Packing...

commenced today. My mom and sister came to help. I appreciate them. It's rather pathetic that I had to schedule time to pack with people so I would actually pack. I think Jimmy and I are in a good place now as far as this packing thing goes, though are house is a bit of a mess because of the disassembling going on all around us.

It arrived!

This is my favorite non-fiction book ever! Inside you will find the history of health trends in the U.S. from the colonial period through the 1980s. It's humorous, informative, and full of good stories. I really, really love reading about Temperance, Christian Science, Vegetarianism, the rise of cereal eating, homeopathy, chiropractic, etc. Also, ther are some great illustrations and asides. While we're at it, I attribute my deep and abiding interest in medical history and its intersection with religion to this book. I definately recommend it as a good read, though good luck to you all as it is not in print anymore. However, Amazon has it for your reading pleasure for cheap. My copy arrived today--thus the reason for this outpouring of excitement and adoration.

Cooking Date

I have a bi-weekly cooking date with my friend, Allison. She lives alone, and I live with a husband who doesn't really care about the millions of culinary experiences to be had. We both like cooking, eating, and spending time together. (We also enjoy history, sensational Victorian literature, and travelling.) Obviously, our friendship is a match made in heaven.
As my ETD to Colorado looms closer and closer on the horizon, I have felt more and more pressed to spend time with my friends, and at the same time, I've been freaking out that I'm stretched too far and will never get my house packed. I was feeling just this way yesterday up until the moment I arrived at Allison's house, but when I walked through the door, all of that stress fell away. The familiar routine of reading recipes, chopping vegetables, browning meat, catching up on what's been happening in our lives, and sampling the contents of the pot are the best therapy I could ask for. This therapy will be sorely missed.
We spend most of our energy on curries, but recently we've been trying Greek food. Last night we made chicken in a walnut yogurt sauce. It was DELICIOUS, and we'd tried it out of curiosity. It's definately one of the least normal recipes we've tried, and it was by far one of the quickest and easiest! What a find!
I'm both looking forward to and dreading our last cooking date in two weeks. Just thinking about it being our last time to cook together for a while makes me want to burst into tears, and in accordance, the pressure of deciding what we'll eat is almost too much for me. At the same time, it will be one of the best parts of my last week in Iowa. I will be sorely in need of one-on-one Allie time at that point. If only I could take her with me.

Slacker Blogger Takes a Trip

I have been repeatedly chastized by several friends for failing to blog regularly. Most likely, they are correct to scold, as I started this as a place to write more in order to get ready for school. School is now less than a month away. AHH!!!!

My current life is full of saying goodbye. It's not my favorite activity. On the other hand, this summer has also been full of seeing old friends who are coming to..say goodbye. Bleck...except for the part about friends.

This weekend I travelled north and spent time with a certain amazing friend and her new daughter. They are up from Texas. I took several pics, but they aren't currently uploaded. Maybe I'll include a pic of my favorite baby and/or her mom later.
In the meantime, Dear Friend, it was WONDERFUL to see you, spend time with you, relax with you, roll my eyes with you, laugh with you, navigate family politics with you, sit with you, ride with you, hold your daughter (with you), and be with you again. I really wish we could do that more often.

Westward Ho!

So husband and I took a road trip to find a new home. While on the trip, I took along Women's Diaries of the Westward Journey by Lillian Schlissel. I loved reading about ladies' experiences on the same terrain I was driving. (7 hours in NE gives one lots time to ruminate about those poor women's travels and trials.) When we arrived in Ft. Collins I 1) thought it was beautiful, 2) was glad to be rid of the Midwest's humidity, and 3) decided that that was the point in the journey where in the 19th century I would have told my husband I refused to go any farther west in an oxen-pulled wagon. I am not going over the mountains in any sort of animal-pulled wagon ever. All this to say, I was both amazed and horrified by these women, their families, and the things they endured in the hope of finding a better financial/living situation. It makes me being disappointed in my new, mediocre apartment as a college student seem a bit pathetic, really. Still, while I don't love it, I am glad we can check "apartment to live in while in FC" off our list of things to accomplish in the next month.

Paying attention in MUS115 was a good idea after all!

A week ago I had the most wonderful conversation with a teenager. While visiting me at work, her family seemed smitten with the parlor organ. Noticing the music book's small size, this teenage girl asked about it, and this launched us into an exciting conversation about Sunday Schools, revivals, and 19th century hymnody.
I think we reached the high point/nerd threshold when we talked about how hymns' texts and tunes were written to be interchangeable. I taught her about metrical and tune indices, and she was actually excited to learn that the TUNE NAME is the thing in caps and number and dot combinations like 8.6.8.6. (CM) describe the beats in each phrase.
I was so happy for the rest of the day. I love talking about hymnody, but I haven't really done so since college. In fact, the only reason I know this stuff is because I took too many church music classes. (Thank you Greg Scheer.) Anyway, I guess sometimes you do get to use the "useless" information you absorb in school.

Tambourine Trauma

I was not meant to be a percussionist. I know this because I played the tambourine for church (while singing) yesterday, and I was definitely the weakest link. I played too slowly because I was concentrating too hard on other things. This slowed down the entire ensemble. My director was very frustrated. However, as far as lasting trauma goes I think I win. This lovely bruise is a result of repeated collision with said tambourine. In an effort to preserve the side of my leg which was sore and puffy after Thursday's rehearsal, I decided to use the back of my leg as my smacking place. Obviously I am now aware that there are a lot of blood vessels in that part of my leg. The funny thing is that while this is by far the coolest, biggest bruise I've ever gotten, it itches, but it doesn't hurt much.