The Way Back Machine.

Me: Circa 1952.  Even though I am adopted, this makes me think of my Grandma Lorna.  I think it is the hairstyle.  Or maybe Betty. As in Crocker.

This is me Drunk in 1960.
Then I figured out how to straighten my face a little and I fit the glasses a little better.

I believe this was 1962.  That hair was some pretty intricate sh*t.  Not sure what I was thinking with the ascot scarfie scarf.

Pretty sure this was late 50s early 60s.  Maybe the overzealous chair of some club only 5 people belonged to........Whoa.  Way off, this one was 1970.

Ahhhhhh.......the bicentennial.  This was my Farrah Phase.  I worked so hard to get that top bang part to feather just right.

This was 1984.  This totally looks like one of my roommates from freshman year in college for reals.  Even though in 1984, I was only 14.  

Ah.  1988.  The year I really graduated.  This, sadly, is pretty spot on.

Wow.  I mean......wow.  That is a lot of time I would never get back.  That must have been a good 20 minutes with the can of hairspray and blowdryer.  1994, folks.

1996.  This actual was palatable if you minus the earrings and Denim sleeveless.  

And the hair.

This is really me as of two days ago.

This was so much fun.  It is this website that you can upload your picture and then it gets put into different year's yearbook pictures.  Jump into the Way Back Machine and knock yourselves out, my lovelies.

The website is here (thanks to The Daily Rant...check her out!)  

Am I Wandering?

I am starting to see the beginnings of "The Abandonment of the Militant Freakshow". (It sounds like a quasi-Renaissance painting.......)

Now, if this is deemed to be true......this, THIS, is the time that I prepared for when I began this blog. My wanderlust begins. I start to feel like I have been eating well, good choices have been made pretty consistently......The thought process: "One poor choice of what to eat or how much won't hurt anything." starts to worm into my brain.

Ah, poor food choices. How I love thee sometimes. Throwing caution to the wind and going back to the salad bar a second time. Rationale: Whatever! It's still a salad.....that's a good choice.

Why, yes, Militant Freakshow, it is. If you get the vegetables, not all the creamy pasta salads.

The poor choices that I confess here, to you, now---they were not necessarily plentiful, but added up, they could be labeled wanderlust from healthy choices....done.

Truth be told, folks: yesterday was the first major flub up that I have really had (And it was on a relatively small scale compared to past mistakes). Since the healthy eating journey began, I have not starved myself, I have not denied myself something I truly wanted, I have not suffered.

In fact, I have been quite proud of myself.

So. Why was yesterday a flubber? (Remember the Judy Blume book, Blubber? Wasn't it about a fat kid....) Well, because I didn't really want the second trip. Really. Even while I was going to get Round Two Plate, I had a conversation with myself, and I knew I didn't really want it. Yet, I continued. And that is why I consider it a poor choice. I ignored myself.

Now, if I was still hungry, and I was craving what I put on my plate then it would have been no big whoop.

There. Having purged myself of this incident here on these pages, I can move on. I already know that I am not going to continue making choices like yesterday because I have written it here. In the past, (Stop me if you've heard this one...) I would have used that as a reason to continue my demise and departure from the healthy living bandwagon.

In fact, if memory serves, at this point I would begin gnawing on one of the Bandwagon's wheels while eyeing a side panel to munch on.

I usually end up eating the whole wagon.

But, no more. Back on track folks. Riding shotgun on the Healthy Living Bandwagon once again. I kind of wish I had a kazoo. Thanks for a trip through my inner psyche. It helped.

Words I Hate.

Moist.

I hate the word moist.

The "muh" with the "oy" and "stuh". The combination is not pleasing to my earholes.

I am not a musically gifted person, per say, nor am I really sensitive to audio things. Yet, I have determined---and I don't know why---that this word is like nails on a chalkboard of my mind.

Close runners up:

"Dank". Just sounds harsh......and also reminds me of bat caves with sharp teeth and beady red eyes. I mean, thanks Mr. Bat for eating all the mosquitoes, but I am sure am glad you are out at night when I am not.

Also, Rod. I repeat "Rod". If your name happens to be Rod, sorry if this offends...I have a distant relative whose name is Rod, he is not offended as far as I know. Regardless, the name doesn't really bug as much as the usage of the word rod in a sentence.

The shortness of the word, the abruptness of it. Describing something that might be longer or at least have some size to it, like a rod of steel----you'd think the name/word would be longer.

All three together: Makes me have a meltdown.

What words do you hate?

Body Snatched.

Is it wrong that I like a brand new pencil?

Or a new packet of Bic Flair Pens....not just the black, red and blue pen pack but the Big Honkin' Colors Galore Pack? Like Deeeeees:

New folders? Crisp, undamaged.

Clean whiteboards, no crud on the classroom floor.....it all reeks of huge potential. A brand new year, a brand new start, quite possibly the best school year ever. Or so I sometimes tell myself in the high school girl voice a la Valley Girl speak.

Reality is delayed a bit even once school starts. I have one and a half, maybe two weeks in a good year, where my "real" students have not arrived yet. I have what I have termed as my "Body Snatched" students.

They brim with potential, they ooze positive attitude, they have also convinced themselves that this is going to be a new year, a new start, this is the year that they will do well in school. And for most of them, they do just fine. Then the "Body Snatched" students start to disappear and are replaced by the real students when the first test or project is due. Then, old habits of staying up late IMing friends or watching TV until 2 am or going and hanging out with friends instead of doing homework, whatever the reason.......the truth finally comes to light.

Every year it happens, and every year I wish it wouldn't. But, that would be living in a bubble and not in reality. I am already accused enough of not living in reality much of the time.

I will continue to try and help the Body Snatched stick around a little longer. That is my mission this year. I'll keep you posted.

Countdown to first day of school: 6 days and counting.

And it begins.

Back to school folks.

I got just about zero done today.  So, there's that.  Helping out with a training, mentoring a brand new teacher, catching up with teacher friends from over the summer.  I sometimes feel like it is a high school reunion and somewhat shallow.  

Quick; summarize the past 2.5 months in 4 minutes.  I don't think other teachers really care if my summer was fun filled and action packed..or not.  You know the dynamic: You ask someone how they are in passing....say in the hall/street/office and you just want them to respond with a"Good."  "Fine."...whatever dictates that you can keep moving and not feel the need to sit down and process it all or whatever.  

I am hoping to get more done tomorrow and feel a bit more productive.  Realistically, I always get done what I need to absolutely get done by when I need it done.  

I am maybe...maybe not...mourning the passing of the beloved summer.  We teachers get few benefits that are true benefits.  Summers off is sometimes misleading as many of us continue our education to keep our licensure, or take a second job, or spend much needed time with kids and family.  Some just need to be away from students to re-energize.  They can occasionally be monsters and the end of the year is blessed relief.

Or maybe I just need a nap.  

What a Difference a Day Makes........

So.  This was the status of ripe tomatoes as of yesterday morning.  I had used about 5 times as many of the cherry tomatoes than are in the picture to makes some nice pico de gallo the other day.  Super yum.

Then, partly due to fear of the neighborhood kids being tempted to perhaps pick the ripening fruit, I went down to the garden to see what might be picked a little early.  Lo and behold, there was a lot more hiding under the leaves that was actually needing to be harvested.  I picked a couple hot peppers, more tomato berries (The cherry tomato sized ones)......

PLUS......these ten beauties.  I was actually a little shocked.  For those of you that garden, read on.  For those of you that are allergic to the thought of dirt under your nails, check back tomorrow.

Here is why I was a little shocked.  In the past, I may have had this amount of harvest, but most of it was affected by blossom rot.  This is where the bottom of the tomato turns black and ookey looking.  You can still eat it, just not the black part.  But, with the black part, I might venture to say that it is much less appetizing looking.

This year I took the advice of Buddha (an actual person, nicknamed Buddha, not THE Buddha) and mulched with meadow hay to "keep the roots warm".  The advantages are twofold...other than keeping the roots warm.

1. No Blossom Rot so far.  Blossom rot comes from uneven water, too harsh of weeding which hurts the tomato roots and other such calamities.  With the mulch, the water doesn't evaporate as quickly, thus more even watering.....even if I don't water every day.

2. Substantially, SUBSTANTIALLY, cut down on weeding requirements.  This department, again, is where we see Raccoon Baby Syndrome rear its ugly head.  I am Supes Dupes Gung Ho in the spring and early summer (When it is not a bajillion degrees out and 500% humidity) about weeding.  By late July and all of August....not so much.  So, the fact that I am having to weed less..I still have to but I think I have only had two big rounds of weeding, instead of realistically what should have been twice a week..is really nice.

I love this summer.  

I Kid You Not: Cucumber Soup

Yep. I'm a fan. Cold Soup.....I have yet to try Gazpacho in my life, but that is next on my list because I didn't think I would like this, but I do. I really do.

I learned to like it and how to make it while living in Bulgaria. This recipe is from my host mother in Bulgaria. I lived with her and her family for three months to learn Bulgarian before moving on to my teaching job in a small town in the Balkan Mountains.

What the h*ll was I doing in Bulgaria?!!? Peace Corps, baby, Peace Corps. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. America, for providing me the opportunity to both serve and live in another country on your (and my) dime.

Here's how you make Tarator Soup:

You need plain, unflavored yogurt, water, olive oil, salt, a cucumber (I only had a half, but I was only make enough for me; the recipe calls for one cuke, but it serves 2-3 people.), fresh dill, garlic and walnuts.

Huh?!?! Walnuts? I know. They are optional so if you are allergic, that's cool.

Peel the cucumber and dice that baby up. One might even be inclined to mince if you don't like chunky soup. I do. And I am lazy.

I added a pinch of salt and then later added more. You can always add more, depending on your tastes.

Then, you dice up a clove, or two, or three of garlic. I can't presume to know how much you love or hate garlic, so use your best judgement.

A few caveats: it does need at least a little garlic. If you are going to let it sit in the fridge for a while, use less garlic. The garlic will make itself known the longer it sits. It can becoming overpowering. It will eventually beat down the door and demand to be heard. I used one big clove.

At this point, I am already not following the recipe's order. The garlic is supposed to go with the yogurt, oil, water and dill in a separate place, get the crap shaken out of it to mix it and then poured over the cuke.

My thought is: It's all going to the same place and I can mix it up really well in the bowl I already have in use. If you are a purist of following a recipe and afraid to boldly go forth and scoff at the recipe's order of steps........don't do what I am doing.

If you are a purist, you would have another bowl, and to the garlic, add the dill. I have dumped the dill, chopped as finely as you like, in with the garlic and the cuke, and the salt.

We need to talk about yogurt. No fancy schmanzy flavored variety. You want plain, unflavored, nothing added to it business. You could use greek yogurt for a more authentic, thicker version. If you can find Bulgarian yogurt, use that. It is rather hard to find and essentially about the same as Greek yogurt. Tangy, thick and stout. Almost sounds like a good beer.

I recently got a yogurt maker and I love it. Now, I have just admitted I am lazy above, and this yogurt making is not a big deal to me. The store bought is fine. I like making my yogurt.....I make our bread in the bread machine as well. I am no Martha Stewart; I just like knowing what is going into my food, and if it is easy, I can be consistent about making it myself without preservatives. I shall not judge nor try to convert you from your current food practices.

It really is easy. This is about 6 ounces of yogurt.

Dump it into the same (Purist: separate bowl still.) bowl.

Mix it well. You don't want a clump of dill hitting your tastes buds and catching you by surprise.

You will also need to add some water to thin it out to the soup consistency you prefer. It's pretty thick otherwise; somehow Cold Cucumber Stew doesn't sound as refreshing, yes?

I just used my same yogurt jar and filled it almost halfway, about 3 ounces. It is still pretty thick, but I like it on the thicker side.

Mix some more. If you have been paying attention, you will have notices that I did not add/use the oil. I decided I didn't want it in there. I prefer it without, someone else might say it is crucial. Try it both ways and make up your own mind.

At this point, you are done. Chop up some walnuts and toss 'em on top. Serve. I used to not put walnuts on because it kind of ooked me out. The crunch with the creamy. But we are always evolving and I tried it with walnuts this summer. I must say, I am a fan. It really does make a difference to me. It adds that certain something. So. Use 'em, don't use 'em.....makes no difference to me. Just know that when you come to my house, you're getting walnuts whether or not you want them. Well, not if you are allergic; I don't want to kill ya. And I guess of you really don't want have walnuts, I won't make you have them. I am not a walnut fascist.

Try the soup. You might be pleasantly be surprised.

Here is the full on recipe:

Tarator

1 large cucumber sliced thinly or grated (about 2 cups)

1 small onion, sliced very thinly (optional) (My mom didn't make it with onion, but I've had it with and it is good.)

3 cloves garlic, grated

2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped

1.5 cups yogurt

.25-.50 cups water, depending on desired thickness level

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 tablespoons finely chopped walnuts

salt

Mix cucumber and onion in a serving bowl. In a jar (or not), shake/mix together the yogurt, oil, water,garlic and dill. Pour over cucumber and onion. garnish with chopped walnuts and serve. Makes 2-3 servings.

Italia. I heart it.

During the school year of 1993-94, I simultaneously finished my bachelor's degree via a correspondence English course while I lived in Italy, working as a nanny.

Since my departure in 1994, I have been plotting ways to get back to Italy, either as a tourist or hopefully someday to live for an extended period.

I lived in the region of Veneto, (highlighted in green) in the city of Padova. In English it is often referred to as Padua.......which.......I don't get, really. Why change it? Was Padova too hard to say?

Any way, the town had a couple claims to fame:

La Cappella degli Scrovegni. Giotto painted the inside for Mr. Scrovegni. I like history, but am not super into art history. He painted it. It was a long time ago. And a big deal, apparently.

And really blue. That was a big deal to use the Lapis Lazuli from Afghanistan via caravan. Showed you were Mr. Big Bucks to be able to afford all that blue-ness from so far away.

La Basilica di Sant'Antonio. Inside there are a bunch of offerings and gifts of thanks for the miracles asked of and granted by St. Anthony. There is a whole wall, or at least there was in 1994, of letters, cards, pictures, tokens, etc. for him. It is pretty interesting. My favorite part was the Nativity Scene at Christmas.

They weren't messing around with the Nativity Scene. They had lighting that surprised me in its dedication to all things lighting. There was sunrise-daylight-sunset-night-nightsky set to timers---we must have stood there and watched a couple 'days' worth of changes, stars that flickered and simulated thunderstorms with sound effects and lightning flashes.

I was so taken with all the lighting (Remember Raccoon Baby Syndrome from a couple days ago), so distracted, I don't really remember the rest.

I know that there was a whole village, a water well with figurines drawing water......but for the life of me, I can't remember if they were moving or not. I wouldn't be surprised if they had and I just don't remember.

The photo above is the Palazzo di Raggione: Palace of Reason. Sort of like the old Hall of Justice (it's not used anymore)---which always made me think of the Super Friends and the Legion of Doom.

I just liked the shape of it and the fruit and vegetable market in the Piazza below (Piazza delle Erbe). I loved going there and practicing my Italian. Or just walking through. We didn't really buy a whole lot from this market. Mostly, we would buy from the Vegetable Guy who would come by every couple days in his mini-mini pickup truck (Think glorified golf cart.....with an enclosed cab. It was blue.), and his scales with metal weights:

The carrots or garlic or tomatoes go in one basin of the scale and then he would place and exchange various brass weights until the scale was balanced. Then, he would write down the weight and move on to the next bit of produce. He was really fast, wore glasses and a blue shop coat. I liked watching him do his job.

Lastly for today, the University of Padova, started in the 1200s. Galileo Galilei gave lectures here.
Obviously, as a teacher of social studies---history being one of those studies----I think this is really cool. I could sit in front of the building and squwinch my mind's eye so that I wasn't in 1994, but in 1294 or whenever Galilei taught there and play a little movie of what it might have looked like and what people wore and all that kind of mumbo jumbo.

Yes, I am that much of a Social Studied Nerd that I think that is a fun way to spend 5 minutes or maybe 65 minutes. I'm just saying.....I like to daydream and play the What If game. It tends to drive some people crazy when I spend too much time in this world in my brain.

I just think it is cool that Padovians simply walk around and don't even care that they have old buildings and history and it's no big whoop. The first night ever in Italy, the guy I worked for took me and my nanny friend to get dinner after picking us up at the airport. Walking to the pizzeria, I asked how old the building was we were walking by. He said, sort of off handed, "Oh, I don't know...4, maybe 500 years? It's not very old."

Holy crap, are you kidding?!?!?! This building, that is not very old, is older than the written history of my country. When I teach American History, and we are in the colonial period..heck, even Pilgrim Era, wait...Jamestown as the first surviving settlement.....that's only early 1600s. My students' eyes glaze over; for all they care, I could be taking about the time of Babylon.

I can't imagine trying to teach Italian history. Although, teaching about Ancient Rome while in Italy would be really freakin' cool.

Olympics? Huh?

So. We don't have TV. By choice. We have A TV, we just don't get any stations.

Yep, it was my idea--my proposal---my "extreme lifestyle suggestion", and I got called on it, and now we haven't had TV for a year last April.

I love it.

SER-iously.

Here was my reasoning:

We (read: I) were spending way too much time crashed in front of the TV, mindlessly watching HGTV (I Heart HGTV and miss it.), Food Network, Spike TV, Travel Channel, etc. You may have noticed the word mindlessly. It seems to have been a theme in areas of my life in the past. Mindlessly eating, mindlessly watching TV, mindlessly driving, mindlessly finding the cure for cancer........the list goes on, people.

Since I didn't have the self control to just not eat what I didn't want, not watch TV when I didn't want to watch it, etc.-----we would just remove the temptation.

And I really feel obligated to tell you: I love not having TV.

I am way more productive. Or I feel like I am. I might waste time on the computer, but I feel like I am usually learning something or doing something productive..........I know--checking the photos of the day on the "People" website probably doesn't count.

Now, when we want to watch something, it is mindful. It is on purpose.

We have to plan out and go to the library to check out a video (Series right now: Prime Suspect with Helen Mirren. I heart her.)

OR we have to purposefully, mindfully get in the car and go to the video store to rent a movie. And it can't be crap. We both have to agree on it; there have been a couple times this summer we have left empty handed. I KNOW!!!!! I can't believe it either.

OR we use an iTunes gift card and download a season of a show. Current series: West Wing. I heart this show. I could watch these over and over (Until about season 5 and then it got a little hokey cheesy trying too hard for my tastes....); which is why we are buying the series. The writing was so good.

Needless to say, I watch much less TV. Plus, I love telling my high school kids, dropping it slyly into a lecture or casual conversation, that I don't have TV.

Stupification. Looks of utter lack of comprehension. A few looks of fear and panic. They don't get it. Some even drool or go into catatonic state.

I see "Does Not Compute." flashing behind their eyes alternating with a red flashing warning of "System Overload". They cannot fathom a life that is not electronically connected 24/7.

How do I get the news? they ask. Internet. The radio in the morning. This thing called the newspaper.

Which brings me back to the title of the post. I have not watched one minute of the Olympics. Not one. I heard about the 8 golds, I heard about the Swedish wrestler (Poor form, poor form, dude.), the Chinese gymnasts, the US Softball team, the Opening Ceremonies, the Beach Volleyball team.......I got the highlights.

There are some times when we wish we had TV. We have said, "Tonight would be a good night to veg in front of the tube." And then, since we can't........we find something to do.

I feel like Half-Pint.....except for me, it would more realistically be "Full Quart" or "Half Gallon"....going back to Pioneer days.

Shiny Raccoon Baby Syndrome.

If there was a class in Life titled: "Waiting 101", I would fail. Well, I wouldn't fail, but I would probably be in the "D" neighborhood.

Really.

I have Shiny Raccoon Baby Syndrome. I will admit that this affliction may or may not have contributed to us getting in this situation in the first place. Some people may disagree with my syndrome's level of culpability and say that it was THE reason we are in this predicament.

Shiny Raccoon Baby Syndrome: chronic "distractability" by new, bright, shiny things that are eventually (some might argue in acute cases, "Quickly" instead of "eventually") replaced by the next shiny, bright, new thing to compete for the attention of the victim. Side effects may include focusing so intently on the shiny brightness that important details are not noticed until too late. Or perhaps their importance is not noted until it is too late. No known cure.

Remember: "Waiting 101": D

So. It has come to this. Yesterday, our neighbor asked, "Have you planted St. Joseph?"

Huh?

Now, much to my mother's disappointment and how many years of R.E.P. (Religious Education Program), I am no longer a practicing Catholic. There it is. Nor am I really looking to get back in the groove. I am willing, however, to use what might help us sell this house....and in this case, it just might be St. Joseph.

Ironically, I just read about this in an article a couple of days ago, last week, last month....it was recently. Apparently, you "plant" (bury) a figure of St. Joseph in your yard and he helps your house sell. I am willing to give it a shot.

So we bought this:

Yep. An actual St. J figurine. WITH instructions.

Various details and specifications on how/where to bury him:

-upside down

-in the rear yard

-3' from the rear of the house

-facing the house

-simply placed on the property

-right-side up

-in the FRONT yard

-exactly 12" deep

-facing away from the house

-when house sells, remove figurine

There appears to be a bit of contradictory information here.

The instructions we got with the St. Joe say that all that doesn't mean anything. Wonderful! "What does mean everything is that the seller asks St. Joseph for his help, believes that he will intercede and trusts him." That's it.

They also included a prayer, if you are so inclined. Oh and if you sell your house for more than expected, an offering to St. Joseph might be in line.

For those of you that are already sending emissaries my way because you detect a mocking tone: Stop right there. There is no mocking. I never knew this existed. I am kind of amazed that it has packaging and 1960's advertising script and apparently this is the "authentic" St. Joseph....it is in the first picture, in green cursive writing, I am not sure that you can read it.

Who am I to say that it doesn't work? Does St. Joseph care if I haven't been to mass in probably over 10 years? Or that the last time I went was at Christmas Eve and I pretty much bawled through the whole mass because I thought the music was so beautiful and was a little jealous of someone whose faith is so deep, strong, undying that they create such music or build beautiful monuments to inspire and awe......or rely and trust in their God to take care of them or have a higher purpose or plan. I don't have that kind of faith. I don't consider myself an unreligious person, or unspiritual....I just don't think Catholicism is the gig for me.

I am of the mindset, and absolutely NO disrespect meant here, that religions, God, Gods, high powers, what-have-you......is like ice cream. The different world religions are all ice cream, just different flavors that appeal to different situations, different people, different cultures.

Which brings me back to St. Joe. If it is all symbolic, then does it matter that I haven't been to mass? I don't think so. If that means that I believe that the symbol can help--or at the very least can't hurt---then, what is the harm? I can't prove that it doesn't work? (And eventually the house will sell, so it will always have the possibility to be attributed to this symbolic act.)

Even for Catholics, true believers, burying St. Joseph and asking him for help can be symbolic. I realize that having faith is believing something even though you can't prove or disprove it.

In any case, we have to pick a spot and remember to mark it. You are supposed to dig him up and take him with you to your new house and place him in a place of honor for his help.

I'll keep ya posted. Over and out.

Things I Like.

I gotta tell ya.......you keep me honest. You keep me on track. I came home from a training thingy today at the District Office and I knew I had to get my walk in before it got to hot. NOT going was not even an option in my brain. And I don't think I am being highly Militant Freakshow here. It was just what had to be done today....go for a walk.

Additionally, I only even MADE half a sandwich because I knew with a side salad, I would be too full for a whole sandwich. Which, it turns out, I was right. The half with the salad and a FEW Doritos was just enough. Satisfied, full, content. Not stuffed, not uncomfortable, not ashamed at having eaten food that I knew I didn't really want.

How that does all tie to you?

Well, I thought about what I wanted to post today and I thought some views from my walk might be fun to write about. Which, you know, meant I had to actually go on the walk.

The lunch choice: well, I remembered writing about the wedding this week end and make okay choices (Especially compared to what I have done in the past at these types of events....) and that encouraged me to make a good choice for lunch today.

And finally, my nemesis.......Captain D. I DID want the zingy, the zip, the crunch......but I only had 6 maybe 7 Doritos instead of the gargantuan portion I usually take. All as a result of thinking about what I wrote a couple days ago. This was a time where I did want them and it wasn't just because they were sitting in front of me and I wasn't really thinking about what I was eating. I sure did enjoy them.

So. Here is one thing I enjoy about my longer walk. I have a short one, "in town", that I do. This longer one gets down and dirty out in the country. Well, I am still on a paved road, but you know what I mean. The corn looks really good. That's how you can tell I am country folk.

Whenever we are driving somewhere, inevitably we drive alongside countless fields of corn and soybean, and occasionally hay in various stages of growth, cutting or harvesting. You can tell we are country people, for now, because we say things like, "Boy, the corn looks good, huh?" Or, "Corn could sure use some rain, there, huh?" "Is that the second or third cutting? (Of hay)"

I grew up in the suburbs, so I think it is really cool to see the whole farming process on a daily basis. Not that I am doing any of the work or worrying for "real" about the rain or lack thereof, but I like watching the cycles of life and whatnot.

Which leads me, in a rather long winded way, to this:

I love when you can see the rows.

It makes me think of Farmer Joe, sitting on his Tractor, tilling the fields in the early spring, waiting for the field to be dry enough so as not to muck up all his gear so he can plant. The nice neat row after row. It is weird that I find it.......I don't know.......comforting? Organized? I just like it.

It reminds me of riding in the car either north to my uncles' farms or south to my grandparents' house. Sitting in the back seat of the Woody Stationwagon (But not the way back, that was where my brothers usually were), leaning up against the window, zoning out at the view outside.

When the farmers planted parallel to the road we were on, it was just solid corn that you could run into and get lost. There was something courageous about that. Not that I ever would have done it, but it would have been creating you own private space int he middle of a corn field. Of course, owned by someone else and would have gotten me into high holy hell if I had run off or messed up some one's cornfield.

When they planted perpendicular to the road, you could get lost zoning out on each row and the car zoomed by. My eyes would play games and try and keep up with each row but, of course, my eyes were never fast enough. It is one of those childhood memories burned onto the inside of my brain. That and watch the phone/electricity lines swoop and dance as the car went by.

Here is something that concerns me.

Are those leaves turning colors??!?!?

On Track.

I had a minor victory this morning.

I will be attending my cousin's wedding this afternoon 2-2.5 hours north of here. I was supposed to meet my family at my parents' house at 9:30. The wedding wasn't until 3 and then the supper afterwards at the church. We were going to get my grandfather, who is at his cabin nearby the church, and then go to the ceremony.

Turns out one of my brothers and his wife are driving separately and asked if I wanted to ride with them. Yes. Which means I have an extra 2 hours as I am not meeting them until 11:30.

What I had planned to do was to clean up a bit......just in case we get some sucker to come and look at this place to buy it. And then I was going to lounge a little bit and gear up for the day of drama that is sure to ensue at the wedding.

I got up early so we could have breakfast together as we always do. And then did the math in my head and realized that I would not be home until, most likely, dark. Which means I would probably not get my walk in today. I have walked everyday since I started this blog. I know myself well enough to know that this is how the Militant Freakshow disappears, slowly, unnoticeable in her fade out. A day here, a day there and then suddenly I haven't walked in over two weeks, then two months. I made a commitment to myself that I was going to be healthier and in that plan I included walking every day.

So, I had the time. I got my ipod and just went. Didn't negotiate with myself and now I am back and still have time to clean and straighten up a bit and leisurely get ready for the day. Minor victory, but victory nonetheless.

I do want to mention that I am a bit worried about my focus at the supper. Talking to people and relatives I haven't seen in a while may lead to not paying attention to what I am eating. In addition, there won't be a choice of what I eat. Which could be pretty damaging.

My plan: I am going to bring a snack/lunch/tide me over type deal. Since we will be driving during lunch and then supper isn't until later. I know that when I get really hungry, I don't give a crap what I eat. Poor choices ensue.

I am up for the challenge of the day.

My Nemesis

I don't even "like"-like Doritos.

Stupid Doritos.

But, in all their tangy deviousness, they always seem to find me and make me eat them.

Wily Wankers.

I can't eat just one.

People, I lie to you not when I say I don't like them.

I have never "craved" Doritos. There has never been an itch in my buds of taste that only Doritos could scratch. I have never thought, "You know what would be great with this sandwich? Doritos." I have never made up songs about my undying love for Doritos. My like, tastes, cravings and undying love aside....me and Doritos..... definitely a reluctant relationship.

When I managed a before and afterschool care program, any child who had eaten Doritos for snack was not allowed to breathe their Dorito Dust Breath in my general area. Specifically Doritos brand chips. While that may seem an extreme reaction (And.......let's face it....... SLIGHTLY mental.), I couldn't stand the smell of Doritos.

And...yet.....I could eat a whole bag without giving it a second thought.

And therein lies the crux of the problem. I DON"T LIKE THEM and yet I eat them. It has happened in the past that I have eaten a lot of them all whilst specifically not liking them.

Good lord, you are thinking......why are you eating them if you don' t like them?!?!

Well, I don't hate them (despite Dorito Dust Breath issues in my past), and while I am eating them they taste alright. They taste okay. If one tastes alright, might as well have another. I don't really think about it. I mean, they are good enough, I guess. I guess the crunch is nice and satisfying, the tang DOES give a little zippy compliment to a sandwich.

I don't know.

I lie. DId you see that? I just lied to your face.

I DO know. I made a vow to be straight with you. I eat them, and not just them---they have food friends, because I don't think about it. If I see them, I think, "Eh. Yeah, alright. I guess I'll eat some Doritos." And it's not just Doritos; it could be a myriad of food products.

Which is exactly why I have always been Ms. Fullerton. I eat mindlessly. If the food is in front of me, or on a nearby table, or whatever.....it's like Pavlov:

"There is food." "I should eat it." "I should continue to eat it."

I don't stop to think, or I didn't stop to think, "Am I even hungry?" And if I am, "Is this really what I want?"

At this point, the climax of the show, once the realizations have been made, truths have been told, confessions made........we could expect a pledge. A heartfelt, Scarlet O'Hara vengeful, tear streaked pledge (complete with sun setting in the background), "As God as my witness, I shall never eat another Dorito as long as I live!!!!" (Cue music and fade out.)

Whatever, Drama Diva.

I know myself well enough to know that the next time I see the Doritos, I will start to do what I have always done and if I have pledged to "...never eat another Dorito as long as I live!!!" Then, I WILL want them. Suddenly Doritos are my new BFF and I will crave them. The Dorito Dust will have infiltrated my brain and I will dream about them. And I might go to the Cenex specifically to buy a bag......to NOT eat??? Right. (NOW who is Diva Drama?)

All I can do is---stop. Just stop and think about whether I REALLY want the Doritos in front of me. And if I don't, then there I have it. IF I do want Doritos, then I can have a couple, and then assess the situation. "Do I want more or am I good with what I have already had?" And then stop. There is no way I could eat a whole bag with the assessments being made. No way.

Doritos are on notice. I've got my eye on you.

You Light Up My Life....

How many people sang along with Debby Boone? Raise your hands. Raise 'em high, don't be embarrassed. I did. At age 7 or 8, when I was belting it out with Ms. Boone, I was pretty much convinced that I had a future as a famous, FAMOUS, singer a la Debs. Oh, and also my first record I owned. A 45. "Queen of Hearts" by Juice Newton. I am surprised my mom didn't banish me as a result of how many times I played it over and OVER.

So.

That didn't work out, mostly due to the fact that I can't sing. Regardless of my crushed dreams and unfulfilled Top 40 destiny.........Debbers had it pretty spot-on describing my feelings for this Ol' Gal below. Some of you have kids, and you know of what I speak. I realize she is a canine, but we don't have kids. Nor do we want them. This mutt daily lights up my life. She is the best Dee Oh Gee in the world. So. Let's meet her.

We bought our house four years ago and promptly got a dog. Sophie. Boxer/Mastiff mix and quite possibly the best dog in the world. I looked it up. She is there, right there, at the top of the list. Since this is my blog, and I am the boss, I get to say things like that. You can try and convince me that your dog is pretty special. While that may be, here are So...There....Then Sophs rules. This is one of the first pictures, above, we ever took of her. Before GarageGate '05, even.

I lied.

THIS is one of the first pictures ever taken and I can tell because she is so skinny and her face is still wary of us. She doesn't know that we are her people yet. Plus, I don't think she was very famous at her old house and no one took a ton of pictures of her, like I do. So, I think the red eye flash thingamabopper freaked her s*** out.

We have estimated her to be 14 years old...that's like 98 in dog years. So. She sleeps. A lot. When she is really zonked out, her tongue doesn't stay in her mouth and it just slays me. I love this dog.

You can tell she has decided to let us be her people. When she is not putting me on lock down by following me around everywhere, she can be found on the local couch. Excuse me, her couch. Sleeping. Frequently, dreaming. Doing the dog Running Man dreaming and occasionally talking in her sleep.

I wish she could go on walks with me. I would take her all over. But she is an ol' gal and will just turn around when she is done with the whole walk thing. Usually after she has done her business and gotten caught up on her p-mail sniffing. Even doing nothing, she still lights up my life. Gol dang. She is the best dog in the world. So.

County Fair...

We went to the County Fair this weekend. I have never been to a county fair. Is there something missing in my life? Not anymore! I went to the County Fair.

I liked it. The Carnies. Enough said.

The families: mom and dad walking around zombie-like in the heat pushing Kid 3 in the Outback Stroller (Kid 3 is nicely sunburned), Kid 1 and Kid 2 cruising around the parents like meth-head bumblebees all hopped on all the sugar and just the kid-adrenaline of a County Fair (The Rides, the Midway Games to be played and lost...pouting to ensue....). Flitting and flapping to and fro from the Stroller/Parent home base to various and sundry rides and games, "Mom!Mom!MOM! Come and look at this/Can I rise that one/I bet I could win that stuffed animal..MOM! CanICanICanICanI???"

The mounted County Sheriffs patrolling on horses. Just the assurance that we need. I liked that.

The Demolition Derby announcer (you had to pay extra to get into the Grandstand for THAT show), reminding people if they wanted to leave the Grandstand area, they just needed to get a wristband to get back in. We heard him say at least 7 times within the hour that we were there, "Just a reminder folks, if you want to go out and get a beer and have a good time while you are at the fair, don't forget your wristband. You can go out and get a beer and have a good time." Should we be concerned about the encouragement to drink and then get in a car and crash into each other? Although to be fair, he WAS talking to spectators and not participants.

Let's not overlook the FFA kids who have spent the better part of 4 days in the pens, barns, competition ring and /or (sometimes simultaneously...) flirting.

We went in every building taking at least a quick run through....looking at all the entries for competition. To get to the Big Show.....the State Fair.

There were cheese curds. I haven't had cheese curds in probably 15 years. We got some and I had maybe 4 or 5. They were good, but I ate what I wanted and enjoyed them and didn't feel guilty about the whole thing at all. I actually felt quite proud of myself for eating a few and then stopping. In the past, I would have had my OWN container and eaten them all mindlessly. Not this time, pal. Yay. Yay me.

Plus, I got to see all kinds of chickens. I want to have my own chickens and seeing all the cool lookin' birds only confirmed my desires......

Where Has the Summer Gone?

Did the summer FLY by? Now, I realize that it is still the beginning of August, but I have half my body mentally out the door of summer. August, for me, means gearing up for School.

Usually, the first Sunday paper adverts containing back to school stuff start appearing mid-July. Bastards. Our neighbor children are still shooting off fireworks on a nightly basis how can they even fathom purchasing the big box of Crayolas or pencil boxes??? (Newsflash: The Surfers are being evicted!!! Sweet. More on that in a later post....)

August, despite the heat and humidity, is a good month. Not my fave, but up there. (I don't know if I have a fave.) Anyway, the garden, begun a couple months ago, is beginning to come to fruition. Literally. I actually made and froze pesto a couple weeks ago with half my basil crop. That was a proud moment. Usually, it goes to seed and I haven't followed through with my big plans. Not this year, dammit.

So...There...Then...Girl: 1, Garden Procrastination: 0.

Yay me.

The tomatoes are in and beginning to ripen:

This year, as last year, I have a variety called Druzhba. Yep. It is a Bulgarian heirloom variety. I heart it; I spent 2 years in the Peace Corps there and it reminds me of my former home. I used to hate tomatoes. HATE them. (I would still eat ketchup and salsa, but plain RAW tomatoes? Barf. ---Side note---I love the word "Barf". The "Buh" with the "Are" ending nicely and conclusively with the "Fuh". One clear syllable.) Turns out, if you eat produce that has been allowed to ripen naturally, it makes a friggin' difference. Not any of those pink, mealy tomatoes of Minnesota groceries in the winter trucked in from who knows where. The tomatoes in Bulgaria converted me. It was like, "SER-iously??? I like tomatoes now??"

I now grow them in my own garden. If you would have told 13 year old me THAT, she would have rolled her 'Tweener eyes, sighed dramatically and with the condescension only a 13 year old can perfect, "Yeah. Riiiight. WhatEVER. (Silently, in her head, "I hate you. And tomatoes.")" Those of you that deal with 13 year olds know of what I speak. Or...if you knew 13 year old me.

I also have Bulgarian peppers, simply called Chushka. Which is just "Pepper" in Bulgarian. If I remember correctly, Druzhba means friendship, but I can't be certain.

I am really doing well with this whole healthy living thing. I went for a walk with my mom this morning where we usually go. It is a four season landscaping research area; I really have enjoyed going at various times during the year to see the different seasons in action. We HAVE gone in the winter. Once, I think. It was late winter and a "nice" day, maybe just above freezing.....What??? That counts. While I have been doing great moving by walking everyday and doing good food-choice-wise, I fear myself.

See, this is where I am in my Militant Freakshow Wannabe stage. I am full steam ahead with new lifestyle, new choices, new motivation. I fear that it won't last. But, really..........that's just stupid. Part of the reasoning in creating this blog is to acknowledge these fears, put them out there in the Interweb-o-sphere and then laugh at them. Scoff in their face, if you will. I would never spit at them, though. That's gross. Barf.

I fear that it won't last because history has shown that So...There...Then Gal always starts out like this and then gets bored, frustrated, crabby, restricted-feeling, lazy...you pick one....and then melts back into old habits of excuses and patterns.

Then, I start getting mad, disappointed, frustrating with myself for having failed again at losing weight and sticking to it. (For those of you that have struggled with weight or something similar, you know of what I speak, yes?) Then it all goes to s*** and I eat a suitcase because it doesn't matter anymore and I have given up already.

I have matured to a point in this struggle that I know that the "fear it won't last" is pretty spot on about me......but also, at the same time, pretty ridiculous. The fear is not coming from something imposed from the outside, it is all me. Duh. I can chose to, or not to, do something. No one is barring my way from walking, no one is somehow opening my mouth and making me ingest a morsel of food. It is a decision to be made in the moment. If I do "screw up", then I get back on track and move on. A screw up is put in quotes because it is only a screw up if I eat a suitcase's worth of food as a result.

It is not a "screw up" if I acknowledge it, make the decision to NOT eat a suitcase, enjoy whatever it is that I decided to eat or do instead of exercise. Then, in the next day's moment, maybe I walk an extra 20 minutes or eat a salad to compensate for the previous day's decision.

It isn't rocket science here, people. (Insert eyeroll/dramatique sigh combo here.)

So. There. Then.

Today's Show Brought to You by the Letter......

So. As I was saying.....measurements were taken. I alluded to a letter of the alphabet and the similarities between said letter and the body shape I possess.

A huge belly would indicate a:

While I have a belly, it is not Buddha-esque. Nor am I pregnant. I mean, I have me some gutty-guttness, but that is not where I am carrying the extra poundage.

Those of you that know me, will agree I have been known to be called big chested (as well as big headed) and certainly they are large-ish. Thusly, the following letter might suffice as an analogy:

The most obvious comparison would be the following if I were referring to weight issues and largeishness:
However, I believe that I have a small, slight indentation at my "waist".

So.

We were measuring and my hips were 44". (Yikes.)

My chest, at the largest point was 44". (Not shocking, but not what I would like.)

My waist we measured at my belly button (I was so voting for a little bit farther north where there is an indentation, but I looked it up on the interweb and concensus is that the "waist" is measured at the belly button or just slightly below the button...which for our intents and purposes is pretty much the same measurement on me....). Anyhow, my waist measured at 43.5". (SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?!?)

I am reasonably certain we could call it an even 44". Therefore, if we were to take the raw measurements, I have the body of the letter:

I have a chest, but no ass. I tend to gain weight all over. I am not an "apple" nor am I a "pear" shaped body. I am, taking my 44" measurements, the letter I. If we could push my body parts around like Jenga pieces, while keeping their integrity, they would pretty much all line up.......cylinder-like. Like an "I".

Yes! I find that hilarious and oddly motivating.

Think about it. What letter would you be?