7, because Hallmark doesn't makes a card for craft month.

So to make up for Hallmark's amazing lapse, here on my super blog, I declare "Make It! March." Every Sunday this month, you can look forward to a featured craft. Or if you don't craft, you can at least look forward to consistent posting -- here for the first time ever! Either way, please get excited.

And welcome to this week's Yoga Edition, in which you will learn how to make Amy Butler's 'Nigella' Yoga bag, only better. This clever bag has three pockets - big enough for a water bottle and deep enough not to lose your keys.

Even if I'm the only person has ever dropped their yoga mat in a wet parking lot and watched it unroll into the mud, internet searches show that I'm not the only one who loves a bag for their yoga mat. Now look away from those bags, some of which are more awesome and less expensive than I expected! Because you can easily make your own custom bag, give it to your sister for Christmas, and wish you had kept it for yourself.

incontrovertible evidence that a yoga mat bag will improve your life 37% and increase your overall life satisfaction in 7-10 days

Follow these easy steps:
1. Get the pattern for free. (If you click, it will come! ...and as a pdf.)
2. Fabric shop. I used an outdoor decorating fabric (water resistant!), so it was sturdy enough to skip interfacing, and should hold up well in Haiti, where it went to live with Alexis. For the lining, after looking at every scrap of cloth in the store, I chose a simple light cotton with perfect tiny polka dots.
3. Read through the directions, and realize the pattern is borderline crazy, because it doesn't close at the top (they cleverly don't show that in the picture). But don't lose heart! You can decide that a yoga mat bag should really close at the top,** and just buy a little extra fabric. 1.5 yards for the exterior and 1 yard (+) for the lining will probably do it. Also, buy cord for a drawstring and a cord stop.
4. Get busy! Follow the pattern, except instead of creating a wide open yoga mat tube by sewing a hem at the top, cut the main pieces longer by several inches, and sew a "pocket" for your drawstring. Make sure you leave an opening to thread the cord through!
5. Take credit. I highly recommend the use of a cheesy "Specially handmade by..." label, so that everyone will know how clever and crafty you are, and you can have bragging rights in yoga class. Very zen.

* Did I suddenly become a talented photographer?! Unfortunately not. Credit goes to Ben Depp for the pictures. Honk if you think he should quit his day job to become my personal, full-time blog photographer!

** Dear Alexis, you had better be using the full length of this bag in order to show everyone the clever drawstring closure. Otherwise, I may be forced to come to Haiti and extradite your bag to my own closet.

Can I call you Tribulation?

2010-03-06T11:00:00.000-08:00

This has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week. On Monday, Abe's car was stolen, along with a good half of my sanity. And Tuesday, our contract on the fantasy dream house fell through. I became a total monster. I told Abe that, given the week's track record, I didn't even want to wake up on Wednesday - and that turned out to be the day I heard one of my clients has been trying to spread lesbian rumors about me (a story for another day). Awesome.

As much as those events totally sucked, it was my reactions to them that made this week so rough. I realize that I haven't acted like I believe in a God who promises helping grace (Hebrews 4:16) and kindness and mercy (Ephesians 2:4-7). And I'm not sure I've really believed in a loving God since the earthquake in Haiti (where my sister and her husband live). In church the week after the earthquake, I cried instead of singing. All around me, people were lifting their hands to a song that praised God for being powerful enough to move the mountains. The only thing I could think of were the people crushed under weight of those mountains when the earthquake hit. And then they sang "Blessed be the name of the Lord," and I cried out in my heart, because I don't know how to choose to bless God's name when he takes away everything.

I hope that God will teach me.

"I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

1994-2010

2010-03-01T19:46:00.000-08:00

What happened to February?

And what happened to Abe's car?*

They were stolen. February must have been, because nothing else explains how it snuck away without me noticing.

And Abe's car most definitely was stolen - and stripped - of the back seat, doors, side panels, hood, battery, steering wheel, stick shift, floor mats, stereo, instrument panel (I'm particularly sad about that part, because somehow there was a dead bee inside the odometer. I always liked that dead bee.)... We woke up at 8 am this morning to a call from police dispatch, telling us they had found our abandoned car -- which we had definitely not abandoned. Ugh, Thieves, are you serious?! Do you really have no respect for peoples' Monday mornings? I woke up thinking the only thing I had to dread was work -- but only because I didn't know that you stole our car.

What did you even need our car for? It was not that special, except to us, because it used to belong to Ben Depp, who is famous for being my brother-in-law and a photojournalist in Haiti. You picked on our poor car because it was easy prey. Abe wasn't surprised by the police dispatch - apparently, p.o.s. hondas are a hot item. When he had some issues with the ignition contact a few months ago, a friend taught him how to start his particular honda using only a regular old screwdriver.

Well, screw you, car thief. Go to jail.

*Abe insists that I tell you his car was called Green Jellybean. Sorry, Ben, I know you probably find that humiliating.

My Mid-Life Crisis and Other Stories

2010-02-22T07:55:00.001-08:00

I'm having a mid-life crisis. My dad had a birthday in January. A client asked what I was doing that weekend, and I told her I was going to celebrate with my family. "Oh, that's nice," she said. "Your dad must be... what, in his 70's?" YES, BECAUSE I AM SO CLOSE TO 40 OR 50! Clients love to guess how old I am. They usually guess 30-something, leaving me wondering where on earth the last ten years of my life went.

Then they had the nerve to host a Mary Kay makeover party at work for the residents. Mary Kay told us that after twenty, we should be using a whole new kind cleansers and moisturizers. She recommended one called TimeWise. Are you serious?

Then at the maternity home I'm surrounded by girls born in the mid-nineties who are pregnant. They should have thought about unintended consequences, like chlamydia and making me feel old, before they jumped in bed with their older boyfriends.
* * * * *
Speaking of old, we're putting in an offer on a house that's older than me no matter what I look like. See, it's the cutest house ever featured on this blog, and I'm prematurely showing the internet as if it's mine! As I type, Abe is faxing the offer to our realtor, and I am getting carpel tunnel trying to keep all my fingers crossed and hit the right keys at the same time. It was built in 1926 close enough to my work that I'll be able to walk. Like it knew I was coming, all those years ago. Once it's ours (God, please oh please oh please!), you're welcome to come over to help us clean up the yard, replace the siding, polish the hardwoods, and finish the kitchen.

There's a voice in my head that tells me I'll be paying for this house until I'm as old as my clients think I am. I want to find that voice and make it eat wrinkle cream.
* * * * *
Yesterday I hit my ultimate Goodwill jackpot. I kept finding these beautiful high-waisted vintage wool skirts *with pockets *in my size.... which, I was alarmed to learn, was apparently a "10" back in the day. Anyway, some other 10-sized person had clearly just cleaned out their closet for my benefit - every single pocket had a neatly folded tissue in it. Gross? Maybe a little. I bought them all anyway.
* * * * *
Today I went to a workout class for the first time since um, Christmas...ish (making that size 10 come true!). The instructor seemed to have me confused with bionic man. "Only one more! Push it!" One more? I was already in the fetal position. She told us all to get a set of heavier weights, and a set of lighter weights, but that was a trick so we wouldn't walk out. We never used the lighter weights. She seemed to have control of time itself so that there were always ten more minutes - enough to do just one more exercise! Every time she said, "one more set!" I died a little inside. And if you were wondering why this is such a long blog post, it's because I don't think I can stand up.

Le Chat Qui Me Fair Peur

2010-02-06T14:39:00.001-08:00

There is a scary cat that lives outside of our apartment building. He used to belong to someone that lived here, but they moved somewhere that didn't allow pets, so they left their scary cat behind. That's the story, at least, that we heard from our neighbor, who leaves out food and a warm place for him to sleep. He thanks her by vomiting in front of our apartment door instead of hers.

Scary Cat has a meow so scary that I'm positive it means "I will slaughter you and your little cats too." His hair is falling out, and he is a little pathetic, like Arthur "Boo" Radley. (Incidentally "boo radley" is what we say in our house when we want to say "#%*#&." Abe started it, I think, which I love, because it's the first literary reference I ever heard him make, unless you count The Book of Bunny Suicides.)

I feel toward Scary Cat the way that I feel toward other unfortunate things that are outside of my control - a homeless man panhandling by the corner, children going to bed hungry, people wearing ugg boots or tights as pants. Those feelings, plus frightened.

Scary Cat used to run away when he saw me coming. He would meow his murderous "MEOWWWRRRR," glare at me, and run away. Today, I got out of my car carrying 100 groceries, and headed up the sidewalk. Scary Cat followed me. More like, hunted me. He crouched down low, and ran quickly. So I ran too. I thought I was safe for a second. When I hit the "lock" button and my car beeped, Scary Cat stopped for a second, startled... but only for a second. I am sort of ashamed to say that Scary Cat chased me up three flights of stairs, and is now crouched, waiting to kill me, outside of our apartment.

In French - or at least, in Cameroon - they have a word for these situations. It is "moeuf" (pronounced like "boeuf,"* meaning "get the boo radley out of here"), said loudly and rudely, usually thrown in the direction of a mangy street dog, sometimes along with a sharp kick to the animal's ribs. I always felt bad for the dog... until today. I wanted to "moeuf" Scary Cat all the way down the stairs, but it turns out American cats aren't familiar with the term.

*See 0:55

this would be funny, butt...

2010-01-28T17:56:00.000-08:00

only funny to you. I'm not laughing. That's why it's a present to help you get over my absence.

Tonight, a volunteer group came to NYMMH to throw a party for our residents who've recently celebrated birthdays. They made jewelry, ate cupcakes, spilled juice everywhere, and had a truly talented balloon artist who made elaborate balloon hats, animals, and weapons (don't ask me, I didn't hire him. Also, a number of small boys were demanding swords).

All in all, it was a good time. And then, one of my residents motioned me over. With this woman, everything is an emergency, so I was sure she was going to tell me she needed to use the phone, or had to have a tylenol. Instead, she motioned me closer. "Ms. Karen, the balloon man keeps looking at your butt."

Shake it..

2010-01-13T09:40:00.000-08:00

Shake that healthy butt!

Let's hear it for the weekend. Louder!

2010-01-10T14:59:00.000-08:00

Right now it's cold as the rockies. I know for a fact, because we stored Abe's Coors Light on the porch. We're fine, though, because we've got Abe's love of Avatar to keep us warm. (That's serious. Here's how conversations have gone in our house since we saw it in 3D at the Imax: Do you want to drive, or should I? "I'll drive. Like Avatar!" Wow, it's as cold as the rockies out here! "Is it? I didn't notice, because Avatar!")

We also have Abe's cold and a trial subscription to Netflix, so we've holed up most of the weekend. If you haven't already, I recommend you watch Food, Inc. Please clean your pantry and refrigerator first, though, or you may end up throwing away a lot of industrially-produced, over-processed foods, and then go broke at the nearest EarthFare or farmer's market.

I may now be a vegetarian, except for corn. No corn.

Also, we looked at houses today. Here are my two best stories: (1) One house had a pet door in the garage that I peeped in, until I realized there could be an oppossum in there, waiting to bite me. So I made Abe look. (2) Another house had all the windows broken, most importantly the window on the ground floor in the back. If I were only a tiny bit stupider, I would have climbed in for a convenient showing. But I was afraid of being arrested, meeting an opposum, or bleeding on my new carpet.

Here's what I think of house hunting so far: (1) If you're thinking about buying, first go to your local bookstore and pick up a copy of Nolo's Essential Guide to Buying Your First Home. It's got lots of good advice, and also anecdotal accounts of other peoples' experiences, which is almost as good as pictures. (2) Are we there yet? There are so many steps! We need to find out if someone will even give us a mortgage, for one thing (does it count against us that when they trusted us with cats, we almost let one die by an earplug overdose?). And we need to find out if all of the houses in Charlotte for sale are a good deal, with a good yard, in a good neighborhood, with a good pet door that will keep out oppossums. Maybe I should make a spreadsheet for that.

Happy New Year!

2009-12-31T04:47:00.000-08:00

Sorry. I look like one of those maniacally happy people. I promise to work on that in 2010.

Q: Wait -- what about the traditional Kovach cat holiday photo?
A: Franc and Kina aren't crazy about New Year's celebrations. Is this because they eat dinner at 11 pm, and therefore have trouble staying awake past 11:2o? Or because their mother can't in good conscience make them New Year's hats to wear for the occasion? (Not yet, with the Christmas hats are so fresh, or I risk becoming one of those ladies who dresses their pets). Or maybe Franc and Kina are bitter that they're too young (and feline) for the champagne. Possibly they're also too busy taking ornaments off the Christmas tree to celebrate the beginning of a new year (True story: The tree comes down tomorrow just in time, because Franc's taken about half the decorations off, and strewn them around the house. He leaves them by my bedside like little dead bird gifts. And he has a point. He tracked them down in a tree).

two excuses

2009-12-31T03:25:00.000-08:00

I have been a bad blogger. (Which reminds me, I should tell you about the crazy socks I got from my mother-in-law. They say "naughty and nice" on them, and feature a picture of a decapitated gingerbread boy. Love it.)

Here are my two excuses:
(1) I have been overwhelmed by the holidays and working, two words that should not be in the same sentence ... but that is my sentence, because I work in a residential program.
(2) Our (neighbor's) internet at home has not been working reliably. Sometimes. So that's a bad excuse.
But your holiday gift to me can be to cut me some slack, because I had to work on Christmas. (Is it selfish if I think of that as one more reason for all you kids out there to practice safe sex? Use condoms, and put me out of a job on Christmas!)

And here is a story about how God gives you what you need when you need it.

I have a resident who is mildly retarded and bipolar. Let's call her Princess, but don't feel sorry for her! She is a bully, and I blame her for the fact that I was compelled to top off my coffee with a little Baileys yesterday (morning at 10:00). The past few days, she has been giving me way more than I know how to handle, and with the holidays, there aren't other staff members in the building for me to lean on (or send her to harass). Yesterday two of my sweetest clients were in the lounge watching television, and I got there fast when I saw Princess walk in and heard her start cursing. She was pitching a small fit, and quickly moved to the television and begin changing the channel. She continued to flip through the channels as she argued with me -- she hasn't really accepted that the lounge is a community area, and she has to share it with other people. The other girls avoid it, since Princess resides there almost constantly, and she's not exactly a peach. I told her if she couldn't socialize appropriately, she would have to leave, and living in community means blah blah blah. She argued, she cursed, she continued to change the channel, she refused to leave, she yelled... while the other ladies in the room looked at me wide-eyed. I came closer than I ever have to losing it. So I seized an opportunity to walk away, and happened to check my email.

On behalf the Professionalism Committee we would like to congratulate Karen K. for being selected staff for the December Character trait of Patience- The quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

Maybe there's a little Holy Ghost in me after all. Thank goodness I wasn't the only one working over the holiday.

Merry Christmas from meowr house to yours

2009-12-25T06:28:00.000-08:00

Holiday news you can use: It takes a couple of tries to get a decent family portrait with two cats and a self-timer.

Christmas funk

2009-12-24T20:47:00.000-08:00

It feels like a crappy Christmas. Please, God, help me to celebrate the things that matter.

This and that

2009-12-14T20:53:00.000-08:00

Although I forgot to pack any underwear, Abe and I had a wonderful weekend in rural Virginia. (Don't worry. We stopped at K-Mart. I was the crazy person navigating the rental car, lost, and looking for where we were supposed to be going not nearly so much as I was looking for a place to buy panties.)

I am also days behind at work, and days ahead at Christmas presents. Of course, that means I'm taking on one more project, because I might be crazy, and it wouldn't be Christmas if I wasn't stress-crafting!

Oh, and today one of my (African American) clients found out that I was born in Africa, and said that makes me a "half nigger." ARE YOU SERIOUS? Was the African or the white girl in me more offended?

Cheers.

No shame

2009-12-08T09:03:00.001-08:00

I think that my sister is making fun of me (it's hard to tell... she lives in Haiti) because I made Santa hats for our kittens. But I have no shame.

There is a giant, live Christmas tree in my apartment right now, which is proof that putting your cat in a Santa hat will get you whatever you want. This is what they mean when they say "the magic of Christmas." It's the cat in the hat.

When I put little Kina's hat on, I think the grinch inside my (incredibly loving but Christmas-hating) husband ran screaming or melted. Because it was too cute. He couldn't stand it. And surprise! The next day, he took me Christmas tree shopping. (We found a perfect one, and hung all 12 of our ornaments on it last night.)

Even the cats feel the magic, because when Abe tries to put the hats away, they look for them. Abe hid them behind some things on the bookcase last night, and then - what? Franc, where did you get that adorable Santa hat to carry around in your mouth like a dog?

So, Lexi, maybe if you're lucky, little Luna will get a Santa hat this Christmas, and make all of your dreams come true.

How to make a Santa hat : Your furry friend edition

2009-12-07T08:38:00.000-08:00

Here is a confession: I have no Christmas decorations in my house. (Another confession: That's sort of a lie. Last night, I hung our Christmas stockings from the top of the TV.) Christmas decorations are problematic around here, because

We already spent all our Christmas money on gifts.
We both have to work Christmas Eve and Christmas anyway.
Abe is a Christmas-hater. He says "Bah, humbug," and sprints past the storefronts where they're selling wreaths, because he knows I want one.

I make do with other round things.

So instead of decorating the apartment, I made decorations for the cats. The tiny Santa hats I came up with are so cute that I'm convinced it was tiny kittens in Santa hats that melted Scrooge's heart, and not visits from ghosts. (Am I right? Ghosts are not even real.)

Here's what you need to melt the heart of your own Scrooge with Santa hats for your pets:

paper
red felt
white feather boa (and white pom poms, if you prefer those for the top)
needle and thread (red and white)
scissors
elastic (I used hair elastics cut in the middle, which was cheap and awesome, since I have a stash of elastics without hair to put in them)

(Also recommended: Trader Joe's Gingerbread Coffee, which is superior to flavored coffee in every way because it's made with real pieces of ginger, cinnamon, and cloves.)

Start by cutting a circle out of your paper. This is to create a pattern for the cone of the hat. I recommend tracing something round, or using a protractor to get a circle that's even all around. Make a cut from the edge to the center of the circle, and fold it around until the cone shape is the width and height that you want. Mark a line where that is, and cut a pie-piece out of the circle that's 1/2 to 1/4 inch larger than the cone you want. Now you're ready to cut your felt, using the pattern you created from paper.

At this point, you'll want to stay-stitch, which means grab your red thread and needle, and stitch all around the circumfrance (by which I mean just the rounded side), about 1/4 inch from the edge. This going to help your felt keep its shape as you work. Don't worry if it's crooked - it'll be covered by the trim.

Next, you form your cone. You'll want to pin a couple places to make sure you don't end up with a big hole in the top of your hat, and then stitch from the bottom up to the tip. At this point, your hat should look like this one. (Kina kept tabs on my progress, because she fell in love with the feather boa and couldn't wait for me to get to that part.)
You're ready to attach your strap. (I used dark elastic because that matches my cats best, and it's brilliant - you can't even tell it's strapped on. so I recommend choosing a color that will blend with your pet.) If you want the seam to be in the back of the hat, fold your cone in half, with the seam in the center. Tuck your elastic into one side like so:And stitch the elastic to the felt on both sides. All that's left are the trimmings! Cut a short piece from your feather boa (an inch or a little more) to top the hat with, and measure around the bottom circumference to cut the piece for the bottom trim. (I used fabric glue on the cut ends to try to manage the deluge of feathers coming off the boa, and that seemed to do the trick.) Use your white thread to stitch your feather trim to the hat. Kina got a fitting before I added the final trim.
And ta da! Franc can't wait to (m)eat the reindeer.

Did you ever make out with your cat?

2009-12-04T22:26:00.000-08:00

I ask because I did, and I don't want to be judged too harshly. I'm already thinking about the jail time, because I know sexual acts and maybe even romantic gestures involving animals are illegal in some states. Plus it was an accident. And I don't want to go to jail!

Neither does Kina. She's in hiding.

Kina has this thing about toothpaste, a crazy little thing (called love). I discovered it when she was a kitten, and I put toothpaste on my toothbrush, walked away to answer the phone, and returned to find a naked toothbrush and a tiny kitten sitting by the sink. She had her mouth open just a little bit, and she was looking around from side to side, like "golly, surely somebody'll come by and notice how I'm minty fresh!" I freaked out and called the vet, who told me not to worry. Who knew? A lot of cats have unusual tastes. (Just at my house, their tastes require veterinarians.)

So since then, we don't leave our toothpaste unattended. And since then we do this thing after we brush (besides leaving travel covers on our toothbrushes to keep her from sucking on them). I'll open my mouth really wide, and she gets really, really close, and sniff, sniff, sniff. When I let her do this, I am very popular, and since the rest of the time, she could take me or leave me and doesn't seem to care either way, I let her do this all the time. (Shut up. You have issues too.)

Tonight it was just the same old thing. And then she kissed me. She actually licked my tongue. So really, I'm the victim here.

Fa la la la meow

2009-12-04T10:47:00.001-08:00

I like pretty much everything about our vet -- except for their insane prices (which I think is fairly universal vet practice) and their recommendation of Advantage Multi to melt the skin off our cats.

I especially like that they send me e-cards for all the important kitty holidays, like Kina's birthday, Franc's birthday, and Christmas. These aren't just any e-cards. These are the e-creepiest cards ever. (Be sure to watch all the way to the end, to see the ultimate creepy kitten Christmas dinner.)

Good news is good news

2009-12-03T20:48:00.001-08:00

I unexpectedly had an awesome day at work today. Right now, the hall I work on is packed. I've been losing my mind dealing with high-maintenance clients, their unborn children, their abundant baggage, and their developmental, substance abuse, and mental health issues.

But today was the best I've had in months. All my residents got along! I had productive meetings! There was laughter! There was news of a bonus (holla!) that I wasn't expecting! There was an encouraging conversation with my supervisor, when she told me she understands second-shift burn-out, and is willing to put out 'feelers' for me on some potential new grant-funded positions!

On a high from all of this positivity, I agreed to be the agency's Substance Abuse Coordinator. It's not a new job or a promotion - more of a title I'm taking on for grant purposes (I tell myself this over and over to ease the fear that I'm taking on more responsibility without more compensation. Again). I'll continue to do the substance abuse work I've been doing since I started: dragging reluctant and sometimes kicking-and-screaming women to NA meetings, administering a drug/alcohol assessment tool to new residents, convincing (read: bribing, pleading, begging) residents to attend their recommended treatment classes day after day after day.... And pee testing.

So a little good news may be a dangerous thing. But I still want to celebrate.

Sibling rivalry : I lose.

2009-12-03T10:14:00.000-08:00

I've got nothing to compete with the cute kitten pictures on Ben and Lexi's blog - just some pictures of brussel sprouts because I was thinking of posting a recipe soon (they're cream-braised! With lemon! And still, not so appealing as a kitten).

And I also have this:
This list is an awesome resource if you're cutting back on expensive gifts this Christmas, and need a few good homemade suggestions, or if you're just at that point in life when everyone you know is having babies (93 maternity/infant/toddler tutorials?! Even I don't know that many pregnant women!).

Decaf is my kryptonite

2009-11-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

Abe and I went out for breakfast this morning with an old friend. We went to our usual breakfast place, and ordered our usual breakfast coffee. But it tasted burnt, so I very, very nicely asked our server for a fresh cup. (I used to wait tables on busy Saturdays too. So I mean it when I say I asked nicely.)

I was yawning as I finished my second cup. We all were! That's how we knew we'd been decafed. I got home and slept ... slept ... slept. It wasn't just a litte cat nap, it was a New York City Napathon. I woke up disoriented, with a headache. Like I was drugged! And half of my Saturday was gone. So a lump of coal to servers everywhere who think they're too busy to brew the regular.

Reconstruction

2009-11-27T20:52:00.000-08:00

They say that behind every crafter, there is a room full of unfinished crafts. If that were true of me, there wouldn't be room for Abe in our little one-bedroom. So I'm very proud to announce that my number one unfinished craft is complete!
I started this apron last year for Kimberly's birthday. I made some good progress before my sewing machine started "acting a fool".* My dad can fix anything, so he came over recently to help me set my machine aright. And we were off! I finished the apron shortly before Kimberly's birthday this year. (All the good crafts do seem to go to her house.)
This was the first thing I've sewn without any kind of pattern, and I made it from an enormous wraparound skirt I bought at Goodwill (by enormous, I mean like Sisterhood of the Traveling Skirt, in which we could all wear it together for traveling in order to pay much less for our tickets). This was brilliant on my part, because it means the cute details came ready-made: red hem tape! a button! flirty red lining! The key to this project is finding a massive enough skirt to begin with (and one with a cute lining, since it will show). You need enough material for the bottom half of the apron (I used the existing front of the skirt to get the wraparound detail), the top half, those seam allowances, and all the ties. I had enough lining to make a pocket, and just to be cute I reused a little of the hem tape across the top like so:
Fabric and notions - buttons and hem tape - can be a little pricey, so reconstructing an existing garment is a great way to save your cash. All in all, a success, and a project I'd recommend if you're going homemade for your gifts this holiday.

*Do you like that? It's a little something I picked up at work, along with the cough/cold/flu that knocked me out for most of the month.

Happy Thanksgiving from the Kovaches!

2009-11-26T06:27:00.000-08:00

I was unable to recruit any turkeys for this picture, because Franc kept giving them the "dinner" eye. So I settled for a picture of Franc thankful for Kina (who's just thankful that my crazy cat lady holiday photo shoot is over), with their Trader Joe's Turkey and Giblet dinners. Cheese!

Here's to your Thanksgiving holidays - may you have a wonderful day with family, and may your turkey dinner not come in a can.

If all dogs go to heaven, is there a special place for me in hell?

2009-11-25T10:27:00.001-08:00

I just gave Franc and Kina their monthly treatment for flea/tick/ear mite/heartworm/hookworm/roundworm/for-the-price-it-should-clean-the-litter-box-too. We have a sort of routine for this by now. Kina is smaller and has more secret places to hide, so I get her first. I have to sneak up behind her and take advantage of her desire to cuddle. (This may be why she's not big on the cuddles.) As soon as the tube is empty, she takes off. Franc catches on to what's happening, and makes a dash for it. He has to take a fat kitty-sized dose, so I sit on him. And then they both hide under the bed to sulk and probably lick it all off.

I thought they were just being difficult about taking medicine, until I dripped a little of the solution on my cell phone case. And it melted the plastic.

So toot that horn, Advantage, for your 100% percent effectiveness, because enough acid will kill anything! And I now I fear PETA may be coming for me.

Fly away, bird-induced headache! My 'Spool' Bird Mobile is complete.

2009-11-22T18:39:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I fell in love with this. It was the perfect project - I would improve my hand-sewing, and have an adorable birthday gift for my two year old sister-in-law. The sewing went pretty well - so well, I had plans to make another in all white for Christmas, and another for you, and while I was at it, one for every pregnant person I know (which is a lot; it's an occupational hazard). But that all changed when I got to assembling the blasted thing, and turned into this.

Hopefully you'll find the hand sewing therapeutic like I did, because by the time you get to the end, you'll be needing some therapy. Here are the other things you need to make your very own birdmobile:

the bird pattern, which is a FREE pdf, right here
scraps of fabric in coordinating prints. I chose pinks and greens, since those are the colors in AK's room.Tip: I harvested cloth from little girl's outfits from the thrift store. This is clever because they have all the right colors and you won't end up with tons left over.
needle and thread
cotton - to stuff the birds (I bought a terrible throw pillow from Goodwill and gutted it.)
sticks
topstitching or upholstery thread - that's to hang the branches from each other
a dremel tool
fish hooks, straightened
hot glue/crazy glue
the patience of a saint - or my father, since he is the only person I know who can get through (more than) five hours of balancing a bird mobile and still have his sanity

Once you've sewn and stuffed all your birds (I used 11), set aside a long afternoon to assemble your mobile. Since I found that tips about assembly were seriously lacking, here are some of the things that we learned:

Map out which branches to put where, and start at the bottom.
Don't be silly. Sewing the birds to the branches and tying the branches to each other would be simple enough, but because of the weight of the birds on the top of the branches, you end up with a batmobile. This is where the dremel and fish hooks come in.
Use the dremel to drill a tiny hole in your branch(es). You'll insert the straightened fish hook into that hole, and thread your upholstery thread through the top of the fish hook. The fish hook is going to provide leverage, or something else that comes from physics, that will keep your branches from flipping over with the weight of the birds. See?
Use the crazy glue to reinforce all your knots, because trust me - you're not going to want to do this twice.
Hot glue is more effective than sewing in terms of keeping the birds upright on the branches; using both glue and thread will make it all more sturdy.
For our easiest branch, we ran the middle bird straight through so that the topstitching thread runs through him, tying to the branch beneath him and the branch above him. This is an easy way to get your birds and branches balanced, so try to plan so that most of your branches can hang this way.

In the end, it's not perfect, but it's sure cute enough. I take comfort from Odgen Nash: "But a bird in the open never looks like its picture in the birdie books." Producing 11 identical hand-sewn sparrows escaped me, but I like to think that the movement and the sticks ("real sticks!" That's what the five year old at the birthday party liked) distract the eye from noticing my mistakes.

Zen then, sore now

2009-11-20T21:09:00.000-08:00

Today one of my clients said that I'm "thick as cold grits." And there was general agreement.

It was meant as a compliment, but it's not exactly what I wanted to hear after dragging my tired, lazy bones out of bed this morning to work out.

I went to a yoga/pilates class at 9:15, and afterward I was feeling so zen and great about life that I made a grievous error: I went to shop for yoga pants. I should clarify that while I'm a generally tiny person, I have the hips and posterior of a much larger, more African woman. And I think those hips may be the reason why yoga doesn't come from Africa. They don't make pants for hips like this. Of course I had to try on twelve pairs to realize it, and then I came home and cried over the cats' breakfast that I can't work out because I'm too fat to work out -- which of course was ridiculous. I meant too "thick."

Sorry, Mom. No grandbabies.

2009-11-18T16:44:00.001-08:00

(Also, sorry, Internet! Most of November whooshed by while I was busy breeding violent strains of a cough/cold/flu virus like the world has never seen before. I'm feeling better now. And I recommend the Vick's.)

Today at work, we kicked off three days of RealCare, which is not a program in which I pretend to actually care for three days in a row (but since you brought it up, we should probably consider implementing one of those). RealCare is that fake baby thing that they do in high schools to promote not getting pregnant, and that we're doing here to "increase awareness about issues related to caring for an infant." Like wanting to leave the fake baby in a dumpster and run for the hills? That's one issue.

As far as the program goes, the RealCare babies have only been activated for two hours, and let me testify! It works. At least, it works on me. And you can trust me: after the last 120 minutes of non-stop simulated baby crying, we are all in a state of dangerously increased awareness about issues related to caring for an infant.

Boo.

2009-10-31T08:46:00.001-07:00

Happy Halloween from the Kovach family!

This is how we do it :: Sick Day Edition

2009-10-30T09:56:00.000-07:00

This is my one hundredth post. So congratulations, blog. You are a century old.

I admit I had sort of planned a special "100th" post, which was going to feature 100 fun facts about me. I even wrote 20 last week before I hit "save now." And now I wish there was just a "save" button to rescue that idea from the drafts box. Because today I'm too busy making tea for Abe and blowing my nose to think of 80 more things about myself. (80? I think that's the number of tissues I've used in the past two days.)

I'm sick with a cold, and Abe came home from work last night with flu symptoms, so today we both called in sick. So far today we have slept until almost noon, fed the cats, and put laundry in the dryer. Also, we cooked a huge breakfast like this:
but not exactly this, because this picture's from our trip to Tennessee. (What can I say, it's a breakfast favorite: eggs with mushrooms and spinach and breakfast potatoes with onions, garlic, and orange peppers). You can hardly expect me to cook and take pictures, with this rhinovirus taking over my body.

Later, Abe says, our plans include long naps, lengthy movies, and laying back. And I'm considering a butternut squash soup.

Snack of the day

2009-10-27T20:50:00.000-07:00

Here it is, and it is so easy that even you can make it at home. Yes, I mean you, Dad, who does not cook anything except in the microwave. And you, college student, who lives in a dorm room with only a mini-fridge and one set of plastic dishes. (No, I don't mean you, Karen! You ate an average of 3 donuts a day over the weekend, so you can't have any ice cream.)

It goes a little something like this: Chop up some salted almonds. Put them on top of vanilla ice cream. Mmmm.

I don't have a picture of the ice cream, because that's what God gave you an imagination for. But I do have a picture of the donuts.

Hollenbeck's Cider Mill: homage in haiku

2009-10-26T19:45:00.001-07:00

Jams, jellies, fresh pies
Watch them press sweet cider. Yum!
Do we have to leave?

Local apples? Tons!
In crates bigger than me/you.
Also local cheese.

Best donuts ever.
You should smell the apple smell!
Now I am fat-so.

Amusez-vous

2009-10-24T03:20:00.001-07:00

You'll have to suffer without me until Monday, because Abe and I are off to New York this weekend for a quick visit with some of his relatives. Since his grandfather owns a cider mill in Cortland, I'm fairly certain that I'll be too busy admiring the fall foliage and eating pie to update.

Til then, cheers!

Me and my bluetooth

2009-10-23T08:07:00.000-07:00

I crave presents. See? I can't get enough.

One of my presents this birthday was a bluetooth headset. I was a little surprised when Abe handed it to me, and thought that either my mother bribed him to give it to me, or my husband is under the impression that I am a terrible driver. (Surely not because I told him that I once tried to back out of my parent's garage with the garage door still closed? And it can't be from the time that I got my car stuck in the landscaping at a local shopping center? Hey. It was dark. I was tired.)

Anyway, at first I resisted the bluetooth, because:

I blame my bad driving on genetics (sorry, Mom), not cell phone use.
And I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone under the age of 40 using a bluetooth outside of a cell phone store.
And people who use bluetooths walk around looking like they're talking to themselves.
And I look crazy enough all by myself. (See above).
And my mom used to drive me crazy, trying to answer her phone when her bluetooth was set to automatically pick up. I would hear her faintly say, "hello?" and I would shout, "Mom! I'm on your headseat, in your purse!" and she would hang up on me. I thought, "A bluetooth makes me feel frustrated and small and helpless."

But then I tried it. I turned it on, and this bluetooth voice spoke into my ear. It told me, "Say command." And a whole new world was born. In this new world, I am powerful. I am Batlady!* I speak, and my bluetooth obeys. I imagine that I can tell my bluetooth to do anything, and it will. Cleaning the litter box, taking cough medicine, and working on holidays are no longer things I have to face alone! Because if I wanted to, I think I could tell my bluetooth, "You do it." My bluetooth has empowered me, and so far, I have kept this wonderful illusion alive by limiting my commands to a short list (which appears on my phone when you push the bluetoothy button. Another miracle: My bluetooth can cooperate with technology! This is amazing, since alone I have trouble convincing a photocopier to put out). I say, "Call [anyone]." And it does! My bluetooth asks "Did you say, 'call [anyone]'?" And I say "you know it!"** And it says, "Calling..." I can say "Listen voicemail" (like a caveman, but I don't think they had voicemail. Probably just actual snail mail). I can say "Time and date," and my bluetooth will tell me. I can say "missed calls," and my bluetooth will list who and when. Having a bluetooth is better than having a secretary, because you don't have to pay their wages or worry they'll seduce your partner.

Here are other great things about my bluetooth:

I can call you while I'm washing dishes. Look, Ma! No hands!
I look like I'm crazy, so people leave me alone.
It is the only way I know to make my clients be quiet. They come to the pod shouting, and I point to my ear. Suddenly, their voice drops to a loud whisper. "I'm sorry! I didn't know you were on the phone." (No, Ma, I don't usually answer my phone at work. But sometimes work folk call me on my cell, so I keep it handy.)
It's smaller than my earrings. (I wear big earrings. This is because I am "so native," according to my noisy clients.)
"With the flexible bluetooth headsets, the drivers have no need to answer a telephone during driving. So it makes sure drivers’ safety. So for those business men, bluetooth headsets actually play a key role during driving. It releases drivers’ hands free and enhances extra safety." (New rule! You have to read that article, because it is awesome. Maybe the most awesome thing about it is that it was edited by Cynthia. You catch me? It was edited.)

Now Abe wants his own bluetooth, so we'll have blueteeth! (Don't tell my dentist. I would hate to cause undue alarm. This must be what all those whitening products are for.)

*because of my incredible powers due to amazing technology, not because I'm bats-in-my-belfry crazy. That is just insulting.
** actually, "yes."

American By Birth. Southern By The Grace Of God.

2009-10-22T08:01:00.000-07:00

That, from an actual bumper sticker, and this photo, are proof that I went to Tennessee. You never know when you might need an alibi, so it's always good to have proof. Like when the ASPCA comes a-knockin' on my door, asking if I consider myself to be a competant cat mother when my cats have fleas for the second time in a year. I'll be fine! I have proof. I'll just show them this photo as evidence that I was out of town that weekend. (And then I can go to jail for sure, because I don't think the ASPCA is very pro-coon skin cap.)

The thing about my cats having fleas? That's true. I'm not too worried, because I am basically a professional exterminator at this point. In college I lived in a house where the infestation was so bad that the university paid to put us all up in a schmancy hotel. While we enjoyed the heated pool and complained about the long walk to campus, they built a tent over the entire building and flea-bombed repeatedly. Last year I freaked out when a friend's pet brought fleas into our apartment. Poor kittens. They were more annoyed by incessant searching through their fur for fleas than they were by the fleas. Also, we vacuumed constantly (ah-ha!), and they hate the vacuum. This time, I'm handling the situation like a seasoned professional. (This means that I threw down everything I was doing when Abe found the first flea in order to run to the vet for flea/tick/heartworm drops that cost almost as much as two nights in Tennessee.)

The thing about two nights in Tennessee is Can I Have Them, Please? Because the only thing I didn't like about our mini-vacation to Gatlinburg was the fact that it ended. It was a-maz-ing, and I took pictures of our meals like food blogging's my job. Lucky for the internet, food blogging is not my job, because we ate mostly unoriginal things like pizza biscuits and pecan pancakes and grilled chicken/grilled vegetables. But it was delicious, and I can't spoil Christmas by posting about my Christmas crafts, so you can look forward to reading about it anyway.

I also have pictures of nearly everything else we did - nearly - so you can look forward to some scenic vistas, since I have given up entirely on posting photos on facebook. More like, I-want-to-hit-you-in-the-face-book, because you keep loading all my pictures over and over again like everything's fine, and then telling me "upload failed!" after twenty minutes. Facebook, you are fired.

(I may overdone it with the coffee today. Is it that obvious?)

It's my birthday, y'all

2009-10-17T07:08:00.000-07:00

Leave me your best birthday wishes, because Abe is whisking me away to a cabin in the Tennessee mountains! When I get back, I'll have exciting stories to tell about how we ate, slept, watched an obscene number of movies, and soaked in the hot tub on the deck of our cabin.

And I'll definitely try to liven it up in here, because I know it's been a little quiet this week. See you on Wednesday!

Productivity

2009-10-14T19:44:00.000-07:00

It's not a great week for blogging. It has, though, been a great week for finishing craft projects. Unfortunately, all of them are gifts, and I therefore won't be posting them here for a while.

So like I said, not a great week for blogging.

Dear Jesus,

2009-10-11T20:20:00.000-07:00

Thanks for giving me coffee, a loving husband, and a great weekend. I'm so grateful for my weekend, in fact, that it would be fine if You wanted to make it last longer. I mean, since You're God, and if it wouldn't be too much trouble.

Also, please watch over my family on their travels. I trust them in Your hands, because You've been so good to me.

Amen.

My bad

2009-10-08T15:34:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've sort of been busy waiting for God to tell me what's next. Or maybe I've been busy telling Him what I'd like to be next (Earthship on a little plot of land, Masters in vocational or school counseling, light-weight Franc, and maybe a trip overseas. Thanks, God, for asking!)

I've been getting impatient. And restless. And grouchy. My bad.

If you want to know how real you are, test yourself by these words - "Come unto Me." In every degree in which you are not real, you will dispute rather than come, you will quibble rather than come, you will go through sorrow rather than come, you will do anything rather than come the last lap of unutterable foolishness - "Just as I am." As long as you have the tiniest bit of spiritual impertinence, it will always reveal itself in the fact that you are expecting God to tell you to do a big thing, and all He is telling you to do is to "come."

-Oswald Chambers "My Utmost for His Highest"

Memoir of my weekend

2009-10-07T09:27:00.000-07:00

Because I miss it, and I have to survive three more work days before I get another one.

Franc shows Blue who's boss
Mathematically, my cute nephew > your cute nephew. Abe's holding him, and you can see Leslie in the background. Hi, Leslie!

Anna Kathryn, my littlest sister-in-law, playing with Samson's car seat and looking like a doll baby. And look! You can read her mama's blog over here.

Hannah (who is Samson's mom), made more than a bun in her oven.

Apple Blueberry Crisp for one

2009-10-06T10:51:00.001-07:00

Here is what I learned on Saturday: Dessert for 20 people is no problem if they gorge themselves on snacks and three kinds of casserole first. It also helps if you are upstaged by your incredible sister-in-law, who somehow manages to pack both a 6 week old baby and two homemade apple pies. Don't worry - this crisp dessert is so easy that if your sister-in-law (and her pie) is as amazing as mine, you won't feel remotely bitter that her pies got all the attention. (In fact, that's actually an ingenius tactic to make sure you get to eat more crisp yourself.)

So here's how to make yummy Apple Blueberry Crisp that will feed 50, if you stuff them full enough first and serve it with ice cream. (Or one, if you leave it alone with me for 5 minutes.)

Peel and slice four apples. Mix the slices with a splash of lemon juice, a dash of cinnamon, and a small handful of sugar. Stir! Put the apples in a 9x13 pan, then sprinkle on a decent cup on blueberries. (Frozen is fine) It should look like this:
You're almost done. Already? Yes. I told you it was easy.

In another bowl, mix a cup of oats, 1/3 cup of flour (whole wheat, please!), another dash of cinnamon, a small handful of brown sugar, an even smaller handful of white sugar, a little lemon zest, and a stick of butter. A stick? Yes. I promised delicious, not low-cholesterol. No one said this was health food. Use a wooden spoon or a pastry cutter if you have it to mix the topping together. Do not get smart and think that a whisk is really just a pastry cutter on a long handle. All the butter will immediately jump to hide inside the whisk, and with one stupid idea, you will have turned this easy recipe into the stuff of nightmares where there are oats eternally glued under your fingernails.

Drop bits of topping all over your berry/apple mix, and bake at 375 for about half an hour. Ta da!

Numbers

2009-10-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

This weekend:
Number of warm bodies in my house: 6
Number of bedrooms in my house: 1
Number of warm bodies in the bedroom at my house on four legs: 3
Number of warm bodies that were feline: 2
Number of warm bodies that were 70 pound labs: 1
Number of felines successfully befriended by the lab: 0
Number of meals eaten at home: maybe 1?
Number of potlucks attended: 2
Number of calories consumed: more than enough for everyone who attended, everyone reading this and the 70 pound lab.

And today?
Number of enflamed tonsils in my throat: 2
Number of times the chiropractor adjusted my neck this morning: 4
Number of cookies I was inspired to bake for him: 100
Number of residents on my case load: 17
Number of times I've checked the clock to see if it's 11:00 yet: 1,000

What would Jesus do [for Fluffy]?

2009-10-02T19:02:00.000-07:00

Today on my way to work, I drove by a sign posted on the lawn of a church. It said "Blessing of Pets - Oct 4."

Where do I sign up? And would it help with the weight loss?

The Atkins Diet for Cats

2009-09-30T19:24:00.000-07:00

That's what the vet prescribed for Franc when he went in today for his rabies vaccine and distemper booster shot. (I need them to make that for people.)

"Atkins for Catkins." That's what I wanted to call this post, but I decided I should try not to let on how crazy I am, at least not so soon in our relationship.

Apparently, canned cat food is high in protein and low in carbohydrates, which is just what Dr. Atkins ordered for People. Another bonus? It contains more water than dry cat food (duh! But I promise I'm going somewhere with this), which is good for cats and good for me, because Franc likes knocking over the water bowl to play in it more than he likes drinking from it. And I'm tired of cleaning up.

By some strange coincidence that makes me appear much more organized than I am (so I'll mention it here), Franc was seen at the vet exactly a year ago today. He was a little more than 3 months old, and weighed 2.15 pounds.

Franc with his grandpa Paul, circa Sept. 14, 2008

Today, he weighed 11, which means he has quadrupled in size in 12 months (I think), and needs to lose 3 pounds. (Me too.) It turns out that's the equivalent of a Person losing 30 pounds, so we'll be instituting Fitness for Franc. Maybe on Fridays, because it alliterates so nicely.

Since we're already feeding him the recommended 1/4 cup of dry food twice a day (No more! No, Franc, you really can't have more.), the vet told us to put him on a canned food diet and increase exercise. So of course I told him to chase his kitten sister around the house twice daily and spend more time jumping into the bed with me.

He said, "I hate you, Mother, for making me see the mean cat doctor. And where is my dinner?"

Because I promised

2009-09-28T16:40:00.001-07:00

The international festival at UNCC is a big deal. I'm talking live music, traditional dancers from just about everywhere, and more booths than John Wilkes. Abe and I went on Saturday with some friends, and it was highly entertaining. Note to self: bring cash next time! I'm a sucker for some international snacks.

Afterward, we went to dinner with our friends and a whole slew of their friends. I was going to make this whole post about how Abe accidentally hit me in head in front of them, because I thought "ow!" and "this will be hilarious later!" It turns out I didn't know any of those people well enough for it to turn into anything except humiliations galore. (Surprise! Not all accidents are funny.)

So I'm out a good story for today.

Benefits versus risks of napping

2009-09-27T17:04:00.000-07:00

I put myself to sleep this afternoon trying to write a blog post. (You can thank me later and in monetary ways that you'll never have to read that one.) The nap was great, thanks for asking. Try back tomorrow.

And in the meantime, here is Franc in the bath!

Get a life

2009-09-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

What are you doing here? It's the weekend, and you should have something better to do.

(In case I don't, come back tomorrow! I just may write about the International Festival at UNCC and our delicious dinner afterward, when Abe socked me in the head in front of 8 strangers.)

5 things to love about Google Analytics

2009-09-25T10:20:00.001-07:00

If you have a website, you need Google Analytics now. Right now. Why is it my favorite website? Since you twisted my arm, I'll make a list.

It tells me everything about you. (Don't worry, not your social security number.) By you, I mean you people out there reading this. It tells me if you have dial-up or broadband. It tells me your rough geographic locations. It tells me which of my blog pages you most enjoy looking at. It tells me how many "you" are.
It revealed that I have a reader in Pakistan. Hello, Islamabad! I am glad you're here.
How did you find me? Some of you came via Lexi's blog. Some of you stopped by after visiting Joie. Some of you came from Google!
Google led you here when you were looking for "out of office email jury duty," "pool side fun blog," and "worldwide pants" (really?!) This sort of makes my day.
All of this information - and believe me, more - is presented in clever little line graphs and pie charts. And who doesn't like pie?! I remember nothing from school about Cartesian coordinates or x- and y- axes, so it boggles my mind that Google Analytics writes them about me.

There's no place like home

2009-09-24T16:17:00.000-07:00

Around 8:30 this morning, I walked through our apartment complex to meet a friend for coffee (Hi, Kendall!). There were five undercover cops in the parking lot - or at least, I'm telling myself they were undercover cops, because they had weapons and radios strapped all over their legs. You ask what kind of neighborhood needs undercover cops before breakfast?

I'll tell you: a safer neighborhood than the one where the guys with guns aren't cops.

How to floss

2009-09-23T17:19:00.000-07:00

I went to the dentist recently. I hate the dentist more than other people, because I have rotten teeth. Not actually rotten, but soft and cavity-prone. After my exam, the dentist always looks at me in a disappointed way, and tells me I have bad teeth and four cavities, and then writes me a prescription for toothpaste, never failing to mention that usually, only the very elderly have to resort to prescription toothpaste. And I feel ashamed, like a kid with a bad report card demoted to a remedial class. (When I lived in Portland, I had a hot man-dentist. That made it worse. I hated seeing him - by which I mean I hated him seeing my lousy teeth).

This time, the dentist finished the exam, and said "everything looks good!" Shocked, I said, "weawy?" (meaning "really," because it's hard to talk with someone's hand in your mouth). Surprised at my surprise, the dentist said "yup."

I suspect he may be blind, or maybe just bad at his job. But I'm going to keep seeing him anyway, because he made me feel great about my teeth. And that's worth flossing for.

Ignorance is bli$$

2009-09-22T13:56:00.000-07:00

Seriously? $849 for a little help studying for the GRE? No thank you, UNCC. At those prices, I'm happy to wallow in my ignorance (also, it's all I can afford).

Unsupervised

2009-09-21T10:47:00.000-07:00

Since the Great Commitment of '08 (a.k.a. my wedding), I've hardly had a night alone. That, I hear, is the point. So I considered carefully how I should spend my time when Abe left Sunday on a three day boys-only trip to camp and fish.

I'll give you the run-down for free, because I'm considering adding advertising to this blog, which will obviously result in fabulous wealth (or $1.00 would be fine) that will more than make up for me giving you my two cents for nothing.

Based on my two days of experience, here is how to make the most of a weekend alone.

Meet up with people. You could do this in all sorts of ways - I did via church, since it was conveniently Sunday morning when Abe left. Make sure these are people who care about you and have food.
Make sure you mention you're alone. Even though you are a grown-up person and fully self-sufficient, these people will most likely feel (a) sorry for you, and (b) obligated to take care of you, especially if (a) they are your parents, and (b) you are still sniffling from a cold (fake it if you're one of those people with a functional immune system).
You have already scored. The above actions will result in an invitation of some kind (85% of these invitations will involve free food. Don't ask how, this is science). In my case, I got invited for an entire sleepover, because I took full advantage of all the results-boosting options (listed as (a)'s and (b)'s above).

Of course, it wasn't all that easy. In order to spend the night at my parents' house in Waxhaw, I had to pack up the cats. Those cats had no interest whatsoever in loading themselves into their carrier, which necessitates an exercise commonly referred to as "herding cats." As an expert in the discipline with millions in ad revenue on their way from my blog, I'll offer the following tips pro bono.

You will need at least two and a half* full-grown adults (or one adult per cat, plus at least one half additional adult. Here is this convenient equation, because I took algebra once and then forgot everything: x=y+1/2, where x=adults and y=number of cats) in good health to attempt this.
You may want to wear long sleeves, long pants, long socks, and long gloves, or borrow a beekeeper's suit from a friend. (Also, introduce me to that friend?) Or declaw your cats.**
One adult should pursue each cat. It's wise to shut off any doors by which the cats might try to escape before introducing the carrier(s) to their environment. A frightened cat with any brain waves whatsoever will immediately look for a place to hide. Don't try this in a bedroom! Your cat Will Not Ever come out from under the bed. Even for earplugs (a.k.a. food).
The additional half adult should watch and try not to laugh. Because this is serious business. They should also be put in charge of the carrier(s) - opening the doors and closing them once the cat is contained. Lightning speed is of the essence!
Once the cats are captured, hold on for your life. And stuff them as quickly as you can into the carrier(s). If you have trouble remembering, just think: "hold and stuff."
Then you may need some ear plugs of your own, because the cats will mew and meow furtively, and plaintively, and at first it will be hard to resist letting them out. And then it will just get old. So the ear plugs will be good either way.

*My mother is suffering from a broken elbow acquired in a bicycle wreck. The alleged "accident" involved her son-in-law Ben, who is an experienced rider who has won prizes in bike trials as well as ridden a ten-speed across America. Is this suspicious? You ask yourselves.

**DON'T! I shout because I actually don't at all believe in declawing. Because (a) how would you feel if somebody ripped your fingernails off?, and (b) without claws your Fluffy has no way to protect herself if she ever gets lost or a crazed possum breaks into your house.

Where have I been all your life?

2009-09-18T09:36:00.001-07:00

At Charlotte's Greek festival. If the gyros and loukamades and men dressed straight out of 'Troy' weren't enough to get you there, they call it "Yiasou!" A good name for any party.
Accidentally, at a pagan festival - because Abe was trying to read the sign wrong-side front, and said, "it's the Pecan Pride Festival!" And I'm a sucker for a free sample. (Tarot card reading, not so much.)
Riding bikes on the greenway by Freedom Park. They have bridges and creeks and ducks and snakes, but the wildlife mostly leaves you alone.
Bouldering at Crowder's, where they've opened a new area that is all for bouldering! (And by "bouldering," of course I mean climbing around for a little while, and then napping in a hammock.) I should also mention that my climbing shoes have angry monkeys on them. Perfect.
Out for jury duty.
Working, and madly, because I have 15 pregnant ladies and only 8 hours, 2 hands, and 1 brain (possibly less) to deal with all of them.
Out for what I thought was tonsillitis, but turns out to just be a cold. Again. Our friend Josh said, "geez, are you ever not broken?" The answer seems to be a pretty clear "no." (My coworkers think this is hilarious justification to carry on with their crappy eating habits, since I eat more vegetables in a day than they do collectively in a work week, and have used more sick time since I started than probably everyone else put together.)
Making homemade applesauce in my crock pot. (Now you can too: cut up your apples and core them. You can peel them or not. Put them in your crock pot with a little water, a little cinnamon, a little vanilla. You can use a weensy bit of brown sugar, but you don't need to. Cook on low until you can mash the apples with a fork. Mm.)
Drinking tea. Constantly. (See #7)
Reading other people's blogs, and gaining an internet inferiority complex. (Other people are funny! Other people have great pictures on their blogs! Other people's blogs are focused. Some people's blogs are about food! And crafts.) I'm trying to turn some of that moping around, and I'm playing with a couple of ideas to liven it up in here. So stay tuned!

My Civic Duty: unfortunately, not test-driving a 2010 Honda hybrid with a dual point sequential ignition system, whatever that is

2009-09-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

I sent an "out of office" email a few minutes ago, because I've been summoned for jury duty starting Monday. (Hopefully ending Monday as well, but that remains to be seen.) Jury duty is one of those things - like amputation or winning raffles - that Happens To Other People. I thought that the district court had surely made a mistake when I got my summons. Don't they know I'm just a college kid? (That's seriously what I first thought. My age has not caught up with me.) Don't they know I'm not just?

People had suggestions for me when I told them I had jury duty I didn't want. "Point out that you've moved to another county!" (FAIL.) "Write and explain it would be a hardship for you to appear." (ANOTHER FAIL) "Fill out the juror survey and say that the last book you read was 'Mein Kampf' and your hobbies are 'KKK meetings and building pipe bombs,' or 'Ridin' dirty and flippin' off the po-po in my hood.'" "Show up for duty in a t-shirt covered in anarchist slogans or remarks about what white people smell like." Actually, no one suggested those last two. I came up with those myself when I was feeling smart.

I told someone at work that I was freaking out about jury duty. I think she was trying to reassure me when she said, "Don't worry, you'll never be selected anyway. They only choose people who are reasonable."

blanc de blanc

2009-09-10T12:05:00.000-07:00

Last night one of my residents told me that she couldn't live with her roommate because her roommate is white and "smells different." I told her I would be happy to address any hygeine issues with her roommate (because I'm plenty experienced with that), and she said, "it's not that. It's not that I'm racist, because I'm not. It's just that white people smell different."

(Thank you. That would be my expensive 'eau de social work.')

I pointed out to her how that was a fairly racist sentiment, and challenged her by saying that sometimes we grow up with certain prejudices or ideas about others that it's healthy to grow out of as we learn more about the world.

(Please, God, help me not to point out how much she stinks.)

Then she said, "They smell like wet dog and spoiled milk."

(Then I said, "You are a brat. You should get over thinking that you are better than everyone else, and to do that, I'm going to move to you a suite of All White People until you smell just like them." To myself.)

I nearly ended it there by saying that I didn't think I should continue the conversation in the interest of maintaining a shred of professionalism. (I have that.) But the good Lord was with me, and so instead I asked if she realized what she had just said.

"Oh, but Ms. Karen, I don't think of you as a white person."

At this point, all I could do was stare at the hand in front of me, and wonder what color she thinks it is. So I beg the question: if you can't tell by looking, how do you know if you're white? Here's the evidence against me:

EXHIBIT A: Last week, one of the minors was describing where her neighbor lives. "It look like a white person house," she said. Everyone laughed, and all the heads in the room swiveled toward me.
EXHIBIT B: People are surprised when I tell them I'm from Africa. They say, "I didn't know white people came from Africa."
EXHIBIT C: As a teenager in Cameroon, men frequently asked me to make metisse babies with them.

In less snarky news, I have another resident who wears a t-shirt that says "Worldwide Pants Incorporated." Maybe when I'm too burnt out to social work, I'll get a job in Worldwide Pants.

Does it make me as old as your mom that I just had a 5 year reunion with friends from college?

2009-09-08T18:15:00.000-07:00

I'm back from Boston, and completely exhausted. I should have seen this coming and requested a day off to recover. Instead, on Monday I flew back to Charlotte on a 6 am flight and reported to work at 3 pm. I've been dragging ever since. It feels criminally mean that I have to wait until Saturday for a day off.

Here is a problem with vacation, especially vacation with old friends: it makes work seem even less fun, because it points out what you're missing in all of those hours that you're copying and filing and trying to convince pregnant women to quit smoking and fighting each other. If you haven't taken a vacation in a while, you may be missing:

late night "fast walks" - not runs - to the store
a good Dark 'n' Stormy (HINT: add a splash of bitters!)
hilarious conversations that should definitely not take place in public (...oops.)
photo ops (sometimes photo oops) on street corners and in front of historic buildings
much less sleep than you would be if you were trying to cram five years of fun into less than five days.

Now I am missing those things, too. Today I had to make a quick Fedex run to mail some mail, and I think I got tetanus using their restroom. I'm also convinced that they put receipt printer paper on their toilet rolls.

Boston or bust!

2009-09-04T13:45:00.000-07:00

Today I'm off to Boston! It's going to be a fantastic weekend reunion with four of my best mates from college. It only took me three hours to pack a suitcase with a volume of about three cubic inches, because I'm told that it's cold in Boston, and since last winter I have forgotten important skills like : how to layer, how to tuck jeans into boots, how to match, and where is my coat?

In my defense, most of those hours were spent trying on outfits that I didn't pack and tearing apart the bathroom, because when I travel I become obsessed with finding the tiniest containers. Tiniest suitcase? Check. Tiniest face cream? Check. Tiniest lotion? Where is the tiniest lotion?! The size of the emergency is inversely proportional to the size of the tiniest lotion.

So hopefully after all that I remembered to pack my underwear, because in fifteen minutes, I'm off!

Here's hoping that you have a wonderful labor day weekend, and interpret it less literally than my coworker (who will be - you guessed it - working) and my client (who should be in an entirely different kind of labor this weekend).

Please pass the DEET

2009-09-02T06:55:00.000-07:00

I've thought of a number of hilarious things to blog about in the last several days. Unfortunately for both of us, now I can't remember any of them.

We had house guests last week, which was terrific. Deb (my most humorous friend from high school) and her mom stayed a few days in the middle of a road trip. They ended up showing us around the city, since I apparently know nothing about Charlotte. Deb (most humorous) took us to Wing Haven Gardens, which is a 3 + acre garden in the middle of Charlotte where the wildlife is supposed to be bountiful and tame. We saw hardly any wildlife, so I can only assume that the "aviary" part was referring to the mosquitos, which were bird-sized.

The Prayer of St. Francis was carved on a plaque in the garden.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

(I think he might have worked at NYM Maternity Home.)

How to defeat dust mites and alienate your neighbors

2009-08-26T16:32:00.000-07:00

Today I just might change your life, if you
a) have carpet in your habitat
b) hate to vacuum.

In a few short steps, I will now explain to you my proven, evidence-based method to turn you into a lover of vacuuming. THIS INCREDIBLE PROGRAM IS FREE OF CHARGE.

1. Get a cat
-the more, the merrier (and the faster this program will work!)
-bonus for long-haired varietals
2. Carry on as usual for one week.
3. Vacuum. Now bear with me - it's just the one time. You don't even have to move the furniture.
4. Clean out the inside of your vacuum/vacuum bag and filter. Force yourself to acknowledge the vast amounts of pet hair and dander. If you don't immediately feel like vacuuming again, look a little longer.
5. THAT IS ALL. IT DOES NOT EVEN TAKE FIVE STEPS.

Personal Testimonial: This program has so radically changed my life, that now, all I want to do is vacuum. Before, I was the kind of wife who would secretly put off vacuuming for so long that my husband would feel guilty and do it. In the last week, I have vacuumed the floors three times, the rugs, and the furniture. I have vacuumed everything that is not nailed down, and have even discovered this great FREE BONUS TIP: Your vacuum most likely has a hose/brush attachment system that will let you vacuum all over and around those inconveniently nailed down things. This same hose is great for removing pet hair from clothing!

*Side effects may include: worn carpets, soreness in the neck, back and arms, a staggeringly high electric bill, and a drastic reduction in the pet hair, dust, and muck in your carpets. You may or may not find that once you begin this program, you are unable to do anything without vacuuming first. There are currently no support groups for those who are struggling with over-vacuuming, however, one will be starting at the Klekov residence as soon as I figure out how I'd hear you knocking over the sound of the vacuum. This program may also be detrimental to your relationships with neighbors and/or your adopted pets, if they should fear the noise of the vacuum.

Things to be glad for

2009-08-25T21:25:00.000-07:00

Franc feels like a million dollars after the bath he had today. (It also turns out he's not nearly as fat as we took him for - just fluffy.)
Tomorrow I get to jet ski at work.
Having plenty.
I overheard a client telling my newest resident how nice I am. (Shut up, Lexi! I am too nice! At least professionally.)
One great husband.

Part of a complete breakfast

2009-08-23T10:18:00.000-07:00

Get it? Part? We ate the rest.

If you don't have blueberries in your freezer this time of year, America, you have missed the boat. (Or you live someplace with a late blueberry crop, and please invite me over to pick.)

Yesterday Lexi and Ben came over for an early breakfast, and amazing-because-I-like-sleeping-in, I pulled off a delicious blueberry coffee cake. I am the sloth of kitchens - I enjoy chopping, whipping, sauteeing and all of it, but I'm very, very slow. On Friday night I mixed my dry ingredients and assembled everything else, which saved time Saturday morning (and the coffee cake, because you should never measure baking soda while sleep deprived).

Whole Wheat Blueberry Coffee Cake
Heat oven to 350. In a large bowl, mix until blended:
2 c. whole wheat flour
3/4 c. sugar
1 TBS baking soda
1 tsp salt
1/3 c. oil
1 c. milk (I used soy)
1 egg
zest of 1 lemon
Beat the mixture for 2 minutes, then spread in a greased 9x13 pan. Spread a heaping cup (or two) of frozen blueberries over the top, and sprinkle with streusel made from following ingredients, lightly tossed with a fork:
1/3 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. whole wheat flour
1 tsp cinnamon
enough oil to moisten - probably 1-2 TBS
(Also, nuts would be delicious.) Bake about 40 minutes, or until the cake is set with lightly browned edges.

Now I'm off to hide in the bathroom, because I am terrified of cicadas, and Abe just gave the cats one to play with. It's another wild weekend at my house....

You get what you pay for

2009-08-21T21:50:00.000-07:00

Today I went to Walmart for work. They did not sell whole wheat flour (which I needed), and I felt jealous of all kids shopping for school supplies. The woman getting eggs out from the refrigerator case in front of me said “Be sure to check your eggs. My carton was missing one." When I got home and emptied my bags, my carton was missing an egg. And while I was not paying attention, the cashier put my four items into three bags. Global warming says thanks, Walmart.

Snugglefest 2009

2009-08-20T11:18:00.000-07:00

What's new since the last time I blogged? Well, for starters, he is:

It's my nephew, making his international internet debut! His name is Samson, and he was born yesterday morning. Obviously, snuggling his sweet cheeks has taken priority over updating my blog.

Other things have also been more important, like my mystery illness. Symptoms: 2. Doctor's visits: 2. Vicoden prescribed: 30. Kidney Ultrasounds: 1. Referrals made: 1. Calls back from the doctor I've been referred to: 0. Days ago: 3. Sick hours used: 30.

Today I did finally go back to work. I wore mascara and put on a cute outfit to convince myself that I Feel Great. Something in the kitchen garbage was smelling rotten, so I got my things together to take the trash out on my way. I had parked a ways from the apartment because I wanted my car to be in the shade, so of course as I was locking the door and heading down the stairs, it started to pour. And in a moment unrelated to those 30 vicoden (I swear I haven't taken one in days), I stood in the rain for a good 20 seconds wrestling with the trunk of my car before I realized it was strapped shut by the bike rack we had used over the weekend. By the time I put the rotten garbage in the car with me, I was drenched. Which was awesome, since I had taken the time this morning to actually Iron. And I think that when you're wet, you're more absorbant of stenches.

I dried out eventually, and as soon as I did, my pen broke and leaked ink all over my skirt. I curse you now, Sharpie pen that I loved.

Welcome back to the world, little kidneys.

Thank you, Pisgah National Forest

2009-08-10T16:47:00.000-07:00

This weekend Abe and I had a tremendous adventure in Transylvania County. I checked the weather before we left, when I was deciding whether to take my cute-as-a-button pumas or my water-resistant teva shoes which look like duck feet (so much that Teva apparently erased all evidence of them on the internet. They are a little bit like these, only red and for women. Also, feel free to notice that even one of the reviewers on that website said they "look odd"). The weatherman said there was a 20% chance of rain, so I went with the cute pumas and completely forgot my raincoat, which is so cute, from Goodwill, and has a rainbow zipper.

It of course started pouring less than 2 minutes after we pulled into the parking lot on Turkey Pen Road. Abe and I were 100% soaked by the time we built our own camp site in the woods (don't tell, as I believe that may have been illegal), and there is now a "20%" chance that I'll never return to wunderground.com for my weather forecasting needs (At wunderground.com, see,"20%" apparently means "100%. Look out, weatherman. Now I'm catching on. I'm speaking your language). And a 20% chance that I'll find that weatherman and attack him with a hose on the day he's wearing his cute pumas. Lucky for weatherman, we had a good time in spite of the rain. We "enjoyed the instant gratification of a delicious Cup Noodles," floated down the river on inner tubes, befriended the wildlife (by which of course I mean that I found a tiny frog, and Abe put it on his nose so we could take hilarious pictures), and rode our bikes until Abe's pedal fell off (which was not probably so long as it sounds).

Then we came home without getting lost to a clean house and very grateful kittens (at least until they realized we'd put them back on their feeding regimen. Sorry, fat Franc). We unpacked, did a little yoga (Abe said "Turn it down!" when I started the video, "This is embarrassing!"), and washed clothes using my Highly Successful homemade laundry detergent.

So thank you, Pisgah National Forest, for this weekend, which was memorable, crazy fun, and with my favorite husband.

P.S. This is all about saving water.

Bare minimum

2009-08-07T12:33:00.000-07:00

I finally got around to reading the minutes from our last Case Coordinator meeting. The first note was that we were praised for our work maintaining a client with dual diagnosis (mental health and substance abuse issues). We were apparently thanked for being "tolerable," which I find hilarious because that's about how I feel toward my job right now. I guess it's mutual.

ps) If you are tempted to adopt one or more adorable kittens, please be advised that they may grow up to eat your yoga mat and leave their hair all over the place. Also, no matter how cute they are, or charming, they will not ever help clean the bathroom.

first time for everything

2009-08-04T07:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, someone at work called me a "white bitch." (SOMEONE WHOSE CESAREAN INCISION I CHECKED ON FRIDAY ARE YOU SERIOUS?! It sounds obvious, but I now know it to be true: Mental health issues will drive you crazy.) I'm sure plenty of residents have called me much worse names in the privacy of their rooms, or as they walk away from me down the hall, but I've never heard it. I realized I've never been really cussed out before.

So I can check that off my list of things to do before I die.

The same client also verbally assaulted another resident , who then came to me worried that she would retaliate, stressed that she has to deal with this during her pregnancy, and clearly very hurt. (She said her peer was afflicted by a demon. Should I have argued?) I had to tell her not to personalize, to be the bigger person, and to remember that this is the stuff that Makes Us Stronger.

Then I was so strong that I turned green and sinewy and huge, and burst out of my clothing. (Side note: How do I feel that the Incredible Hulk and I have the same haircut? I feel unoriginal.) And obviously, after that happened, I needed a day off. So hooray! Today I'm celebrating My Sister's 26th Birthday all day long.

Cuts

2009-08-01T06:15:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen the incision made for a cesarean section? If you have, I'm sorry, because on Friday, I did too. I'm not talking about the long vertical kind of incision - I'm talking about the horizontal cut they make underneath the belly. Low. So low, I won't even tell you. (Can I go ahead and say that examining cesarean incisions is Not My Job?)

But it was my schizophrenic client, and she came to me so pathetically, and told me she was supposed to check it every day, but couldn't see it over her stomach. And could I please come and look at it? I couldn't say no (really? really, Karen, you couldn't say no? If you had wanted to be a nurse, you could happily be paid a lot more. But you didn't, you aren't, and you should have said no). I went with my client to her room, and she carefully closed the door behind me. It occurred to me to ask what I would be checking for. "Leakage," she said, "or if it's open at all." It occurred to me that if I saw leakage or openings, I would probably pass out. I think I turned two shades whiter. She told me to come in to the bathroom, and closed that door as well. "I'm not going to hurt you, miss," she said, probably noticing that I appeared close to passing out. I reassured her that I'm not afraid of her (just her possible pus or internal organs falling out), and I know she's not dangerous. "I've had a rough life, that's all, miss." She peeled her layers of clothing up and down, and down and down and down, and that's all I'm going to tell you about exactly how low they cut a woman to take out her baby.

And how does it cut to lose your child? Earlier that day CPS took custody of her child (a beautiful girl, just a week old). She sounded angry when she told me she doesn't like the foster mother. She sounded ready to cry when she said "I'm hurting and I'm feeling let down." Then she changed the subject. She told me she had been hit in the head, and if I touched it, I could feel the bump. I asked how it happened, and she told me it was when she was a baby. She said "I haven't been right since. That's trauma." The tears came when she said "That's trauma, miss. It stays with you for the rest of your life."

The return of discipline

2009-07-31T13:32:00.000-07:00

When I was in college, I was a machine. I worked two jobs and took mostly full class loads. I walked everywhere. I interned. I exercised. I cooked at home. I stuffed each day til the seams burst, and I got up the next day and did it again.

Since then, I have gone soft. I work one job and take no classes. I drive everywhere. I think about volunteering and going back to school, but have yet to sign up. I get no exercise. I force myself to cook - sometimes. And I get up the next day and I do it again.

So I need to get it together. I need to get busier, and back to the discipline that I used to practice. I think goals are a good place to start (and I don't mean watching soccer).

Goal #1
Plug away on my embroidery project, which one day will be a beautiful throw pillow. Also, master the stupid french knot! (Embroidery is not like kissing. The french version of "knotting" is "knot" more fun than our regular old kind.) (HA! Pun intended, obviously, or I would have spelled it right.)

Goal #2
Make peace with my sewing machine, which hates me.

Goal #3
Clean more regularly, maybe on Friday mornings, so that I'll quit freaking out about what a mess my house is. (Poor Abe. Someone give him a cookie.)

Goal #4
Make jam out of the blueberries in my freezer. Mmmm. To do this, I will first need to actually win an ebay auction for a pressure cooker. Please pray for me.

Goal #5
Exercise!

Five is good for now. Wish me luck!

Happy Anniversary to me

2009-07-25T10:38:00.000-07:00

and to my most wonderful husband, who I married a year ago today. As he said this morning, "I've never been married this long before."

Here I am, making the best decision of my life. Cheers!

Hang on little tomato

2009-07-22T10:54:00.000-07:00

5 Things with Pictures

2009-07-21T19:15:00.000-07:00

5 Things I did this past weekend:

Blueberry picking, where I spent my life savings on blueberries for jam, and learned everything about a retired man in the blueberry patch who could not stop talking, even though it was 7 am. (He plays classical guitar. He can play anything that's ever been written for the classical guitar. He swims five miles every day. He walks ten miles every day. He was the best sight reader in Virginia. He flew to St. Louis every week for his job. He thinks the military should shoot up DC and not the Middle East. Then my head exploded and grew a sunflower out the top.) (Please look past my grimace and my disgusting man-hand to admire the bucket of blueberries I picked.)
Celebrated Abe's (belated) birthday all Saturday long, 7 am to 11:30 pm, with all of his siblings. Among other things, he got a cooler. Let's go car camping!

Shower babies (Have I mentioned I'm going to be a real Aunt? Abe's sister has a little hot cross bun in the oven). I embroidered onesies, and finished just in time for the shower-- and I was flattered when my sister-in-law did not even know they were homemade. (Or maybe she was being kind. I have to be realistic - I cannot draw, and I came up with those bad boy baby animal designs with no assistance or supervision.) (As a side note, that little rubber Mighty Duck turns white if the bath water is too hot. The technology!)

Ate a fast food breakfast that I'm fairly certain was entirely fried in lard. Gross, Jack in the Box, gross. My arteries scream in protest of you.

Finally put pictures on my computer from our trip to Raleigh a weekend or so ago. Here, Abe is pictured standing upside down on one hand by the Kerr Lake, so you know we had a good time.

Mostly I am just too tired to blog

2009-07-16T17:05:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday nights, I sleep at work. (It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.) I get off at 7 am, and drive home to go back to sleep. (Mm, sleep.) And every morning as I pull into the parking lot, I see a man with a beard and a backpack, running up the hill and into the woods. I imagine he's running to catch a bus - but I'm fairly certain there's no bus stop where he's headed (isn't that the way to Grandmother's house?).

So that was this morning.

This afternoon I left my house a little before 2:30 pm. I was listening to NPR and sweating like a fool, waiting for the a/c to kick on. It was about a thousand degrees outside. And then I see this man in his running shorts and a sweatband running down the sidewalk, juggling. That is called Showing Off.

I was wondering - what's with all the crazies? And I thought maybe it was work-related. Like, maybe I'm hallucinating.

But then I got to work, and it continued. At dinner, my crazy client was acting Normal, and all my "normal" clients wanted to fight each other. This culminated in a giant meeting where all the residents yelled at each other until they worked out their issues, and I needed a tylenol the size of a desk chair.

And then we really lost it.

That's what it equals, when you have 1 minor client + many mental health issues - all medication due to her pregnancy. So this girl runs to her room, where she starts by throwing all of her stuff, and when she's exhausted her belongings, starts throwing furniture. She calmed down a little, crawled under her bed, and then refused to communicate or come out.

And then someone flashed me.

Now I need Behavioral Health to send an ambulance for me.

You say it's your birthday

2009-07-10T10:37:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday, Abram Kovach. Of all the men I've ever met, you're my favorite.

a little "help" from my friends

2009-07-09T10:54:00.000-07:00

Finally, my Kina makes her solo internet debut! Which means she finally stood still for half a second so I could get a picture to show y'all her pretty green eyes and little white chest freckle.She's been very helpful lately, as a matter of fact - today she "helped me" wrap Abe's birthday gifts -- by which I mean she ate the paper, and then the ribbon, and then got her fur stuck in all the tape. In this picture, she was helping me bake.

What else? Zucchini muffins! When I lived in Portland and cooked for one, I used to make these and freeze them. If you take a muffin or two out of the freezer the night before and put it in the fridge, it will be perfect by breakfast (and warm if you toaster oven it for a minute!) This recipe calls for lining the muffin tins, so it gets bonus points for easy clean-up and minus points for wasting paper.

3/4 c. flour (I use a mix of soy and white flours)
1 1/4 c. whole wheat flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 c. vegetable oil
about 1/2 c. sugar (I used less - bonus health points and minus delicious points)
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 c. grated zucchini
several handfuls of chopped pecans

Stir together: flours, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, cloves and salt. Use an electric mixer to beat oil, sugar, eggs and vanilla. Stir in zucchini. Add dry ingredients and stir only until everything is moistened. Gently stir in nuts. Bake in a lined 12-cup muffin pan at 375 degrees for 20 or so minutes.

Then try not to eat them all in one sitting (it turns out zucchini muffins are nearly as good for lunch as ice cream sandwiches).

*I do have to issue caution for those of you who are now inspired to bake with your pets. You should really never bake with anyone (friend or feline) whose hair you're not willing to eat. (This may be why Abe and I rarely cook together these days. His beard hairs have gotten far too long and coarse to go in my couscous.) I took pictures of my muffins this morning - because looking at the pictures is the bulk of the fun - and I was especially proud of one shot in particular. So I emptied the camera onto the computer, ready to post it here - and then realized that there was a long white kitten hair sticking straight up from the top of the muffin in front. Like a birthday candle, saying "ew."

i-n-e-r-t

2009-07-08T16:59:00.000-07:00

I realized before work as I was eating ice cream sandwich from off my laptop (don't judge. Let he without paper towels cast the first stone when he drips ice cream sandwich on his laptop.) that I have been inert. (That, folks, is the word of the day, because just like me with a cold, it's short and it sounds hilarious.)

July has so far been a very uninspiring month, something that I blame on the virus that clobbered me last Friday. Since then, I have:

Forced my (fantastic and visiting) friend Millie to stay in with me on July 4th - if you see her, please give her a prize for being so nice about it, and for purchasing cookies.
Watched all twelve hours of 'Lord of the Rings' on DVD...
...and subsequently dreamt 'Lord of the Rings'-flavored dreams two nights in a row.
Coughed, sneezed, and slept more than I should probably ever tell.
Purchased two boxes of expensive cold medicine for only 1.97 at CVS, thanks to convenient clearance sales and a $2 off coupon on one of the boxes. (Good thing they were cheap, because they are now also gone.)
Eaten ice cream sandwiches for lunch three times.
Stayed in bed until noon nearly every day.
Forgotten to call the Mazda guys about my Mazda maintenance.
Forgotten to check the mail for the power bill.
Forgotten altogether about car insurance; mine may have expired. (Does it expire? I may be too stupid to be this grown up.)

Today I finally dragged myself out of bed (do I need to tell you that it wasn't until 11:30? Maybe I'll leave that part out), went to the store for eggs, and made zucchini muffins. Tomorrow I will probably tell you the recipe. And maybe work out, because I have renewed motivation for that, too: one of the (otherwise hilarious) women I work with decided to be funny and start a rumor that I'm "not feeling well" because I'm secretly pregnant with twins.

Mail order brides not sold here

2009-07-07T16:33:00.000-07:00

Ring, ring...
Me: Florence Crittenton Services, this is Karen.
Caller: Florence Crystal? Who?
Me: Florence Crittenton Services.
Caller: Oh. What? Is that a maternity home?
Me: Yes.
Caller: Does that have to do with marital um, status?
Me: Excuse me, what?
Caller: Does that have to do with marital status?
Me: No, it’s for pregnant women.
Caller: Oh! So it’s women who are expecting?
Me: Yes.
Caller: Oh. I’m sorry. I thought maternity was like, about marital status.
Me: Nope.
Caller: Okay, well, sorry.

"Just Relax. This Won't Hurt."

2009-07-02T17:07:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm "back."

And with chiropractic news, so that pun was most definitely intended. On Tuesday, my back hurt so badly that at one point I threw up, and at another point I may have told my husband that I "just wanted to die." Yes, when it comes to pain, I am spineless. But now I have an excuse!

Abe tucked me in on the living room floor, and tried to keep me company while I writhed there in pain (Someone please give the man a medal. He was trying so hard to be nearby and comforting, but I was Highly Unreasonable and kept changing positions as I rolled around on the floor in an effort to alleviate the pain. Every time I moved, he was in the way, so I think he was relieved to have an excuse to leave when I needed something to puke in. That, friends, is Love). At 3:00, Abe's chiropractor's office opened, so Abe picked out some clothes (that is Really Love) and took me over. There, I was dressed in a gown, felt up the back, and body slammed by the good doctor. (Do I get extra pity points if I mention he outweighed me by probably 100 lbs?) The doctor found a sprain in my back, which was causing the pain, and discovered from my x-rays that my back is broke.*

(Abe called me Evil Knievel, and then called all his siblings to brag about how tough his woman is: backpacking and kayaking with a broken spine! I can't exactly take this credit, because I had no idea. Also, it's been broken for a long enough time to make my pelvis grow lopsided to compensate. Someday, when I'm feeling especially meek, I may even tell you the embarrassing story of how my back break might have happened. Maybe tomorrow.)

*This is now a good excuse for all sorts of things. "No, you client who can't stop complaining or getting on my nerves, I cannot go on a walk with you, because my back is broken." "Abe, can you please wash the dishes/get me an ice pack/make the bed? It's just that my back is broken." "Your power over me is broken, exercise DVD collecting dust in the corner! I can have nothing to do with you, what with my back being broken."

Now I want a whoopie pie

2009-06-26T13:38:00.000-07:00

In a quiet moment at work, I thought I would look at some healthy recipes online to get inspired for the farmer's market tomorrow.

How exactly did I end up here?

Not My Job

2009-06-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

Does anybody else here love NPR's news quiz Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me? Holla! There's a part of the show when they invite people - usually famous ones, like Elizabeth Edwards or Terry Gene Bollea - to answer questions about things which are not their job. (It's funnier in practice.)

In my work at the maternity home, every day I'm presented with any number of things that were definitely not in my job description. Most days are exhausting, and in retrospect, hilarious, so I thought I would walk you through my work day.

2:30 pm - Last glance around the house. Did I forget everything? Survey says yes. I find my cell phone in the closet and my glasses on the floor by the bed (Kina thinks the nightstand is hers, and uses her tail to knock off any invaders). Feed the cats, lock the door, and I'm on my way.

2:56 pm - Pull in the gate. I find my keys as I park, run in the door, clock in and sign in, and try to make it upstairs without any interceptions by needy clients.

3:00 pm - Meet in the rec room for clinical. In my experience, these weekly meetings are as much for staff morale as they are for staff members to communicate about the different aspects of our residents' treatment goals. We discuss each resident - her school attendance, her clinic appointments, her participation level in activities/classes, her plans after delivery, and any issues she's presented since the last meeting. We do a lot of problem solving and story telling; usually also a lot of laughing. It lasts an hour.

4:00 pm - Someone needs to use the phone, someone needs their medication, and someone wants to talk about the sterile mask she got from the clinic today - she is serious when she says she is going to wear it to the NA meeting she's required to attend this evening. "They be in there coughing like they're about to die. I don't want to catch TB from them." Partly relieved she's talking about attending at all, I listen, and realize I was supposed to do a transport fifteen minutes ago. A little help, over here? I give the medication, stall about the phone, and duck out the door to pick up a resident from the hospitality class she's taking at Goodwill Industries. I relish the peace and quiet in the van on the way.

4:25 pm - I'm back, and just in time to deal with the fall-out from another crisis. Someone just returned from the clinic, cursing and carrying on. I've heard this same complaint from this same resident for months. For some reason the clinic hasn't been able to determine her due date. It looks to me like she could deliver any second. But am I a doctor? That is not my job. She says that if they don't give her an ultrasound, she's leaving the program. I try to call and alert her social worker. There is no answer.

4:45 pm - One of my residents with an adoption plan just had her baby - two weeks early. This means that nothing was actually in place, so I've been frantically trying to reach her social worker with Children's Home Society (the one coordinating the adoption), but she's out this week. I leave another message.

5:00 pm - Dinner is paged over the intercom. I lock the phone, the files, and all the paperwork I've been working on in the office, and go downstairs to the dining hall. Dinner is weird, and I slept in this morning instead of getting up to cook. I get coffee and take my seat at the staff table. Everyone is feeling pretty low since the pay cut last week, so there's not a lot of conversation over dinner. At one point, two residents get loud, talking about what the other told someone else about them. I cut in as the younger one says "you don't know who you're f---ing with." Shortly afterward, she leaves the dining room, and I resume breathing. I hate breaking up fights, because all of the residents are taller than me, and most outweigh me by at least 30 pounds. Also, I'm afraid they will break my glasses. (If they wanted a bouncer, they should have hired this guy.)

5:45 pm - All the residents have finished eating, and I'm on my way back upstairs. I page chores, but I'm mostly ignored - a few residents have gone to the computer lab, one went to her room, and the rest are outside (we make them leave campus if they want to smoke). As soon as I sit down, someone approaches my desk. She needs to go to the hospital (I am lucky this time - I'm used to over-disclosure about things like "leaking fluid" and "spotting," but the case manager who works in the mornings once had a resident bring her mucus plug in a tissue when she came to request a ride to the hospital. That is really not my job!). So it's back downstairs to sign out of the building, check out a van, and drive the five minutes to the ER. Of course in the parking lot, the resident I was supposed to take to a 7 pm NA meeting seizes the opportunity to tell me she also needs to go to the hospital, because she suddenly has a migraine. Never one to deny medical care, I drive both residents to the ER. When one complains about how long they'll have to wait, I resist the urge to offer my health insurance in exchange for hers (Medicaid). No one I know outside of NYM Maternity Home can walk out of the ER without a bill. Starving, I take the long way and stop at Trader Joe's. I get a hummus/veggie wrap and a tiny coffee sample.

6:05 pm - I am now late for my own activity. I haul boxes of trial size toiletries to the multi-purpose room, and then page for residents. Before too long, I have a small group from the minor hall helping me organize the toiletries and stuff bags. Each bag needs 2 shampoos, 2 soaps, a lotion, and a conditioner. Tomorrow morning, a few of the residents will be going with our Volunteer Coordinator to take the bags to "Stuff the Bus" (a donations drive for some of the homeless shelters in the area). Some of the shampoo bottles have leaked; by the end I have suds everywhere. The girls seem to be enjoying themselves, though. I don't spend much time with the residents who are under 18; they live on a different hall, and I work primarily with the adults. I notice how giggly they are. They ask about my tattoo and my husband.

7:10 pm - By the time I get upstairs, the volunteers who host a Bible study every week have already arrived. A few residents have gathered in the multipurpose room. I page the group, and check my work email. Updates on all the recent groups and classes, information on SC medicaid, and a few emails addressing issues with residents. I reply and discard.

7:57 - Snack is paged for the residents. I try to ignore it - usually evening snack is something sugary, like honeybuns or oreos. I eat my hummus wrap, and I'm grateful when one resident (who knows about my popcorn habit) brings me a packet of microwave popcorn. I put it in my drawer for later. A coworker who deal with agency records has asked me to help her with a project, so I spend the next hour going through the computer making a list of all the deliveries we've had since December 2007, complete with the babies' APGAR scores. (Don't worry, I didn't understand that, either.) I am interrupted about every seven minutes by someone with some need to be met. I also eat the popcorn.

9:00 - Back to the hospital to pick up resident number one. (They all think they are number one.) She is in a terrible mood, which means that after a minor outburst as she gets in the van, she hardly speaks the rest of the way back. It may be smoldering, but at least it's silence. She goes straight to her room. Back at my desk, I hear: staff laughing down on the minor's hall, some reality show on television in the lounge, a resident on her cell phone, the treadmill (a young lady in the rec room, who thinks that she can walk herself into labor today after lazing around for nine months), the ancient central air system cycling off and on.

9:30 pm - I spend a few minutes talking to the resident involved in the tiff at dinner. I thank her for maintaining her composure, and encourage her to be purposeful in choosing who she "associates" with. That is how I talk at work; I've picked up a whole new vocabulary here. (I talk about "baby daddies" like a professional) The phone rings, and it's resident number two, ready to come back from the hospital. I feel like a poorly paid cab driver, as I head downstairs one more time, check out the keys, sign myself out, and drive to the ER.

9:50 pm - A few residents have gone to their rooms, leaving me with hopefully enough quiet to complete my notes. My work computer is older than me, so it takes some time to pull up each resident's records. It takes most of the next hour to complete the notes. I write about everything from moodiness to hygiene to meal attendance to medical complaints, one client at a time.

10:45 - IT IS ALMOST 11:00. I try not to look at the clock, so that the time will go by faster. I'm exhausted. My shift partner shuts down her hall, and comes to wait on the hall with me for our relief. Every day about this time we log into the email to check the schedule - after 7 months, I still can't remember who comes in for the overnight shift when. Seven months have taught me which staff to dread - some relief staff come in at quarter til every night, and others keep us waiting here until 11:30 pm. Our shift is definitely supposed to end at 11:00, and I hate staying late. Covering an extra (unpaid) half hour for someone who can't get themself to work on time is not my job.

provision

2009-06-22T23:43:00.001-07:00

Sometimes a story has to stew a while before it's ready to be told. I guess that's true of this story - maybe because it's not so much a story as it is things that happened and feelings.

Not long ago, I traveled to a familiar city with two social workers. The first night we went out to dinner, and on the way we saw a pile of blankets heaped in a doorway, and a dog. As we passed, the blankets moved; the man sleeping there had stirred in his sleep. I can't forget how my companions jumped, and quickly walked to the other side of the sidewalk. At the restaurant, after they blessed their food, they laughed at how startled they had been, and at him, and what he was doing with a dog, sleeping on the street. They told me I should protect them and watch their pocketbooks on the way back. I can't forget how uncomfortable I was, as I explained to them that we were in a city known for its homeless population and for the resources it provides for them. I explained that a lot of the city's homeless have animals for protection and companionship. I tried to explain that no one was going to steal their pocketbooks. The next night, it happened again - this time, it was young kids sitting under an overhang on the sidewalk, again with a dog. They asked for a cigarette, and my companions gripped their purses tightly, averted their eyes, hurried past. And again the next day - a scruffy man crossing the street in a torn coat, asking for our spare change.

Then it was our last day. I was tired from long days of meetings, tired from the time difference, tired from defense and explanation. We were in the middle of downtown. I was thinking about how my shoes were pinching my heel, and about what I needed to pack. I was thinking about how much more I would have enjoyed the trip with people who understood. And that was when I saw them. A man and a woman - you could tell they were homeless by their clothing, by their matted hair, and the dirty bags they were carrying. They were coming toward me, the two of them holding hands and skipping! Their smiles were so joyful, and they were skipping -- skipping and singing! It was "You Are My Sunshine," and it was raining.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

I almost missed it. That couple, that song - that homeless man and woman - they were God's provision for me when the weight of compassion was too heavy.

Saddle tan: not a pool-side project

2009-06-19T10:47:00.000-07:00

Please appreciate this photo, which I took at peril of dropping my computer in the toilet. (This is maybe why I look so serious)

I would like to tell you that I bought this at a store where they use only fair wage labor and organic materials to produce their stainless steel garbage cans, but I am not (usually) a liar. The truth is, I bought this at Walmart (with my 10% pay cut, I may have to lose 10% of my principles.), who in addition to underemploying their workers in order to avoid providing them with benefits, and using child slaves, comes up with 574 results when you search for "step can" on their website, making it impossible to show you my current project without taking my own picture.

In my defense, it was completely impossible in this case to get by with what we had. What we had was one of those $1 trash cans that has no lid, and that Abe had decorated in high school with a sticker that said "all things must pass" and had a drawing of a dog going number 2. (It may sound hilarious in tiny font - which I say because I know my sister is cracking up laughing right now - but I assure you that in person it was in very poor taste). For almost a year, I put up with that trash can, but it was very inconvenient for kitty litter disposal. And in very poor taste.

So I finally bought the cheapest trash-with-a-lid can that I could find, and it was a pleasant turquoise that clashed unpleasantly with the browns and reddish oranges of our shower curtain. Spray paint is always the answer, and I chose "saddle tan," which turns out to be a nice dark khaki in addition to a good description of what's leftover of the sunburn I got on our backpacking trip. Today I sanded it, and almost left for work before I realized my legs were covered in turquoise dust (which is what would result if Cookie Monster had a Tinker Bell). And Sunday I paint! We'll be in Waxhaw for some Father's Day celebratin', so I can take advantage of my Father's garage and expertise at doing everything.

P.S. The bad news of having a blog is that it encourages you to think crazy things like: People care about the color I am painting my trash can! I should take a picture in front of the shower curtain! Let me google cartoons of the Cookie Monster!

10% none the richer

2009-06-18T13:33:00.000-07:00

Today we had a Mandatory Work Meeting in which we all lost 10% of our salaries -- at least, those of us who didn't lose our jobs altogether. The recession hits again! At first, I sort of wished I'd been hit by a truck instead, but now I realize I couldn't afford the medical bills. I'll just have to work with what I've been given.

After the meeting, I was talking to one of my coworkers. "I could stop getting my nails done, or cancel my cable. Or doggy day care - I guess that's not necessary." (First of all, how do I sign up to get 10% of her salary?!) I don't buy nail polish, much less have regular manicures. We can't cancel our cable, because we already don't have it. (And don't get me started on doggy day care.)

So I guess I can just pray.

"Dear Jesus, please make everything 10% off."

Get your swiss chard on

2009-06-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

Today I made pasta so delicious that I pretty much ate it for breakfast. Lucky for you, I am kind enough to share. This is because I secretly (or not so secretly, now) long to be a food blogger. Unfortunately, I work nights, so I don't cook nearly enough for any of you to remain interested. Also, when I do cook something that's delicious and beautiful, I forget to take pictures. So for this exercise, you'll need your imagination, a cooking pot, a skillet, and the following ingredients:

"No Wonder I Read Klekov" Pasta

whole wheat pasta (I like thin spaghetti)

one bunch of swiss chard, with the stalks cut away from the leaves

one small onion, chopped

lots of garlic, pressed

about a pint of cherry tomatoes, halved

bread crumbs

pine nuts

butter

salt and pepper

Cook pasta (I used whole wheat thin spaghetti).
In a skillet, let the onion cook with the garlic until it's soft and yellow. (You can use olive oil or butter to do this. Obviously, it will be tastier with butter. Also, if you're using a red onion, it will never turn yellow). Add the halved cherry tomatoes. When their color brightens, add the tomatoes/onion/garlic to the pasta -- which, by the way, you should have drained.
In your now-empty skillet, melt a little butter,* and then saute the chard stalks until they soften. Add the leaves; cook until wilted. Dump the chard into your pasta.
With your skillet empty again, melt another bit of butter (I know. This has to be delicious.) Toss in a few handfuls of pine nuts, and then a few handfuls of bread crumbs. Let everything get toasty while you add a little salt and pepper. Mix the pine nuts/bread crumbs into the pasta.
Eat! For breakfast, if you have to, or lunch or dinner.

*Quick note: if you don't have much experience cooking with a vegetable, use a little butter. Even if you don't get it exactly right, it will taste delicious enough to give you confidence to try it again.