Andrew has been in away for work for the last few days, which is typically very difficult for me. Difficult because Andrew tends to be housekeeper and Mr. Mom. I go to work a few hours before he does, typically, so he wakes up with me, motivates me to get out the door (I am not a morning person, to put it mildly), makes my lunch, packs up my car, and pulls it out of the garage, so it's on the street and ready to go when I frantically run out the door. Then, before Andrew settles in to read or watch the Wire (which he Netflixes and watches without me because I have a strong dislike of any TV show that makes my pulse race), he does little things around the house like clean the litter boxes, put out the recycling, fold the laundry, and wash the dishes. Yes, I realize I have a fantastic husband. When he is gone for a few days, I miss him like crazy because I miss him - his company, warm body in bed, laughter - but I'm usually also terrified that the house will fall apart under my watch, I'll sleep in by mistake and miss work, or that one of the cats will throw up, since I don't exactly do well with clean up, either. I tend to stay up too late and not sleep well in his absence, which means in my waking hours, I walk around like a zombie. It's not pretty.
But this time, so far, so good. Andrew returns this afternoon, and while I'm cautious to admit it, I've actually had a little bit of fun taking care of myself like I used to when I lived alone (maybe more fun than back then, since I'm now grad-school free).
Andrew left on Wednesday evening, and that night after dinner together, I went to our last class of a seminar we'd been taking at church, did a few things around the house, and fell asleep by my bedtime. On Thursday morning, I did the dishes and the laundry (first time in months), packed my own lunch, and made it to work. When I got home that evening, I caught up with two girlfriends on the phone, and again, was in bed and asleep by bedtime. This summer, I'm able to work longer days during the week for the option of having a 1/2 day on Friday, and this was the first week of this schedule - so getting to bed was a high priority on my checklist for survival. I shouldn't have been worried about it though, because the early morning wake up has been sealing my fate to be asleep by 10:30.
My biggest worry about passing the time without Andrew was Friday and today. Because it was my first 1/2 day Friday, I was afraid I'd be horrifically bored and depressed with nothing to do. But I spent the entire 4.5 hours I would have been at work having a grand old time doing things that Andrew would never want to do - spending our hard earned money. Sortof. First, I went to Panera for lunch. This was actually a low point. One of the lousy things about where we live is that there are not enough Paneras per capita. Where I grew up, I believe there are 4 Panera restaurants (maybe 3?) for 210,000 people. Here, there are 2 Paneras, both in very hard to get in and out of locations, for 377,000 people. This does not make sense to me - and Panera people, if you find my blog (hey, it could happen - the Galena folks found me) - please build more. You'd make money. I promise. Anyway, our city loves Panera, and I made a horrible mistake by going at noon. There were no tables for 2 open, and the "bar" area for lonely single people was sortof taken over by a single old man and I couldn't make out where exactly he was sitting (it was going to take awhile for him to get into the counter-height chair), not sure if there was a spot with one chair in between us, since that would be a necessity. At this Panera, it's pretty typical that during the lunch hours, you have to wait for a table. I finally spotted a table and started making my way toward it - only to get bumped and have my french onion soup pour on to my napkins and a sandwich. An old lady sitting by where I was trying to get by said something disapproving like I nearly splashed her - which I did not. Typically people in Iowa are very nice, but refer back to previous issues with Panera. Anyway, I finally get to the table...and realize that there are 5 chairs around it. At this point, I gave up and plopped down anyway. Every now and then I pretended to look up like I was waiting for 4 other people and just eating without them, but I don't think I was very convincing.
After Panera, I went on my search. You see, yesterday was actually a pretty ugly day. It was foggy until about 3pm, which is well, weird. It wasn't really cool or warm - kindof a bummer for my first 1/2 day Friday, since Andrew and I had decided this work scheduling option was perfect for spending lazy days at the pool by my work (which hasn't opened yet). Running around doing errands isn't exactly the scene I'd had in mind. But, this was a special errand - sometime on Thursday, I'd gotten the brilliant idea that since it would be sunny on Saturday (and I'd be alone all day Saturday), I should buy a chaise lounger and sit out in our backyard and read. I'm embarrassed to say this, but my mom brought me the first two Twilight books when she and my dad visited last weekend. Talk about guilty pleasure...it's the type of book I'll totally make fun of someone else raving about, but I'll happily read if I don't have to sit on an uber long library waiting list nor buy myself. For the record, so far, Twilight reads just like the movie, and that's as far as I'm going to go for literary criticism, since I'm sure this would balloon into a very long and perhaps controversial blog if I dared to go more in depth. Lots of people take Twilight very seriously, and I don't wish to offend. It's like Harry Potter. You don't dis Harry when that series is thing the masses have ever enjoyed reading...
Anyway, the search was on yesterday for a chaise lounge. I had two priorities: 1) Find something sturdy and 2) Find something under $30. This was damn near impossible. I started with Bed, Bath, and Beyond, since I'd found a $30 lounger on the website that looked fantastic and was out of stock. I crossed my fingers that the store would have it. No luck. But I did buy a wine glass, a pillow, and a canvas storage tote - all without the 20% coupon that I of course had 3 of back at home. Then I tried TJMaxx. On my way to Target, I called my mom for ideas. She suggested Aldi and Ace Hardware. I tried Aldi across the street, and then I went to what I thought was an Ace but was a True Value. From there, I used GPS (our friend Joanne) to find the city's only Ace. In a not so nice neighborhood. It did not carry ANY lawn furniture of any type. Then I went to Farm and Fleet, which isn't even in city limits. They had nothing, but I did wind up with a plastic side table for $5 (I figured since I was already out there, I might as well buy something). At this point, it was 4:30pm. I would have been off work then on a normal day. My next stop was Kmart. Here, I tested 3 loungers and found one that was meh...but $30. I bought it just in case I found nothing else. After that, I went to Big Lots, Tuesday Morning, and Menards. By this point, it was dinner time and I figured that what I had bought was probably as good as it was going to get. I returned home, watched a movie (500 days of summer -- really good -- though I feel asleep halfway though and had to go back to scene selections when I woke up) and it was time for bed again. Another day successfully passed without any calamity.
When I woke up this morning, it was 6:10. My cats were pawing at me, even though they have automatic feeders now. This is how I know it's summer - the cats think that because it's light outside at 5am, the day should begin pronto. Stupidly, I woke up with them. I got my DVD in the mail to return to Netflix, wrote a thank you card for a gift, read the newspaper, got my head start into the life of Bella and Edward- I've never been so productive before 7am in my life. By 8am, I had decided that I was going to go to the Farmer's Market for breakfast (love the overpriced breakfast burritos one stand makes) and to do our grocery shopping. I came home, prepped the veggies that I'd bought and listened to Car Talk on the stereo (God bless men - especially mine - for the obsession with surround sound. It's kinda fun to be able to hear NPR throughout the house). Now it's Whad'Ya Know? with Michael Feldman. Oh good times.
While I'm very glad Andrew doesn't go out of town for work very often - I really do need the guy around - this really isn't a bad little Iowa weekend for me. Sunshine, reading, NPR, farmer's market - and if I need something to do, I might actually get around to planting the gladiolus that I haven't yet...though yard work is much better with Andrew there to kill spiders. We'll just have to see what the day holds.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Big girl, small city
For most of the last week, Andrew and I have been in Austin, Texas to celebrate the wedding of one of my dear high school girlfriends. It was a beautiful wedding, and Andrew and I had a great time experiencing the "weird" of Austin, eating cupcakes from a a trailer, breakfast tacos from the world's most beautiful grocery store, and bbq in a gas station all while enjoying the company of our good friends. Everything was perfect (save the awfully dry plane/hotel air that wreaked havoc on my sinuses) about the week of vacation we had together.
The bride was the last of my high school group of friends to get married, so it was cause for extra celebration. If we were typical for women from the same upbringing in a small Midwestern town, I don't think this fact would be all that surprising, but we're a pretty a-typical group. In college, I couldn't picture any of us married. We were hard studying, hard partying, liberal feminists who had much bigger dreams than a white picket fence and an Amana refrigerator. We bonded over Sex and the City and then lived it out, college-style, over summers home as we all camped out in the apartment of the friend who went to the university closest to home. We had crazy adventures, and as I re-capped some of these to Andrew as we drove to the airport in a snowstorm on Wednesday night, I realized for the first time that we were also ridiculously lucky that none of us were ever hospitalized or jailed. At the time, I just thought we were too good and too invincible.
When the first of us got married just a couple months after graduation, I was admittedly terrified. None of us were really the marrying type when we first came together as a clique after high school, and I didn't think the four years of college had changed us really all that much.
Also, Andrew and I had started dating just a few weeks after this friend called to say she was engaged, so when we watched her walking down the aisle a year later, Andrew and I knew we were headed in roughly the same direction (though it was a little too soon to really be able to comprehend it). For a few years, my friend and her husband were the only people Andrew and I knew who were our age and married but weren't in a mad rush to have our parents' lifestyle. It was refreshing, and knowing them probably sped up our own trip to the altar.
Of these five women whom I'm still close to (myself included), we boast some pretty impressive stats - which, in my opinion, also made all five of us skipping down the aisle in the last five years a little less likely: among us, we hold 5 undergraduate degrees (and a semester of medical school), 4 Master's degrees and 1 currently in graduate school; we live in 5 different states - only one lives in the state of our hometown, and since she lives in Chicago, that doesn't really count; we all love to travel - all been to Europe - 3 of us studied abroad, one lived there while in the military; we all hold full time jobs, mostly in the fields that we studied. We all are incredibly passionate about the fields that we studied, and honestly, the crowd is pretty career driven.
And now we all wear two rings on our left hand ring finger and have a partner to drag with us on our vacations (too see each other, of course). I'm very proud of the women my friends have become, and frankly, I've been having a hard time shaking off those little pangs of sadness that I don't see them more often. We have loose plans for a new trip together though, and it sounds as though in a few years, the two who have migrated the farthest will wind up in the same vicinity, which will make visits that much easier.
But while I miss my friends immensely, I also have a hard time being around them sometimes. What I didn't notice as clearly when we were in college is that we're all very different. And, when we get together, sometimes I feel a bit more of the black sheep than I ever did back then. Each of them have flourished in environments that are very different than where we grew up. They are, in essence, a little bad-ass either by virtue of job title or lifestyle or both. All of them live in areas where tourism is bustling - so regular ol people want to visit the places where my friends actually live. And while I love where I live and it's not like we don't have tourism, no one really takes a flight here for a little vacation. I can't help it, maybe it's just in my nature - but the entire time I'm around my friends, I compare myself in my head. And I can't help but feel a little self-conscious. Okay, a lot self-conscious. I feel like I didn't "grow up" enough and that I'm still too small-town.
Andrew and I usually end up talking about it most of the way home. He reminds me that we make choices. My friends' lifestyles would drive me crazy because I'm just programmed in a different way. That we're happy.
And we are happy. I know this because I was very unhappy in grad school and for the first few months of our marriage (not because of Andrew, obviously!). When we moved here and thus had time together, when I found work I enjoyed and cared about, and when we moved into our house and decided that this is where we want to grow, I realized that for the first time in my life, I wasn't looking forward to anything - I was just living. And that made me happy.
It's hard articulate that though when I get to see my old friends, because sometimes I think everything that comes out of my mouth just sounds small and insignificant. I see my life as exhilarating and fun and exciting, but when I'm around my "city" friends, I see everything through a different lens, because their versions of exhilarating and fun seem so different than mine.
But I am just soooo not city. It's taken me awhile to come to terms with this, because I really like cities. I like art and I like music and I like shopping and I like food, and cities are full of all these things. But as frustrating as it is for me to admit this, I like nature, and open space and 15 minute commutes, and affordable living more. I like people, but I don't like too many. I don't like walking like I'm in a hurry unless I'm really in a hurry. And I really, really hate traffic. When I'm around my cosmopolitan friends (what happened to the days where we just drank cosmos?), I am constantly asking myself, "wait a second, why don't I want to be like them? Is there something wrong with me?"
We returned this afternoon just in time for me to attend a class that I'm taking at the art museum (did I mention I like affordable museum memberships, too?) about Frank Lloyd Wright architecture. The lecturer said, "Frank Lloyd Wright believed that cities embodied progress but were also the greatest barriers to progress." Apparently, FLW also said cities were built by greed, and renting meant that an individual can't control his or her own destiny, so he was clearly not a fan of the city lifestyle -and while I wouldn't take it that far, but I think to some extent, these are the pangs of emotion that I feel when I'm visiting a larger city. There is so much to do there and I love visiting - but I know that if my life was in a city, I'd be constantly frustrated because there is so much to do and not enough time or money to experience it all.
While I loved a week of city life and talking about city life with my worldly girlfriends, I was aching to come home today. We unpacked our bags and patted our kitties (who we'd missed immensely) and returned to the (small) city life as we know it. As much as I love travel and experiencing new, big, and exciting places, there is just no better feeling than the familiarity of home.
Well, that and sleeping to the hum of the humidifier.
The bride was the last of my high school group of friends to get married, so it was cause for extra celebration. If we were typical for women from the same upbringing in a small Midwestern town, I don't think this fact would be all that surprising, but we're a pretty a-typical group. In college, I couldn't picture any of us married. We were hard studying, hard partying, liberal feminists who had much bigger dreams than a white picket fence and an Amana refrigerator. We bonded over Sex and the City and then lived it out, college-style, over summers home as we all camped out in the apartment of the friend who went to the university closest to home. We had crazy adventures, and as I re-capped some of these to Andrew as we drove to the airport in a snowstorm on Wednesday night, I realized for the first time that we were also ridiculously lucky that none of us were ever hospitalized or jailed. At the time, I just thought we were too good and too invincible.
When the first of us got married just a couple months after graduation, I was admittedly terrified. None of us were really the marrying type when we first came together as a clique after high school, and I didn't think the four years of college had changed us really all that much.
Also, Andrew and I had started dating just a few weeks after this friend called to say she was engaged, so when we watched her walking down the aisle a year later, Andrew and I knew we were headed in roughly the same direction (though it was a little too soon to really be able to comprehend it). For a few years, my friend and her husband were the only people Andrew and I knew who were our age and married but weren't in a mad rush to have our parents' lifestyle. It was refreshing, and knowing them probably sped up our own trip to the altar.
Of these five women whom I'm still close to (myself included), we boast some pretty impressive stats - which, in my opinion, also made all five of us skipping down the aisle in the last five years a little less likely: among us, we hold 5 undergraduate degrees (and a semester of medical school), 4 Master's degrees and 1 currently in graduate school; we live in 5 different states - only one lives in the state of our hometown, and since she lives in Chicago, that doesn't really count; we all love to travel - all been to Europe - 3 of us studied abroad, one lived there while in the military; we all hold full time jobs, mostly in the fields that we studied. We all are incredibly passionate about the fields that we studied, and honestly, the crowd is pretty career driven.
And now we all wear two rings on our left hand ring finger and have a partner to drag with us on our vacations (too see each other, of course). I'm very proud of the women my friends have become, and frankly, I've been having a hard time shaking off those little pangs of sadness that I don't see them more often. We have loose plans for a new trip together though, and it sounds as though in a few years, the two who have migrated the farthest will wind up in the same vicinity, which will make visits that much easier.
But while I miss my friends immensely, I also have a hard time being around them sometimes. What I didn't notice as clearly when we were in college is that we're all very different. And, when we get together, sometimes I feel a bit more of the black sheep than I ever did back then. Each of them have flourished in environments that are very different than where we grew up. They are, in essence, a little bad-ass either by virtue of job title or lifestyle or both. All of them live in areas where tourism is bustling - so regular ol people want to visit the places where my friends actually live. And while I love where I live and it's not like we don't have tourism, no one really takes a flight here for a little vacation. I can't help it, maybe it's just in my nature - but the entire time I'm around my friends, I compare myself in my head. And I can't help but feel a little self-conscious. Okay, a lot self-conscious. I feel like I didn't "grow up" enough and that I'm still too small-town.
Andrew and I usually end up talking about it most of the way home. He reminds me that we make choices. My friends' lifestyles would drive me crazy because I'm just programmed in a different way. That we're happy.
And we are happy. I know this because I was very unhappy in grad school and for the first few months of our marriage (not because of Andrew, obviously!). When we moved here and thus had time together, when I found work I enjoyed and cared about, and when we moved into our house and decided that this is where we want to grow, I realized that for the first time in my life, I wasn't looking forward to anything - I was just living. And that made me happy.
It's hard articulate that though when I get to see my old friends, because sometimes I think everything that comes out of my mouth just sounds small and insignificant. I see my life as exhilarating and fun and exciting, but when I'm around my "city" friends, I see everything through a different lens, because their versions of exhilarating and fun seem so different than mine.
But I am just soooo not city. It's taken me awhile to come to terms with this, because I really like cities. I like art and I like music and I like shopping and I like food, and cities are full of all these things. But as frustrating as it is for me to admit this, I like nature, and open space and 15 minute commutes, and affordable living more. I like people, but I don't like too many. I don't like walking like I'm in a hurry unless I'm really in a hurry. And I really, really hate traffic. When I'm around my cosmopolitan friends (what happened to the days where we just drank cosmos?), I am constantly asking myself, "wait a second, why don't I want to be like them? Is there something wrong with me?"
We returned this afternoon just in time for me to attend a class that I'm taking at the art museum (did I mention I like affordable museum memberships, too?) about Frank Lloyd Wright architecture. The lecturer said, "Frank Lloyd Wright believed that cities embodied progress but were also the greatest barriers to progress." Apparently, FLW also said cities were built by greed, and renting meant that an individual can't control his or her own destiny, so he was clearly not a fan of the city lifestyle -and while I wouldn't take it that far, but I think to some extent, these are the pangs of emotion that I feel when I'm visiting a larger city. There is so much to do there and I love visiting - but I know that if my life was in a city, I'd be constantly frustrated because there is so much to do and not enough time or money to experience it all.
While I loved a week of city life and talking about city life with my worldly girlfriends, I was aching to come home today. We unpacked our bags and patted our kitties (who we'd missed immensely) and returned to the (small) city life as we know it. As much as I love travel and experiencing new, big, and exciting places, there is just no better feeling than the familiarity of home.
Well, that and sleeping to the hum of the humidifier.
Monday, January 4, 2010
New Year 2010: RIP Canon Camera and Healthy Sinuses
Today was the day I was supposed to return to work after holiday break, but instead I've been stuck at home with the fun of sinus pressure and the yellow-green globbies that accompany a sinus infection. I'd been so proud of myself all semester that I'd managed to avoid a sinus infection (I get about 4-6 a year, typically), and then I'd been astonished that my Christmas break hadn't been marred by illness like it is nearly every year (when the adrenaline of the semester stops producing in overdrive as the semester stress load goes to null). To be perfectly honest, I was thrilled about going back to work and seeing what the new year has in store for me, as opposed to having a day to think of the pros and cons of mucinex vs. drugstore brand and banana vs. rootbeer popsicles. But, tomorrow is another day, and I'm hoping I'll be feeling better after a visit to the docotor in the am.
Beyond my sinuses, the biggest plague of the week has been the sad death of my beloved camera, the Canon Powershot SD850IS Digital Elph. The day we left for Christmas with family, I was taking a shot of all the boxes stacked and ready to go, when Canon leaped from my hands, and landed, horrifically, face-first on the laminate floor. At first, I thought nothing had happened. But when I took the shot again, I realized it was blurry. The telescoping lens (at a 4xIS, 5.8-23.2mm 1:2.8-5.5 - I really don't know what these numbers mean except "better than the zoom in my current price range") looked like a mad hatter cake. I immediately called our local camera repair shop, where I was given a rundown in economics: "Lady, it costs a qualified camera technician to repair your camera the same money as Canon pays their workers in a foreign country for a week or even a month." In other words, these little point-and-shoot guys are made to get broken, and they're made to get replaced.
This was not a happy day for me. I have a long history with cameras, and I thought I'd finally finished chasing perfection. In 1999, I was given my first non-disposable camera, a Canon Elph 370Z. It was the most awesome thing on the market - it was sleek, compact, took amazing photos, and used "Advanced Photo System" film -that is, until digitals arrived on the scene when I was in college. From there, I got my first Nikon Coolpix, and then upgraded to another Coolpix (calling my parents, telling them my camera was "broken," when in reality, there was a newer, slimmer model and my batteries were dead). And then, finally one year on my "Christmas registry" was the ultimate in perfection: the Canon Powershot SD850IS Digital Elph. It was the younger sister of my long-loved 370Z, and the camera that I knew would never need upgrading.
Until I broke the damned thing.
After seeking out a second opinion, I had to face the truth that repair, though an option, was going to cost as much as a new, entry-level point and shoot. My SD850 was not exactly entry-level, and though it's two or three years old, it's still a league above Canon's new entry-level cameras. I decided that the only thing that would make me happy would be simply replacing my SD850 (even after Andrew spent an afternoon trying to tempt me with the new, sleek, pretty digis on the market). I spent a week of my life scouring eBay and losing every auction I entered (but I did score a lovely strand of pearls for .99 from China, so I suppose my week of eBaying did at least provide one win). I don't know why people like that site - I don't think there is a single deal to be found, and the joy of shopping is finding what you want at a good price, not seeing what you want slip through your fingers at extreme inflation. And though I'll probably be visiting eBay to sell my broken camera (who knew there's a market for broken cameras?), I finally gave up.
So, Rest in Peace, Canon Powershot SD850IS Digital Elph.
And welcome (though begrudgingly) Canon Powershort SD780IS Digital Elph. Sure, it's skinny, and sleek, but I'm really going to miss my zoom.
Having a good husband makes my loss bearable though. Understanding that there was really no better camera than the Canon Powershot SD850IS, he said, "Honey, but think of it this way - at least now you won't have to choose between your camera and your blackberry, because they'll both fit in your purse."
What a man, what a man. He knows how difficult the choices in my life really are.
Beyond my sinuses, the biggest plague of the week has been the sad death of my beloved camera, the Canon Powershot SD850IS Digital Elph. The day we left for Christmas with family, I was taking a shot of all the boxes stacked and ready to go, when Canon leaped from my hands, and landed, horrifically, face-first on the laminate floor. At first, I thought nothing had happened. But when I took the shot again, I realized it was blurry. The telescoping lens (at a 4xIS, 5.8-23.2mm 1:2.8-5.5 - I really don't know what these numbers mean except "better than the zoom in my current price range") looked like a mad hatter cake. I immediately called our local camera repair shop, where I was given a rundown in economics: "Lady, it costs a qualified camera technician to repair your camera the same money as Canon pays their workers in a foreign country for a week or even a month." In other words, these little point-and-shoot guys are made to get broken, and they're made to get replaced.
This was not a happy day for me. I have a long history with cameras, and I thought I'd finally finished chasing perfection. In 1999, I was given my first non-disposable camera, a Canon Elph 370Z. It was the most awesome thing on the market - it was sleek, compact, took amazing photos, and used "Advanced Photo System" film -that is, until digitals arrived on the scene when I was in college. From there, I got my first Nikon Coolpix, and then upgraded to another Coolpix (calling my parents, telling them my camera was "broken," when in reality, there was a newer, slimmer model and my batteries were dead). And then, finally one year on my "Christmas registry" was the ultimate in perfection: the Canon Powershot SD850IS Digital Elph. It was the younger sister of my long-loved 370Z, and the camera that I knew would never need upgrading.
Until I broke the damned thing.
After seeking out a second opinion, I had to face the truth that repair, though an option, was going to cost as much as a new, entry-level point and shoot. My SD850 was not exactly entry-level, and though it's two or three years old, it's still a league above Canon's new entry-level cameras. I decided that the only thing that would make me happy would be simply replacing my SD850 (even after Andrew spent an afternoon trying to tempt me with the new, sleek, pretty digis on the market). I spent a week of my life scouring eBay and losing every auction I entered (but I did score a lovely strand of pearls for .99 from China, so I suppose my week of eBaying did at least provide one win). I don't know why people like that site - I don't think there is a single deal to be found, and the joy of shopping is finding what you want at a good price, not seeing what you want slip through your fingers at extreme inflation. And though I'll probably be visiting eBay to sell my broken camera (who knew there's a market for broken cameras?), I finally gave up.
So, Rest in Peace, Canon Powershot SD850IS Digital Elph.
And welcome (though begrudgingly) Canon Powershort SD780IS Digital Elph. Sure, it's skinny, and sleek, but I'm really going to miss my zoom.
Having a good husband makes my loss bearable though. Understanding that there was really no better camera than the Canon Powershot SD850IS, he said, "Honey, but think of it this way - at least now you won't have to choose between your camera and your blackberry, because they'll both fit in your purse."
What a man, what a man. He knows how difficult the choices in my life really are.
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