As in, things I cannot make heads or tails of.
After struggling to keep up with yard care over the summer, we finally bit the bullet and decided to look into hiring someone. My husband was meeting with one potential business owner when he had a conversation that neither of us knew what to make heads or tails of. The lawn care provider asked some questions about us, which was pretty normal. Somehow our different last names came up. Suddenly the conversation took an abrupt left turn.
"Around here, I can see why she wouldn't take your last name. That would make getting hired really hard."
Wait. What?
My husband then tried to explain that it was a personal choice. That it was partly because of my doctorate and partly because of a family legacy that is dear to me. The guy wouldn't hear anything of it though. He was sure it was because I was afraid of reprisal, of racism.
The guy had no idea that way back in college, I nearly broke up with a guy who said he wouldn't marry someone who wouldn't take his name. (Ironically, he later did just that but that's the sort of thing love does to a person.) He didn't know anything about us at all but he was sure he did.
The whole thing was surreal and weird and discomforting. Most of all though, it had me worrying that maybe other people felt the same way that that guy did, that they made the same assumptions. And regardless of anything else, making sure that that possible assumption doesn't stand was worth a blog.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Something about 30
I had planned a great 30th birthday blog- 30 things about being 30. I knew it wouldn't be universal but I thought it would be fun. I had spent days in the car driving to or from work, thinking up things to include in the list. Then I sat down to write it and everything flew right out of my head. And not by way of my fingers and the keyboard. Oh well.
The truth is that being 30 feels just like being 29. Twenty nine felt a lot like 28. And so on. That's not to say that 30 feels anything like 13 but the differences are small, fluid, and ever changing. I remember being baffled as a kid when I was asked how it felt to be a new age. I never felt any different. It would almost definitely be more accurate to ask how I felt after a life event. For instance, my grandmother died between my tenth and eleventh birthdays. Any growing or changing that I did that year was far more altered by that than anything to do with my age.
Speaking of my Grandmother, I think the single biggest change I can point to between twenty and thirty involves her. I remember my 20th birthday. It was preceded by a rough year and a lot of uncertainty. At the time, I had a healthy sense of "well, what now?" I had no idea, no particular sense of direction, and was still working out who I was as a person. I can't say that any of that is untrue now but I also have a sense of working towards becoming something that I did not have a decade ago. I'll always be me but if I could grow to be some of my Grandmother too, I'd consider that a huge success.
The truth is that being 30 feels just like being 29. Twenty nine felt a lot like 28. And so on. That's not to say that 30 feels anything like 13 but the differences are small, fluid, and ever changing. I remember being baffled as a kid when I was asked how it felt to be a new age. I never felt any different. It would almost definitely be more accurate to ask how I felt after a life event. For instance, my grandmother died between my tenth and eleventh birthdays. Any growing or changing that I did that year was far more altered by that than anything to do with my age.
Speaking of my Grandmother, I think the single biggest change I can point to between twenty and thirty involves her. I remember my 20th birthday. It was preceded by a rough year and a lot of uncertainty. At the time, I had a healthy sense of "well, what now?" I had no idea, no particular sense of direction, and was still working out who I was as a person. I can't say that any of that is untrue now but I also have a sense of working towards becoming something that I did not have a decade ago. I'll always be me but if I could grow to be some of my Grandmother too, I'd consider that a huge success.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Lazy Posting
That love your spouse challenge is going around facebook right now. I'm enjoying all the cute pictures that I get to see of my friends and at some point I was nominated by a friend. I'll pass on nominating other people but decided to dedicate a blog post to the challenge instead. Looking through pictures was fun and I set myself the additional challenge of trying to find as many photos of myself and my husband as I could that show us but not necessarily our faces. Somehow, to me, those can convey all the emotion in the world, often more honestly than when someone asks us to smile for the camera. There were a great deal more that I could have chosen from but these seven span our first summer of dating all the way to last fall. We're in all of the them, I promise!
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Eleven months
Eleven months makes a huge difference. Give or take eleven months ago, I was camping on my own up in Copper Harbor, MI. The weather was fantastic- all except for that last day when it poured and I discovered that 20 year old tents cannot necessarily be successfully re-waterproofed anymore. Aside from when I was mountain biking, it never felt particularly hot and there was Lake Superior just a stones throw away to cool off in afterward.
Fast forward eleven months to my husband and I camping with two of our close friends outside of Austin, TX. Just take a minute to mull that concept over. Camping. In July. In Texas.
I'll start off by saying that the weekend was fantastic! I returned happier and calmer for having been outdoors so much (and not the kind of being outdoors that involves weeding, mowing, tree trimming, or any other form of house maintenance). But wow was it hot. It was the kind of hot where you purposefully take a cold shower and feel better for all of two minutes afterwards. I was entirely unprepared for this type of camping. My trusty sleeping bag, which has weathered November nights in the Blue Ridge Mountains without a sleeping pad was 100% useless in the Texas heat. My little tent, which is great for staying warm, suddenly felt like a sauna. Our friends were a lot more prepared.
I was, admittedly, baffled when it was suggested that we drive two cars. I looked at our pile of gear, taking up barely half of my car trunk, and wondered what on earth I was forgetting. My first ever camping trip (way back when I was maybe 8) was a backpacking trip and, while lots of my trips since then have been car-camping, I still tend to pack like I'm backpacking. Because why not? Texas summer is why not.
Our well prepared friends pulled out extension cords (the campsite had power), portable air conditioning units, and fans. I was torn between laughing hysterically and being incredibly jealous. Their much larger tent could fit an entire queen size air mattress and, when you're sleeping in 95 deg F heat, that has to be more comfortable than sleeping bags. This kind of camping was something I had trouble wrapping my head around and I bemoaned the fact that my husband will never ever want to go camping "my way" again. That said, that cup of freshly ground coffee before our early morning hike tasted delicious and we did not turn down the offer to borrow a fan for our tent. It's safe to say that I got a little spoiled too as I traded my usual camping food (oatmeal, GORP, PB&J, apples) for the containers of fresh cut fruit and vegetables that our friends were thoughtful enough to bring along and share.
Eleven months makes a big difference. I'm already looking forward to our next camping trip with our friends though and we brought back books of the Texas state parks to start our planning with. Maybe the next time it will even be cool, or, as cool as it seems to get in Texas.
Fast forward eleven months to my husband and I camping with two of our close friends outside of Austin, TX. Just take a minute to mull that concept over. Camping. In July. In Texas.
I'll start off by saying that the weekend was fantastic! I returned happier and calmer for having been outdoors so much (and not the kind of being outdoors that involves weeding, mowing, tree trimming, or any other form of house maintenance). But wow was it hot. It was the kind of hot where you purposefully take a cold shower and feel better for all of two minutes afterwards. I was entirely unprepared for this type of camping. My trusty sleeping bag, which has weathered November nights in the Blue Ridge Mountains without a sleeping pad was 100% useless in the Texas heat. My little tent, which is great for staying warm, suddenly felt like a sauna. Our friends were a lot more prepared.
I was, admittedly, baffled when it was suggested that we drive two cars. I looked at our pile of gear, taking up barely half of my car trunk, and wondered what on earth I was forgetting. My first ever camping trip (way back when I was maybe 8) was a backpacking trip and, while lots of my trips since then have been car-camping, I still tend to pack like I'm backpacking. Because why not? Texas summer is why not.
Our well prepared friends pulled out extension cords (the campsite had power), portable air conditioning units, and fans. I was torn between laughing hysterically and being incredibly jealous. Their much larger tent could fit an entire queen size air mattress and, when you're sleeping in 95 deg F heat, that has to be more comfortable than sleeping bags. This kind of camping was something I had trouble wrapping my head around and I bemoaned the fact that my husband will never ever want to go camping "my way" again. That said, that cup of freshly ground coffee before our early morning hike tasted delicious and we did not turn down the offer to borrow a fan for our tent. It's safe to say that I got a little spoiled too as I traded my usual camping food (oatmeal, GORP, PB&J, apples) for the containers of fresh cut fruit and vegetables that our friends were thoughtful enough to bring along and share.
Eleven months makes a big difference. I'm already looking forward to our next camping trip with our friends though and we brought back books of the Texas state parks to start our planning with. Maybe the next time it will even be cool, or, as cool as it seems to get in Texas.
Friday, July 1, 2016
Someone Else
A few weeks ago I was talking to my Aunt and mentioned that sometimes I wished that I had a different personality, that my hopes and dreams for life were different ones. I'm not sure what answer I expected but the one that she gave rang so true that it has been bouncing around in my mind in the weeks since. Be who you are.
Jenn, she reminded me, if you are the class clown then that's who you are. If you aren't that person and you try to be them anyway, you will just end up unhappy. We talked about plenty of other examples too but that one example stuck with me. I thought back on my attempts to be someone I wasn't when I was younger. I wanted to be the class clown, the kid who was goofy and could get away with it. That just wasn't me though. Adults knew that I knew better and I usually ended up embarrassed for my own attempts.
The advice was so simple. I can always keep improving as a person, as a friend, as a wife, as a daughter but, at the end of it all, I am who I am. And apparently that person is a little quirky. My Aunt told me something else that resonated as well. When you are being the person you are supposed to be, you are a happier person and other people can tell. Maybe I knew that already but sometimes you need to be reminded.
Happy July Fourth all!
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Pick Me Up
Last week was a lousy one. By Saturday I really, really needed a win.
Despite wanting to sleep the entire weekend away, midday Saturday found my husband and I in the local mall having some Chik-fil-A for lunch and running some errands. The lousy thing about being an adult (besides having to pay taxes) is that you don't get to put life on pause when lousy things happen. The house still needs groceries, you still have to show up at work, and things still need to get cleaned. So there I was, waiting for food at Chik-fil-A and feeling awfully rundown.
Out of nowhere there was a tap on my arm. Standing next to me was an older woman, walker and all, and her husband, wearing a WWII veteran hat. Before I could say anything the woman smiled up at me (and let's face it, I'm not that tall) and said "I just wanted to tell you that you have fantastic legs, really beautiful." Message delivered, they wandered slowly off, clearly watching people shop more than shopping themselves. I called out a wobbly, stunned "thank you" after them. And immediately started wondering if the whole 30 second interaction had just happened.
I pinched myself. They were still there, in my line of sight, smiling serenely and chatting. For the first time in a few days, I smiled.
That woman didn't know me from a hole in the wall. I'll never be able to tell her how much I needed a win in that moment. I'll never be able to thank her husband for his service. (I wanted to and was just a few steps too far on the side of shocked as hell to put it into words.) Somewhere out there though there is a fantastic person who did a small, unexpected thing, and gave me the win I needed.
So go ahead, do the unexpected. Go out of your way. Lift someone up. Because maybe they need a win too.
Despite wanting to sleep the entire weekend away, midday Saturday found my husband and I in the local mall having some Chik-fil-A for lunch and running some errands. The lousy thing about being an adult (besides having to pay taxes) is that you don't get to put life on pause when lousy things happen. The house still needs groceries, you still have to show up at work, and things still need to get cleaned. So there I was, waiting for food at Chik-fil-A and feeling awfully rundown.
Out of nowhere there was a tap on my arm. Standing next to me was an older woman, walker and all, and her husband, wearing a WWII veteran hat. Before I could say anything the woman smiled up at me (and let's face it, I'm not that tall) and said "I just wanted to tell you that you have fantastic legs, really beautiful." Message delivered, they wandered slowly off, clearly watching people shop more than shopping themselves. I called out a wobbly, stunned "thank you" after them. And immediately started wondering if the whole 30 second interaction had just happened.
I pinched myself. They were still there, in my line of sight, smiling serenely and chatting. For the first time in a few days, I smiled.
That woman didn't know me from a hole in the wall. I'll never be able to tell her how much I needed a win in that moment. I'll never be able to thank her husband for his service. (I wanted to and was just a few steps too far on the side of shocked as hell to put it into words.) Somewhere out there though there is a fantastic person who did a small, unexpected thing, and gave me the win I needed.
So go ahead, do the unexpected. Go out of your way. Lift someone up. Because maybe they need a win too.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Backyard Science
Possibly the best advice to new parents I've heard regards naming children. (Full disclaimer: having no children, I reserve the right to completely change my mind on this later in life.) Don't share the name of the baby. Once the child is born, everyone will more or less tell you that the name is fantastic, that it fits, that it is just right. (Aaaaaaaand, I'm sure plenty of people have had less positive experiences too.) But really, who wants to look at new parents and ask "you names your child WHAT??" As if they didn't already have enough to worry about.
Much like the name of an unborn child, I've nursed a dream for "someday when we own a house" for a few years now. I did my research. I discussed it with my husband. Otherwise though, I kept it pretty quiet for fear that I would get talked out of it. A few months after moving in though, I was ready to finally move forward. So, you're probably wondering what crazy thing I've gotten myself into now.
Composting.
Yes, that's right, the brilliant science of attempting to turn our trash back into dirt. For me, it's really just the next logical step for someone who wants to reduce their environmental impact. Growing up, my house was a waste-not-want-not kind of place. Our town had more categories of recycling than anyplace I have ever lived. Suffice to say, I have a deep appreciation for my current access to single stream recycling that gets picked up at my curb. (I have some concerns about the efficacy of single stream but there's not a lot I can do about that at the moment.) If your trash was found to have any of the items included in over 20 different recycling categories in it, you received a fine and then the town stopped picking up your trash. So, out of very ingrained, very compulsory, habit, recycling is something I take pretty seriously. Nothing else in our house went to waste either though. If clothes, sheets, and towels were too ratty to be donated, then they became rags and painting drop-clothes that we proceeded to use for another 10 to 20 years to come. (Really, really not kidding. If I enlist my Mom's help, I'm sure she can find rags that out-date me.)
So, after lots of research, I finally settled on a tumble style composter. We don't have the room on our property for a compost pile. They're great if they can be kept far from the house and less great if the only place you have available to put it is right behind your garage. Lots of compost bins are essentially a trash can with one end open to the dirt below and the other end latched so that material can be added but critters are kept out. I thought about this one long and hard because the previous owners left behind a lot of ratty trash cans and I would have been happy to re-purpose one of them. (There are also inexpensive, but slightly fancier mesh versions.) The lack of backyard space still posed a big problem though and my husband looked distinctly unhappy about the prospect. So, a tumbler won out. It's fairly compact, closed to critters, and much more movable than the other types of composters. Also, I don't have to get a shovel and turn the pile over by hand (instead you roll the bin) and I don't have to worry about "layering" different material types to make sure everything is well distributed.
A few weekends ago found us standing in Home Depot trying to find composters. I knew they had them in stock because I had checked in advance. One person told us that they were with ladders. I didn't even bother checking up on that lead because I was sure that not only were they not with the ladders but that the person I asked probably didn't know what a compost bin was to begin with. We headed to garden instead. After some fruitless searching, I finally asked another employee. Who had to ask yet another employee. Eventually we were directed down an aisle that had previously been closed off for re-stocking. No wonder we couldn't find it. The guy pointed me to the composters and then asked if I had done this before. I told him I hadn't and he snorted and walked away. Okay, fair enough. I might be crazy but that's okay.
I picked out the least dirty of the clearly rarely touched boxes and we headed home. Way too many screws and a few hours of trading on and off with my husband later and we had produced a composter. I started nervously making contributions the next day. I won't have a solid answer on how well this experience has gone for at least a few months but so far it's going pretty well. I've been surprised that friends visiting the house very quickly started asking what should be set aside for compost and what should go into the trash. I don't think my husband is anywhere near as enthusiastic as I am about our backyard project (that's okay, he has his own pool chemistry project to contend with) but he's glad that I'm excited, which is really all I can ask for.
Much like the name of an unborn child, I've nursed a dream for "someday when we own a house" for a few years now. I did my research. I discussed it with my husband. Otherwise though, I kept it pretty quiet for fear that I would get talked out of it. A few months after moving in though, I was ready to finally move forward. So, you're probably wondering what crazy thing I've gotten myself into now.
Composting.
Yes, that's right, the brilliant science of attempting to turn our trash back into dirt. For me, it's really just the next logical step for someone who wants to reduce their environmental impact. Growing up, my house was a waste-not-want-not kind of place. Our town had more categories of recycling than anyplace I have ever lived. Suffice to say, I have a deep appreciation for my current access to single stream recycling that gets picked up at my curb. (I have some concerns about the efficacy of single stream but there's not a lot I can do about that at the moment.) If your trash was found to have any of the items included in over 20 different recycling categories in it, you received a fine and then the town stopped picking up your trash. So, out of very ingrained, very compulsory, habit, recycling is something I take pretty seriously. Nothing else in our house went to waste either though. If clothes, sheets, and towels were too ratty to be donated, then they became rags and painting drop-clothes that we proceeded to use for another 10 to 20 years to come. (Really, really not kidding. If I enlist my Mom's help, I'm sure she can find rags that out-date me.)
So, after lots of research, I finally settled on a tumble style composter. We don't have the room on our property for a compost pile. They're great if they can be kept far from the house and less great if the only place you have available to put it is right behind your garage. Lots of compost bins are essentially a trash can with one end open to the dirt below and the other end latched so that material can be added but critters are kept out. I thought about this one long and hard because the previous owners left behind a lot of ratty trash cans and I would have been happy to re-purpose one of them. (There are also inexpensive, but slightly fancier mesh versions.) The lack of backyard space still posed a big problem though and my husband looked distinctly unhappy about the prospect. So, a tumbler won out. It's fairly compact, closed to critters, and much more movable than the other types of composters. Also, I don't have to get a shovel and turn the pile over by hand (instead you roll the bin) and I don't have to worry about "layering" different material types to make sure everything is well distributed.
A few weekends ago found us standing in Home Depot trying to find composters. I knew they had them in stock because I had checked in advance. One person told us that they were with ladders. I didn't even bother checking up on that lead because I was sure that not only were they not with the ladders but that the person I asked probably didn't know what a compost bin was to begin with. We headed to garden instead. After some fruitless searching, I finally asked another employee. Who had to ask yet another employee. Eventually we were directed down an aisle that had previously been closed off for re-stocking. No wonder we couldn't find it. The guy pointed me to the composters and then asked if I had done this before. I told him I hadn't and he snorted and walked away. Okay, fair enough. I might be crazy but that's okay.
I picked out the least dirty of the clearly rarely touched boxes and we headed home. Way too many screws and a few hours of trading on and off with my husband later and we had produced a composter. I started nervously making contributions the next day. I won't have a solid answer on how well this experience has gone for at least a few months but so far it's going pretty well. I've been surprised that friends visiting the house very quickly started asking what should be set aside for compost and what should go into the trash. I don't think my husband is anywhere near as enthusiastic as I am about our backyard project (that's okay, he has his own pool chemistry project to contend with) but he's glad that I'm excited, which is really all I can ask for.
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