soakin' up some rays

...in hopes of some natural bleach action. These beauties were the $3 deal of the century at a little antique shop nearby. They are each cross stitched, by hand I'm sure, with the brightest and cheeriest colors. The only problem is typical vintage yellowing, which I'm trying to take care of with last night's 24 hour water and vinegar bath and now the first glimpse of sun in days.

it's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

For unknown reasons my body awoke at 10 after 6, and I have to confess that I was really excited by the prospect of sitting on my side porch, newly cleaned and organized, while sipping my coffee in the quiet of a Sunday not yet writhing. The big, debuting sunrise had passed and given way to wild tangerine rivers of stringy clouds that burned off quickly as the sun took its position in the daytime sky, but really, I'm so estranged to such a thing that I'll take the leftovers and be happy with them.

Somewhere far enough off that I had to focus my ears and wait for a second listen, a rooster crowing set my heart to longing. My chicken dreams have been put on hold for stronger desires to travel, and waiting to see what Uncle Sam has up his sleeve for the end of the year. There are reasons aplenty to explain why now just isn't time for chickens, yet that rooster crowing from who-knows-where thumps at the bruise. Everything works out and my life right now needs to maintain freedom - to bend, to move, to be my part of the Army plan.

Traveling is currently more critical anyway. As I contemplated the ramifications of literally pulling out my hair and those of quitting grad school, I also grabbed frantically at anything that would make my academic life worth living. Last semester me and my big dreams had proposed a month long road trip paired with an independent study in travel writing, which sounded great but ran into some logistical issues that made it less appealing in the end. I had dropped the idea and had conceded to the normal class schedule and my first free summer in quite a while. That was before the academic crisis occurred, which ultimately brought me back to it for modification. Dad and I have been planning a smaller scale road trip to Savannah, GA and Charleston, SC, and so the familiar thought halted me one day like a child suddenly consoled for no reason. He and I will be back before June starts up, leaving the rest of summer wide open. I stopped by my non-fiction professor's office to get the angst off my chest and to ask her about the independent study again, under different circumstances. Talking to her was helpful and she agreed to throw together this elixir of a summer course. I'm still mostly at the drawing board weighing possibilities but a drive up coastal California, from Los Angeles to the Sonoma Valley is in the lead. And not to be outdone, Mom suggested a short cruise to Mexico just yesterday. It won't be like a summer backpacking Europe or India or Vietnam or Africa (all dreams), but it will be a wealth of opportunity and a reason to write, as well as a reason not to lose my hair at the hands of stress and frustration.

The container garden takes up the same cause as the chickens would - abandonment - although I'm pretty sure there is an easy solution, some kind of garden variety life support that I just haven't yet found. I've looked at a number of "irrigation systems" and yesterday I found some Plant Nanny's at a local shop downtown. The only problem there is the requirement of wine bottles. I have eleven large pots and each of the Nanny's terra-cotta stakes requires a wine bottle filled with water. Between now and mid-May I would be hard pressed or consistently annihilated to come up with eleven empty bottles.

Save the absence-induced possibility of sun scorch, the garden still aims for success. Now that it is written pests will probably descend upon my tender sprouts like plagues of locusts. But until then, they are growing in leaps and bounds, and while I feel like The Ignorant Gardener, last night talking to Dad about my thriving promises of fruit, he commended the knowledge I have somehow found room for and managed to cram into my already over-taxed headspace. I, however, will likely continue to describe my forays into veggie cultivation as "gardening by the seat of my pants," at least until next year when I hope to be the reigning queen of tomatoes, squash and peppers.

With that and the sun securely positioned, I need to go heat up my coffee and do something relating to school today. As much as I keep hoping it will, that final paper is not going to write itself.

happy earth day!

I kind of always thought of the "Green" movement as hype, until it showed itself as Addiction and swept over me. Things I've either consciously or sub-consciously changed for the better since January (in no specific order or rank):

• purchased a reel push lawnmower against everyone's advice, which really only made me want it more. Even Baby Girl gets her eco-mow on:

• started walking to classes that don't cause me to walk home in the dark. My neighborhood is...pseudo-sketchy.
• recycling
• organic container gardening
• baking instead of buying: bread products, crackers, protein bars
• not running the heat (unless it's so cold inside my house that I cannot feel my feet)
• organic skin products (make-up, lotion, homemade toner)
• and just now as I brewed my first cup of coffee in a long time, I thought to myself, "I can do this another way..."

26 of 31: getting away

I continue to be amazed at how quickly the numbers are climbing as I sit down to title my daily post. I'm also a little surprised that I've been able to stick with this post-a-day business without missing one or two, and a part of me will be glad when it's on a feel-like-it basis again. Until then, I'll press on.

I'm sitting on my little side porch, sipping on a glass of sauvignon blanc, paying bills, and trying to get Beth to move from a very awkwardly rigid position - oh, there she goes. Relaxed on her haunches looks less terrified. She and I just planted another egg carton's worth of herbs. I found the ones that Lowes didn't have in their organic repertoire while I was in Nashville today: lavender, poppy, echinacea, dill, chamomile, sweet pepper, zucchini squash, and sweet onion. As you can see, I'm a complete idealist in everything that I do. Try a couple of seeds? No, no, no, Molly Gardner here fears nothing. Start small? Small-shmall. By next week, the first batch should be showing some activity. Again, that's only if I haven't over-watered, planted too deep, planted too shallow, not watered enough, or uttered the wrong prayers of cultivation to Mother Earth.

I also stopped by Trader Joe's and Whole Foods for the grocery items that we here in Army-ville are not sophisticated enough to keep stocked. [Hello, Kroger, you're Greek yogurt has been bare-shelved for almost a week!] I scored a gorgeous-delicious pair of stuffed Salmon filets and four cups of Fage, for when Kroger tries to punish me in forms of yogurt deprivation again next week. It would have been a better trip if my purpose for going wasn't follow-up-doctors-visit related. It was an easy appointment and fine, a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kind of thing. Back in six months and maybe a second biopsy. Gah. Unfavorable cells don't really fit into my schedule. Hopefully they're already aware.

And lastly, I escape again tomorrow! I'm headed to New Orleans to spend a weekend eating the best food on earth and relaxing with an army wife friend of mine. One thing I love about this lifestyle is how quickly you can breach the boundaries of acquaintance and adopted family. It will be undoubtedly wonderful.

25 of 31: a breath of fresh air

Now that Spring seems to be less hesitant in its arrival, I am full-swing into Spring Cleaning! I'm also a whore for Amazon, and books in general, really. These are the latest purchases. I'm all about detoxing the house and my body and my lifestyle. I tend to be fickle in things like this so I just hope that it sticks this time. There was once upon a time that I wanted a little coop with chickens in my backyard and fresh eggs mere steps from my kitchen door, a big veggie garden, self-sustainability, and that was a little bit before it was cool. I had the garden and the bounty and the drive until about mid-July, when I decided that I liked air conditioning more than home-grown tomatoes. That was a classic example of running out of steam. I threw up my hands and let the sun scorch the rows of cucumbers and squash and eggplant and peppers. It was a beautiful patch. I was 20.

So I'm biting off something a bit less ambitious with what I hope will be an equally beautiful container garden. The chem-free stuff just seems to follow suit with taking better care of myself, and eventually The Staff Sergeant, too. I'm also developing a slightly obsessive addiction to the idea of urban homesteading, a more ambitious version of the aforementioned goals that does include my lost-dream-chickens. It probably won't be in this house, but if the vision holds, maybe at the next one.

Full of non-toxic cleaning recipes and tips on how to be more eco-friendly with the less replaceable cleaners

Notes on food, home cleaners, personal care recipes

Hailed as the best of the best in vegetable container gardening. I'll let you know how it turns out, that is unless my seeds rot in their little starter homes and never sprout...

21 of 30: giving (some ideas and reflections)

• I went back by Borders to re-browse the Gaiam section while DVDs and cds are still 50% off - this is one of the ways that the digression of corporations makes me happy (even though I really love Borders in particular). I picked up cardio burn sculpt, cardio burn dance for weight loss, and cardio burn kickbox. After last night's cardio burn yoga success, I opted to give dance a try. I really like Patricia Moreno, who happens to lead both videos. I had a blast reliving my many years in tap, and when I finished I dabbled in the strength plan listed in this month's Health magazine. My arms feel that kind of tired sensation that means they will ache all day tomorrow and then more so the next, but it's wonderful to think that I might be able to obtain Madonna-arms one day. [a girl can dream]

• I made it another day within my caloric goals and that even included the Ben & Jerry's chocolate-brownie-fro-yo-heaven-in-a-carton this time, and a beer. I've been a little tired of pre-packaged food so I searched for something yummy I could make and landed on Cooking Light's blackened chicken and grilled avocado tacos. Quite tasty!

• Band of Brothers totally captivated me today. The History Channel was airing a marathon, so I sat in the living room floor researching Middle Eastern food after stumbling across a recipe for Za'atar flatbread in my artisan bread book last night. I was hours into this before I realized how funny it was considering the army-ness my life is so steeped in these days. I wrote The Staff Sergeant [another] e-mail to tell him how blatantly on my mind he was.

• Tomorrow I've got tentative plans to hunt down some herb seeds so I can get some sprouts growing for the plant stand on my side porch. I'm thinking Basil, Cilantro, Mint, Lavender, and I've been toying with thoughts of upside down tomato plants, although I'm not sure where I can hang them. I may have to settle for the normal growing method, right-side-up with cages.

• My interest has been piqued by the idea of homemade cleaners and skin care. I'm not completely sold on the commitment of that kind of self-sustenance but I like it in theory. I added several books to my Amazon wish list this afternoon just to keep the titles handy while I mull it over.

• I'm thinking about sending dinner to my soldier - making and canning a yummy tomato sauce and a batch of homemade pasta. I can't send prime rib or anything, but that would just be a matter of boiling noodles and heating up the sauce and it's still all home cooked. (Now he'll start reading my blog and the surprise will be lost...)

16 of 31: giving (props)

I'm happy to report that the sun and I are no longer estranged, though I hear that this time together is predicted to be short. Figures. I still feel like my body is trying to get sick but my "mother-in-law" suggested some vitamin C and zinc supplements that I quickly picked up. I really need to curb any other possible reasons for lethargy and an overall lack of motivation. I've got those short-comings manned in full effect already.

In an attempt to exert control be pro-active with Spring presumably underway I have convinced myself to integrate a few positive changes into my routine. I scheduled a...photo sitting last week for mid-April which has prompted a new campaign to trim off those few pounds that I love to curse while jumping up-and-down to get into the death-grip of my jeans. I swear by counting calories when I'm actually watching what I'm ingesting. 1500 per day is much easier than I've been telling myself and I haven't been hungry once today. I'm weening myself off coffee, drinking more water, and tonight I actually turned off the television to read for class on Wednesday. Kudos to me. Now I'm off to bed early so I can get up early to tackle all that must be done. I'm thinking St. Pat's brownies for tomorrow night's class. What's more inspiring than booze and chocolate? I mean, really.

1 of 31: giving (up)

I'm giving nablopomo[.com] a try for March.  The theme is "giving (up)," however if I stuck with it, this would be a mighty depressing month, and I can tell you that the Forever Winter we are experiencing in these parts and deployment are doing a damn fine job of setting a forlorn tone.

For the kick-off, I'll do my best to throw on my rosey glasses and grace you with a little optimism.

[clears throat]

I wish that I had something profound and gracious to write.  And while I know that all the good outweighs the sacrifices (or I wouldn't be doing this) it's hard to be quiet enough to hear the meek, whispering reminders of choice.  The Staff Sergeant told me he was in the Army after luring me to coffee.  I considered walking out the door, giving him my best wishes and telling him to be safe but never to call.  However (entranced by his good looks and good shoes), I took my coffee from the counter and followed him back to our table.  He talked about literature and family and his smile, so perfectly perfect was hypnotizing.  By closing time my bones had dissolved and my limbs were tingly and beyond my body's physical acknowledgment that something was different, I couldn't stop what would happen in the months and months to follow.  

I was living the urban-dreamer life.  I had dibs on a loft in downtown Nashville, hopes to study sociology at Vanderbilt or to earn an MFA in writing, plans that snaked ten-times around the earth's circumference that did, in no way include or tolerate the Army.  Needless to say, I'm not in the loft of my dreams nor am I in a masters program at Vanderbilt, but I can say without a shadow of doubt that I am better for the altered plans (think space and money).  A year and a half ago I couldn't have told you that I'd be living it up in army-ville, working may way through a deployment.  In fact, I might have told you that a deployment was impossible.

I remember sobbing over the scene in The Interpreter when an African terrorist blows up the bus.  I thought to myself, I can't do this.  I thought that phrase a hundred times before looking around and realizing that I am doing it, regardless of how hard and heavy some days are.  At some point the thought became a question of how to be not whether or not I was strong enough.  

I hesitate to categorize any choices that I've made or changes to choices as "things I have given up", rather my perspective has changed and what I want out of life has taken a detour once again.  What I have [temporarily] given up is time and proximity.  He's not the first thing I see in the mornings or the last that I see before bed.  I've given up kisses and running inside jokes and dinner for two and the luxury of speed dial and an answer.  I've given up a lot of control that I probably never had anyway but let myself believe that I did.  

As I tell him almost daily, in emails that I'm not sure he really has time to read: I wouldn't change anything about where I live, who I love, and what that means about the person I have to be.  I don't like this leg of it but it will make the time that he's home so much better and so much more appreciated.

It takes a village to decorate my house

I was wondering what you think of this chair...

in this fabric [with bright red piping]...

I'll tell all about the teaching experience tomorrow.  Right now, though, it's off to bed with The Dutchess. It's been a loooooong day.

Look out, Martha...

It was a very crafty day at Chez Moi.  I finally conquered those pretzels and might I say, they look and taste fabulous.  I'm not sure I have completely mastered the twist, but I'm not going to complain.  They'll go great with the raspberry honey mustard pretzel dip I'm sending.  I care package gourmet style.  I did not, however, make it to the post office in time.  I crossed my fingers that they were open until 5:30pm.  They weren't.  I'll have to send it off tomorrow but a couple days late isn't so bad.  He hasn't asked for a thing, it's my freak schedule I'm trying to keep to - every two weeks, sent on Thursdays.  We all get through this differently.  It's probably okay that I turn into the package Nazi, right?  

After my failed attempt at the post office, I went by Hobby Lobby to pick up the print I got yesterday.  It wasn't ready but they assured that if I occupied myself for a half hour they could have it ready to come live on my dining room wall.  Of course, what would a day in my life be without 100 totally absurd things going awry?  Naturally the print was printed crooked.  Naturally I had to double mat it for an extra $14 to center it up.  Naturally I got it home and noticed the middle mat was off center.  So I'll be back, Hobby Lobby, tomorrow.  Grr.

While I killed what ended up being about an hour, I browsed for a few little things I needed and considered this sweet idea I had seen in a magazine recently, probably Domino, for monogrammed stationary.  Since I'm a whore for a good notecard set, I grabbed a little something here for myself and then there for a couple upcoming occasions that call for gifts.  Who doesn't love a hand crafted surprise...as long as it's sober-looking?  Then I came home, got cozy in the floor, turned on House and stamped to my little heart's content.  These are some samples of what happened:

Mmm...Tiffany blue, I love you.

[and in other news, I had the phone surgically attached so as to avoid any further missed calls.]

I'm going to the gym...

Because if I write it, I'll feel held accountable.

Because I've forgotten that I live in the body of a 25 year old adult, not a 5 year old calorie-burning-inferno.

Because The Staff Sergeant keeps asking about those lofty plans I had to get in shape while he was gone.

Because he's in the gym daily and I don't want him to come home flaunting it and find that I am left with no counter argument.  

Because of today's Nutella, Starburst Gummies, and heavy-on-the-chocolate chocolate milk.

Because I can't kick the blues...and working up a sweat is supposed to help.

The road to Domestic Goddesstry continues...

I've had a new burst of domestic inspiration in the last day or two, most of which followed the great triumph of taming my dining room.  It wasn't that it was waiting, packed in tidy boxes, but instead that the whole house had been unpacked in that single room and never again touched.  But now I can breathe easy and walk taller.  It has been rescued from disaster.  

My focus has now turned to streamlining it's beauty.  The bar needs to be stained and I'm hunting down a mini-fridge for mixers and white wine; it will fit just bellow the bar/counter/recycled IKEA shelf.  I took some art to Hobby Lobby to have it framed for wall accessorizing, picked up some silk Gerber daisies for the table, and the super cutest best part - big gold letters in his and my first initials with a swirly "&" to go between them.  I think they will have to hang above my bar-in-progress, the pièce de résistance.  The Container Store (online) is next.  I need to find some hardware for holding bottles and barware.

But before that, I wanted to share these recipes from this morning's Rescue Chef.  This menu most certainly screams, "Welcome home, Sweetheart!" especially since I don't eat red meat.  It will reappear for a certain homecoming-to-be later this year-- 

• Flaming Filet Mignon with Chive Butter
  
• Pan-fried Asparagus with Shallots
  
• Potato Gratin "Boome-style"
  
• Molten Chocolate Baby Cakes
  

It hasn't felt like home [before you]

The end of another day, and a busy one, busier than most Mondays. I stayed at his place last night to do laundry, and yes, also to be around his stuff. But I overslept and had a babysitting commitment this morning. Even rushing I got my coffee made and drove his monster truck to keep the battery charged. I pulled in a mere seconds before Jen and baby, luckily. Then an hour coaxing her stand, and because we are both so fashion forward, Baby Girl and I paid our daily homage to What Not to Wear.

After Children's Hour at Chez Moi, I had to go back to his house to get my clean clothes and drop off his gas-guzzler...and take the trash to the dump before my afternoon class. I also stopped by an antique store to look for a subject for my latest project idea--a bar for my giant, beautiful dining room.  In one of the latest Domino issues, they made a bookshelf into a bar/sideboard.  Something kind of like this:

(thanks apartmenttherapy.com)

...except I want a dark wood for the outside and an orange background, something warm and pumpkin-ish, not periwinkle.  I devised a plan for said [untouched] dining room: if I can get myself excited enough about decorating it, then I will surely be compelled to fill the china cabinets with china and stemware currently forgotten in boxes, and to clear off my sprawling dining table turned catch-all and care-package-central.  To accomplish this task I raided Pier 1 this weekend, stocking up on an armful of [fake] poppies and varied greens and four curtain panels in rich browns and firey red-oranges.  It's the final room to be tackled and my favorite, not to sound like the rest of the house is finished.  My bedroom is painfully in need of painting and cleaning, and all of those clothes that hang so gracefully on the closet bar are still scattered in my floor.  Still, the dining room has been neglected and it's time to wrap up this "getting settled" bit.  

I got to give The Staff Sergeant a virtual tour when we spoke via chat/webcam.  He said that the living room at least, looked completely different in a good way, which made my efforts seem momentarily worthwhile.  Until it's all finished, I power on.  I've hung curtains continuously for weeks...ok, maybe not exactly continuously, and found places for crap that laid homeless and lost in the corners of chaotic rooms.  All of this has reminded me of how much I dislike the moving process, and yet I know within a year I'll be doing it all again.

How good is a man that lets you look past the strife of separation, of uprooting, of packing all the minuscule pieces of your existence painstakingly in boxes to leave places that feel like home for new uncharted ones and then each night, also leaves you drifting off to sleep with a smile? 

Dear Birthday Fairy:

To mark my 25th year I would like a bottle of this - 

For this to come early - 

A little more of this -

A LOT of this -

And maybe one of these?

(that last one was for the kittens whose lives I save by loving this ring.  Don't sweat, Sweetheart, it has nothing to do with you!  It's all for the kittens...)

Change. Progress. Hope.

I imagine that the rain held off until our moods were oil coated and resistant.  The earth needed quenching but our spirits were swollen and untouchable.  They say that water and electricity don't mix; I assure you that yesterday proved old precedence wrong.  The dark skies threw torrents to the thirsty ground while supporters charged with storms of conviction held their melting posters, held determined faces, held beliefs and hope like sturdy soldiers.  Like the smell of doused streets, the murmur of Americans permeated the damp air.  Even a person with no knowledge would have known that something big was occurring.

I went ahead of my friends to secure seats at the coffee house across the street from campus, the same place I've gone a hundred times to study and hang out on perfectly average days.  The street vendors and organizations held most everyone's attention until about 5:30 pm, but by then I had already draped cardigans and umbrellas and placed Nalgenes and any other marker from my bag of tricks on vacant seats so they would look taken and I wouldn't have to straddle an entire corner of Bongo Java with rabid eyes and a snarl to repel the crowds.  It wasn't long before my old roommate and her posse arrived.  We had our seats and time to kill and coffee and Cookies for Change right outside the outdoor patio.  Several times we remarked that it felt like New Years Eve, like a countdown should be in order for the event and the potential for change and our hope for change.  The people rolled in like waves and the rain fell in waves and goosebumps came in waves.  Everything felt too big to true.

My journalist friend had a break and excused himself from the circus in which only a press badge gets you entrance.  He didn't have much time, nonetheless he took a seat and we talked about his very entertaining and informative election blog and how he had received a REAL, LIVE ticket to the Great Hoorah.  Though my account is far less official than his and I didn't have a badge of any kind, just a hot tea and dry seat, I was there and I'll tell my babies about it, and no matter what accessories or adornments I was lacking, this is history.

There eventually was a countdown because we had exhausted ourselves and built a hype in our cores after two hours of waiting and watching the police guarded streets and the feather-shaped flags of red and blue whipping occasionally in spotlights and weather.  The street booths shut-down and their sponsors found seats of their own.  The floor space filled up first and then the front patio, the stairs leading up to the patio, the sidewalk leading to the stairs, and then left and right, as far as they could stand and still have a peek at the projection screens.

Browkow began.  Our biased group of Obama supporters cheered untamed when Barack made his way across the stage, so much so that McCain's first appearance was lost in the sea of opposition.  I was jealous not to be in the actual audience of the debate until the hoots and clapping wrapped me up in something more organic and bigger than myself, communal hope and fiery passion in a coffee spot that felt as much like home as campus every did. 

In fifty years I wonder where we'll be as a country.  I wonder how these days will affect the kids I haven't even considered conceiving and how my adulthood will be molded by the rebuild of all that is crumbling.  I wonder when and how the war will end, how I'll be able to afford the utility bills this winter, the gas for my car.  I wonder what this extra degree will amount to in a job market sinking like silt, and I think of how uneasy this state of our country leaves me, yet I know without a shadow of doubt that even my worst hardship brought on by the government is so weak compared to so many.

um. so. yeah.

I rubber-stamped some manila folders [to keep my school papers organized and fashionable] but I couldn't stop there. I've had a strangely creative day in comparison to this summer's drought-for-ideas and this whole blog thing - it remains a festering sore. It seemed an appropriate time to give this place a bit of focus. I can't decide what I want with it, and frankly, I shouldn't even be thinking about a blog with all of the reading I should be maintaining. I'm a believer that balance must be found and also, it's Friday, so I let my mind creatively wander to bloggier places than Erdrich and Jacobs.

[but only for a spell]

I'm thinking that this could absolutely not be what I want out of "new" and "fresh." What the hell, though, right? If we all cumulatively despise a limp attempt at irony, The Sound is only an upload away. For now, I'm going to sleep on this and see how you respond. We'll convene next week for a final judgment.

highways and bye-ways

On Friday I met with my non-fiction professor to discuss an idea for an independent study next summer. I'm not sure how it came to me, but on my way to class the thought congealed: travel writing; a month long road trip. She loved it!

I'm thinking, roughly, 6000 miles on $5000.

The answer to a quarter-life crisis?

A liberation from responsibility and sense?

For what and why?

To find my true self.

To stumble upon Home in pure form.

It doesn't sound crazy in my head, though the money will be a trial. They say, "if there's a will, there's a way." And there's time to consider logistics and funding. I'm not going to mask my lust for it nor will I deny how mesmerizing the day dreams have been. Thirty days to see and taste and smell half of America, or more if I wanted. Thirty days to reinvent my purpose, my place, my routine. Thirty days of distraction from all that is "fair" [in love and war]. And to write it, for credit no less? This is why I can't give up higher education. The Man would never allow such a blatant severing of strings. Ah!, freedom and The Road...

detour

After talking for almost two years about graduate school, I've scrapped the lukewarm chatter. Last week I succumbed to impulse and applied for the Fall 2008 semester. Surprisingly, I got in! Mentally ready or not, I begin the newest new chapter in about two weeks and I can't wait! Soon I will be embarking upon an MA journey in English creative writing.

Yogi Tea Suggests:

Love what is

ahead by

loving what has

come before.

[When in doubt, seek the paper tag on tea bags for Universal truths...]

Other girls were never quite like this

Yesterday I didn't sit down to write an introspective reflection on life as I thought I might. The snow melted by mid-day and I was able to run some errands that needed my attention. Because of the schedule alteration, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was already Sunday. It was disappointing until I woke up this morning able to do it all again.

Today was likewise relaxing. I slept in late, finished last night's cleaning spree, tagged along with a friend to a flea market, and enjoyed an hour of yoga at the pole studio. This wasn't just "an hour of yoga," friends, pole classes have left every muscle I never knew I had wracked with pain. It's fabulous to know that they're gaining tone, but holy ouch! The yoga class this afternoon was like a miraculous elixir. After stretching and lengthening and breathing, my shoulders and back feel relief and elasticity once again. On the way out, I stopped to chat with the receptionist guy like I always do, to share a tidbit about The Staff Sergeant and how the classes keep me busy while he's away, to schedule another yoga session and to ask about the next round of pole lessons. We're talking and scheduling and flipping through date books, and I'm rambling on about how much I love the class and can't wait to continue it, and he looks up at me and asks, "have you thought about becoming an instructor?" "Well...uh...er..." was something of the response I gave, but inside I leaped with excitement. Eventually I mustered a casual, "yeah, I mean, maybe..." and he said he'd talk to my instructor before the next class.

It may absolutely be nothing, nothing at all. He may talk to her and she may laugh at the thought of it, thus halting any further developments. But it's something fun to think about for a side gig to a day job as I plan to enter a slowing job market and for the cost of graduate school.

I'm honestly a little surprised and flattered. I could totally be a teacher...

[...maybe.]