November 22, 2009
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The light is bouncing around in the sky in the most spectacular way, highlighting the bilious grey clouds, the new green of the landscape, the glittering bridges. My head is full with thoughts about age, about expectations, about dreams, about family, and about the restorative power of animals.
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My favorite scar is probably the little one on the back of my hand. It came to me when I brushed up against some barbed wire on a mountain in Costa Rica. The scar itself is not that impressive, but the experience was wasps and dust and Andy too far away to hear me say slow down but to have it be worth it because I remember how hard it was even though the view of the volcano was clouded and I was drenched and stung by the time I got to the top.
My second favorite scar is a little half-moon on the top of my right ring finger. Again, the scar itself is not that impressive (though it was the only time I've ever gotten stitches), but the story is just so silly I will remember it for a long time. I was cat-sitting in a neighboring town — this was when I was in high school — and I went to feed the cat and cut my fingertip on the can and I ran to the sink and it bled and bled and bled and I thought oh geez this is not good. In a minor panic, I wrapped my hand in an entire roll of paper towels and drove home to where my dad was waiting. He took a look at the cut and decided that I would definitely need stitches, and that we should go to the emergency room. The 4th of July parade had just started, though, the really wonderful giant parade that goes right in front of my parents' house, and I stood hopping from foot to foot in the driveway, listening to the Amherst Kazoo Band and watching kids ride by on their decorated bikes and veterans proudly marching and on and on and my finger was throbbing and there was nothing I could do and it was all so absurd that I was laughing when I wasn't crying.
I only sometimes wear shoes in my house. We do not have a no-shoes policy here, but many people choose to leave their shoes in the entry-way. I absolutely love that the first thing I see when I come in the door is about eight thousand pairs of shoes.
I cannot stand switching the laundry. I really don't like doing laundry at all, but for some reason, switching the laundry between the washer and the dryer is a task that I could always do without.
I prefer to write on a computer, which saddens me a bit. It is far more romantic to write long-hand, but I enjoy how much faster I can get my thoughts on the page when I am typing. It now feels so painfully slow to write things out. I also enjoy the quick-edit nature of word processing, as I frequently move sentences about and change words here and there. When I do write long-hand, I print. I have pretty much lost the ability to write in script. I can do it, of course, but I have to think about it and it looks all perfect sixth-grade like.
I am right-footed, right-handed, and right-brained.
I like lots of foods. Here are the only things I am not so partial to...
~ goat cheese
~ shell fish
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The last time I made a snow angel was over the holidays, when Sam and I escaped up to Snoqualmie Pass. We brought Obie with us, and went snowshoeing and skiing and romping through the snow. Obie danced around in the drifts and Sam fell over and over and over again on the skis and there was much frivolity. Whenever Sam tipped over (usually slowly, with an "oooooh noooo"), Obie bounded over to him, thinking it was a game, play-bowing and kicking snow everywhere. On several of these snowy trips to the ground, there were snow angels to be found.
I can stand on my head, but it hurts. I think I must have a very sensitive spine. I can't wear necklaces because they give me headaches. Sometimes I can feel my backpack in my eyeballs. When I get a massage I can feel it all over the top of my head. So, doing a headstand puts undue pressure on my head. I can do handstands for several seconds sometimes, and for much longer against a wall.
I want to be able to sing well. I want this with every iota of my being.
The last bug I ever ate was an ant. I heard that they have citric acid in their tiny little bellies and wanted to test this out. And, let me tell you, that sucker did taste rather lemony.
I have never really been hospitalized. When I was a kid, however, I was in the emergency room so often that they knew my name. The closest I ever came to a hospital stay was in college, when I was quarantined in Health Services with the Norwalk Virus (aka the Worst Flu Known to Man). That's a funny story, actually. Not the staying in Health Services part, but the how I wound up there part. Within that story is my first kiss with Sam and my trip cross-campus in a roll-y chair.
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Left to my own devices, I usually wake up at 9am. The first thing I say is "Good Morning, Obie" in a very particular way and then Obie, who is either asleep at the end of the bed or on the windowseat, goes thump thump thump with his tail. So I say it again — "Good Morning, Obie!" — and Obie rolls over onto his back, mouth open wide, paws covering his eyes. Then, if Obie is on the windowseat I say, "Obie, up!" and he jumps up on the bed and lays down in between Sam and I, pressing his face into ours. Sam wakes up and says, "ooooobieeeedog" all sleepy-like and the three of us cuddle. Then I try to get out of bed and Sam does everything in his power to prevent this from happening. Eventually there is up-getting and a robe from the closet and teeth brushing and shower taking and then breakfast. On uneventful mornings it is a bagel or cereal, but on special mornings we go to Genie's or Noah's or Cafe Broder. I love breakfast.
I very rarely drink alcohol. I do not enjoy the taste of beer, wine, or hard liquor. I only drink things that don't taste much like alcohol (Cosmopolitan, Grasshopper, Bailey's and Milk, etc), but I prefer milkshakes, or Shirley Temples or hot chocolates. When I drink it's almost always only to be social.
I dance all the time, everywhere. I dance whenever I hear music. Grocery stores, restaurants, coffee shops, parks, anywhere. I love to dance crazy.
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