Facebook, You Are A Hundred Awesome

One of the roughly ho-jillion reasons that I love Facebook (MySpace, not so much: sort of annoying and adolescent) is the ability to re-connect with people I lost touch with years ago.

Interestingly enough, the majority of my Facebook friends are people I met at church camp. Yes, I did indeed go to church camp, for four years and then a fifth year as a staff member. Church camp, when you're 14, is a fully-parentally-sanctioned place to meet boys. There's a lot of hugging, and hormones, and lots of excuses to take pictures and exchange phone numbers with the boys you like the best. It's a weird place, and the fact that it's only a week long once a year makes it a far more heightened atmosphere than high school, which is in some ways the same but with the same people all year. That heightened atmosphere led to some intense friendships--it's when you make the friends who you don't think you can live without, friends who you think will always be your best friends.

Then there's college, which is its own kind of heightened atmosphere in itself. You're losing touch with all those high school and church camp friends and making different friends, and there's the added freedom of being away from home, and testing boundaries that you never had the opportunity or the nerve to test before. Those friends are a different breed of friends than the church camp friends, a more sophisticated sort of thinking you can't live without someone. Still, you're in the process of becoming more yourself, and you've got a bigger pool of people to choose your friends from, and those friends begin to replace your other friends--if not in your mind, certainly in your daily schedule and the forefront of your mind.

There's something about the people who knew you half a lifetime ago. You know their secrets--how one person lost their virginity, how another person got arrested for public nudity, an abortion somebody had, how someone had their heart broken by someone else (of the same sex, but you're really the only one who knows that.) And they're the people who know your secrets, the things you never meant to tell anyone but that just came out, and they never told anyone. You're grateful for having somewhere for all those secrets to go and die, and relieved that somebody knows you this well without ever having to recount your secrets for them, and thankful for the bond of knowing that they know, and knowing that they know you know. You won't ever have someone who knows you this well again until you meet the person you marry (or, if that's not a possibility for you, the person you decide to spend your life with.)

Somehow, this just isn't the kind of friend you make after the age of about 20. You're old enough, at that point, to recognize the transient quality of life, that friends will probably float in and out of your life and be replaced by things like spouses and kids and houses and jobs. Your secrets will seem less dramatic. There will be simple considerations like you don't have the kind of time to have four-hour phone conversations with your camp friends in which you tell them the first name of every boy you ever kissed, or you live too far away to sit on the front steps of the student newspaper with your college suitemate smoking cigarettes and talking about boys. Also, you both quit smoking, which was of course the prudent thing to do.

Facebook is a way to reconnect with the people who knew you that way. There just aren't enough phone books in the world, and there's something awkward about calling up your best camp friend from 20 years earlier: "It's me! No, a different me...from...um..."

I love Facebook because it just reminds of the smallness of the world.

This morning, I had a message from another camp friend. She and her husband (who was yet another camp friend of mine; I was there when they met) moved to Brussels last fall, but the great shock was that they moved there from Greenbelt, Maryland--fifteen minutes from where I live. I was shocked, and a little sad, that they were so close all this time, and now they've moved away. I've thought of them so many times in the last few years, and they have a daughter who, I think, looks close to Max's age. I wish I'd known that sooner.

Dear Anthony Bourdain: Will You Marry Me?

I once had a conversation via email with Goon Squad Sarah about Anthony Bourdain, about how he was like that guy in high school that you got totally drunk at a party with once and made out with a little, and who then broke your teenage heart when he didn't talk to you the next day in school, and then broke it again when your best friend marched up to him (he was smoking behind the baseball dugout) and asked him why he never called you, and he said that he didn't know your name, and then he hit on your friend. Sarah and I realized that we had actually known the same guys in high school, despite the fact that I grew up in Michigan and she grew up in Florida.

Lord love a duck, I am so hot for Anthony Bourdain. He is beautiful, has an incredibly sexy voice, has Distinguished Silver hair, and can cook like an unmitigated motherfucker. He does eat some of the most disgusting bits of the most disgusting animals I have ever seen in my entire life and I really disagree with him about Hung from Top Chef, but he is hot enough that I don't care. Witness:

Hi Tony. That's a nice...bone. And when I say bone, I mean...you know, bone.

Maybe one of the ten thousand reasons that I love him is the interview I just read with him, in which he says the following about Sandra Lee. You know, Sandra Lee from "Semi-Homemade With Sandra Lee", also known as "The Coming Apocalypse Starring The Food Network?"

On Sandra Lee: “Charles Manson and Betty Crocker’s love child. She gets that
glassy Squeaky Fromme look when she’s talking about her tablescapes. I want to
call security.”

The rest of the interview (which took place in Washington D.C.) can be found right here. We ran into him at Eastern Market when he was in town--this was quite a while ago now, but I did what I typically do when confronted with a famous stranger, which is to stare like I'm suffering from brain damage as he nods politely at me. I am smooth, I tell you.

A Tale of Too Stupid

First of all, go and read this post. Then come back.

The upshot is that this mother, in her nightly struggle to get her pre-school-aged daughter to bed and to sleep, in her frustration, wondered aloud via Twitter if it would be acceptable to smother her daughter in order to get her to stay in bed. A woman who follows her on Twitter, who clearly doesn't know her, her morbid sense of humor, or the deep and abiding love for her child that is so obvious to anyone with the common sense God gave pistachio nuts, found this tweet to be objectionable.

Shortly afterwards, the police appeared at her door. At 11 o'clock at night, this woman had to show them her sleeping child in order to prove that she hadn't murdered her own daughter.

I am totally dumbstruck by the ardent stupidity of this entire situation. I am absolutely horrified for this woman, and so sorry for the mortification and abject humiliation she must be feeling.

Dan is a teacher, as are several of our closest friends. They are all required by law and their jobs, not to mention simple human decency and civility, to report suspected physical, emotional, verbal, and sexual abuse of all children they come in contact with. In a thousand years, I cannot imagine anyone legitimately interpreting what this woman was saying as a threat of actual child endangerment.

Not a month ago, I threatened to tape Max in a box with a couple bottles of water and a couple of sandwiches and Fed-Ex him to my parents. Did any of you--seriously, anybody at all--interpret that as something I would publicly brag about doing, let alone actually do? Even for a minute? Did anybody sit down and give it any thought at all, whether that was something I was capable of?

Honest to God, I know my readership isn't enormous or anything, but really--anybody?

People don't brag about murdering their children on Twitter before they actually go and do it, for fucking Christ's sake! Especially not rational, sane, loving parents--as this blogger clearly and obviously is. People abuse children secretly, then they bury the body, or burn it, or chop it into pieces and stow it in their freezer! They don't write about what they're doing on the internet--especially before they do it. Come the fuck on.

That's the point. I've admitted my parenting shortfalls right here on this blog--a year ago, when Max was biting, I admitted to biting him back once. I admitted how terrible it made me feel to have physically done something that made him cry. I've admitted that I'm not the most patient parent on this earth, that I have a tendency to tune him out when I'm deeply involved in something else. Does that qualify as child neglect in somebody's mind? Quick--call child protective services.

This is busybodying run totally amok. This is a woman with not enough to do (and there's a link to her blog at the first link; I won't link to her because, frankly, I don't think she deserves the traffic) and too much time on her hands and too little to think about. I won't go so far as to call her stupid or ignorant, because name-calling is a little inane even in a case like this, but really, I'm starting to think that there ought to be a common sense or I.Q. prerequisite in order to connect to the internet, if for no other reason than to protect us normal, sane, rational human beings.

Things I've Learned on Facebook

I joined Facebook over the summer. It's actually been really kind of a good thing. I've reconnected with a lot of old friends and acquaintances, people I lost track of a long time ago. I've gotten to know people I knew as a kid as grownups, and realized that there are people who I was intimidated by and uncomfortable around who are really lovely and kind people, despite the fact that several of them are vocal and passionate Republicans.

What can I say? Nobody's perfect.

It's been interesting, though, to discover that many people have not grown up to do what I thought they would do, or anything remotely like it, and many others are exactly the same person that they've always been. It's a reminder to me that adulthood is not a destination we arrive at on our 23rd birthday.

There is one person who I have wondered about for many years. I met him my Freshman year of college, and while we were not anything remotely resembling ready for each other at the time, we dated on and off for awhile, and sometimes we were friends with benefits, and throughout it, were able to maintain a friendship based on the fact that we were both smart people who liked to talk to each other and didn't mind each others' propensity to get ourselves and each other into trouble.

Predictably enough, we eventually got into serious trouble together, the kind that requires the assistance of a lawyer to get out of. It scared me mostly straight, and it was incredibly scary and humiliating and it's something I don't really talk about much, so let us just say that it was a bad experience except for the fact that it taught me that I could take responsibility and ownership of, and manage my own problems, even when they seemed unmanageable. The other good thing about it was that somehow, I managed to stay friends with this person, and if anything, we were better friends, bound by the fact that we knew what the other person had gone through.

Eventually, I went back to Michigan, and he went on with his life in Nashville, and we lost touch with each other. I always wondered what had happened to him, though, and what he was like as a grown-up.

Yesterday, I had an email in my inbox. It was a friend request from Facebook, and I was shocked when it turned out that the friend request was from him.

I was, however, not nearly as shocked as I was when I went and looked at his profile and found out who he was as a grownup. This person, who was by far one of the most out-of-control party animals I have ever met, who spent a certain period of his life under the influence of controlled substances more or less around the clock, is a Presbyterian minister.

It's just another thing I've learned on Facebook: there are virtual black holes of mystery inside everyone, even the people you think you know. I found that out a year and a half ago, when my best friend, who'd always been...wary at best, I would say, about children, decided to have a baby. I learned it all over again when I realized that this wasn't an elaborate hoax on his part.

I used to think that not much surprised me anymore. I've since realized that I was wrong. People generally shock the hell out of me.

Dear Stupid Little Punks:

I just wanted to write you a quick note and say hi. Just in case you were wondering, I own the Chrysler Town & Country minivan that you stole Thursday night. Congratulations, by the way. You were very quiet and sneaky. I never heard a sound--no breaking glass, no nothing--probably because you didn't break a window, you used a crowbar. We didn't know anything about it until the next morning. I appreciate the fact that you didn't break the window, since my insurance company has been pretty consistent about covering nothing, but you did pry the panel off the door to get it unlocked. Thanks for that.

You don't know much about me, or my family, or the disruption that you've caused, but if you'd looked around a little while you were ransacking the inside of my car looking for things to steal, you might have found some things out, if you'd thought about it. The picture of the smiling little blond boy in the red plaid vest and necktie, the one you left on the floor of the passenger side of the car when you emptied the glove compartment--that's my son. His name is Max. The picture is two years old now, but it was taken at Christmas. You left a big shoeprint on the picture, but you also stole his DVD player. His favorite DVD was in it, by the way--I'm sure you just tossed it on the roadside somewhere after you crashed our car into a fence and ran. It was Sesame Street, by the way. He keeps asking about it.

We bought the car in 2005, right after Max was born. It was the newest car either my husband or I had ever owned, and the nicest one. We paid it off later that year with some money I inherited from my late grandmother. I almost never get into that car without thinking of her. Now I'll almost never get into the car without thinking of you.

My car smells a little like pot smoke now. Yeah, I know what pot smoke smells like. I went to college. My husband spent two hours yesterday at our friends' house, washing it, cleaning it, pulling out the seats, vacuuming--I think he wanted to try to sort out some of the mess that you made throwing everything around the car, but I also think he wanted to clean out some of what was left of you in there. I hope it worked for him--it didn't work so well for me.

We've driven that car to Michigan several times, to Nashville, Tennessee to visit our best friends and my parents, to Massanutten, Virginia this summer to spend a week at my parents' timeshare. We've learned our way around Washington D.C., a city I've always loved and wanted to live in, in this car. I have to say, though, that things are going a little sour for us here, thanks only in part to you. We probably won't explore as much as we have this year again though, since we can't afford to replace the GPS that you stole, and neither my husband nor I are really a particular whiz with directions. That GPS really opened the city up for us. Oh well, though. Nice while it lasted.

I should say thanks, too, to you, for not smashing my car so hard into that fence that the airbag went off. I mean, we can't afford a new car right now, not with my husband starting graduate school this winter, and me just starting a new job, and pregnant--did I mention that? Yeah, pregnant again. I mean, you did smash in the ignition with a screwdriver and a chunk of concrete, and you've obviously done some pretty serious damage to the steering column, since the airbag sensor warning light goes on any time we turn the wheel now, but hey, we don't need a key to drive the car anymore. We do just fine with a flathead screwdriver now--probably what you used too, on your little two-mile joyride before you ditched it. The front-end damage from car vs. fence is pretty minor too, surprisingly--just a little dent in the front driver's side bumper and a little tear in the bumper itself--probably caused when you tried to back it up. Clearly you're quite experienced.

You stole my car charger for my cell phone, but I appreciate the fact that you left my husband's leather jacket. I bought it for him for Christmas the first year that I really felt like we were doing well enough to really buy each other presents. I love how he looks in that jacket--I really thought you'd take it for sure. I guess you wouldn't be able to turn around and sell it too easily though. You also left behind my Ipod dock, which I'm happy about, because it was pretty expensive. Our friend, who was kind and patient enough to drive us around all day on Friday and Saturday, knows about these kinds of things and says that it's the highest-rated dock out there.

So, yeah, it cost about $300 to get it out of impound, because I had to pay for the tow and impound for it--interesting, since I really didn't do anything wrong in this case--and a few bucks to wash the mud off of it--did you drive it through a cow pasture or something, by the way? I have no idea what it'll cost to fix the ignition, but suffice it to say, I can't afford to fix it right now, whatever the cost. And it'll be okay for getting from point A to point B for the time being, but we'd planned to drive to Michigan for Christmas later this month, and I don't think we'll do that. We can't really afford the plane tickets either, and we're a one-car family, so we'll probably stay here this year. It'll be the first year we've stayed since we moved here. I know it'll really disappoint our parents, and I'm not sure how to break it to them yet. Maybe you could tell them if you see them?

To be honest, you probably would have been almost doing us a favor if you'd hit that fence doing 80, instead of the maybe 10 you were actually doing, and totaling the thing out. I mean, then we'd sort of be screwed, what with the car payment and everything, but I wouldn't be driving around in this car that now starts with a screwdriver instead of a key, with the front end damage, that smells like fucked-up, ignorant teenagers, that I'll never look at the same way again. Which is really probably on me, not on you. I'm sure that there are people who could shed this totally violated, completely invaded feeling after someone like you did this to them, but I have to admit that I'm not one of them. Mea culpa.

Thanks,
Molly

NaBloPoMo Day 27: Thankful

I have an announcement brewing. I am not really ready to come out with it just yet, there are too many variables for it to be, you know, public knowledge, but soon, I think. Suffice it to say that today, a day that we are so focused on gratitude, thanksgiving is something that is really resounding with me.

Our lives are so complicated and challenging, and they become more so all the time. The challenges multiply all the time, and we live in a time where easy answers are rare and there are no real black-and-white issues anymore, and the shades of grey fade into each other in ways that defy us as citizens and human beings and children of the universe. When gas prices are high and unemployment is even higher, we're frightened of each other and we're troubled by what we see on the news, we focus on what we want and what we need, not so much on what we already have.

This has been a challenging and, in a lot of ways, frightening year for me. There've been highs and lows and every time I have found myself up against a wall, there's been a way to re-frame the question and I can keep on going. Don't think I don't recognize the fact that I've been lucky, and resourceful, and that I've worked hard and kept my head above water, but never, ever has it all been about me.

This has been a year when I've had to re-define what "enough" meant to me. Our lives have undergone dramatic change, and they will undergo even more dramatic change, and I am constantly reminding myself that it is all manageable when I remain humble and grateful and loyal and constant.

I am grateful to my family, my boys, for their faith and fortitude. I am grateful to our parents, whose support is our foundation. I am grateful to our friends, the family we chose, who sustain us.

Today we celebrate our small victories. We enjoy the fruits of our labors. We remind each other of everything we've achieved. We prepare for what's ahead and remind ourselves that there will be more good times and more lean times and we'll be together again and the circumstances won't matter then either.

If only for today, be good to your family and your friends and your neighbors and yourself. Be kind to someone even if they don't seem to deserve it. Pay it forward. Remember that in an existence like this one, in a universe like ours, there are no mistakes, there are no accidents, only gifts and opportunities. Say thank you to someone who helps you, even if helping you is their job, even if they only think they've helped you. You might be the only one who says thank you to them all day.

I am thankful today, and I pledge to try to remember to be thankful tomorrow too, and the day after that, and the day after that. Thanks is something to aspire to, to work towards. I don't think about that nearly enough, caught up in my everyday, and I pledge to try harder.

NaBloPoMo Day 25: Thanksgiving

My friend Chris is, I think, my evil twin. She and I have the same birthday and also we couldn't be more indifferent toward Thanksgiving food. She and her husband (Hi John!) moved here from Michigan also and aren't burdened with family for this particular upcoming holiday, so we're celebrating my usual non-traditional Thankgiving dinner together this year.

Here's the menu:

Artichoke Spinach dip and French bread toasts
Cheese spread and crackers
Veggies and homemade dill dip
Chips and homemade salsa
Cocktail meatballs and sausages
Steamed shrimp and cocktail sauce
Cookies and ice cream for dessert

See, it's all the good stuff about Thanksgiving, with the exception of stuffing. And gravy. But I really only like stuffing and gravy, everything else I'm indifferent at best to. Growing up, it took my mother a small eternity to get Thankgiving dinner on the table, and so she made a lot of the snackie-type stuff, and by the time it was time to eat, we'd all really filled up on the snacks, which tasted better anyway. So, I figured, why not just eat the good stuff and forget about the hassle?

Oh, and apple salad. Chris said she'd make apple salad, and I freakin' love apple salad. Now I'm ready to give thanks.

Oh, and regarding yesterday and Dan's eye: he's got a bacterial infection called a stye. They happen when fluid backs up in one of the glands in the eyelid and clogs. This one was a bad one, and it got infected and he now needs antibiotics for it, but it's improving quickly thanks to hot compresses and some gooey medicine that he has to put into his eye a couple of times a day. I'm sure you can imagine how much he loves that.

NaBloPoMo Day 19: Motor City

One of the very finest writers that I have ever known is Jim Griffeon at Sweet Juniper. I went to high school with him and have a son who is several months younger than his own Sweet Juniper and I admire his writing and his photography and his creativity and his principles very much.

Jim is a resident of the city of Detroit and a close-up observer of the place. He, unlike the vast majority of people who live there, lives there by choice and by design, which makes him both an oddity and a perfect advocate for the place, which has its detractors.

And probably for good reason. Detroit's reputation is, in many ways, well-deserved. It's a troubling place and has been for many years, and as our economy has, in recent months, headed south, there has been an increase in the discussion about what's to become of the Big 3. It's an important discussion and one that, frankly, people should have had years ago, decades ago really.

Jim's written a fascinating and extremely significant post about a proposed bailout of the auto industry. Read it here.

I understand the urge to blame corporate greed and shortsightedness for the current situation. I was troubled by the government bailout of the banking and insurance industries last month, and I am increasingly troubled in an I-Told-You-So kind of way by the lack of oversight and accountability in regards to the bailout that's now being reported on a daily basis, but Jim articulates perfectly why it is that I was so uneasy about the banking bailout and why I feel the auto industry bailout is important and needed and necessary.

The banking bailout is about people who move paper from one folder to another and who send each other emails and move numbers from one column to another column. Yes, I understand how banks work, and I understand why insurance is important--as someone who worked for two years in a non-profit arena dealing with credit and housing, I would humbly say that I think I have more insight into the subject than, say, Joe the Plumber. But I'm more than a little troubled by the idea that a guy in a suit that costs more than my monthly mortgage payment needs to be bailed out. I would complain further about the fact that it's my tax dollars that are bailing him out, but what the fuck, this is the government of the United States, not the government of the people that agree with the government all the time. I get my pound of flesh in the shape of student financial aid and tax breaks for the middle class and what-not, and we really can't just let the economy collapse, so I'm willing to suck it up. Mostly.

The auto industry is about people who make things, and people who make things and who make things work and who make the things that make things work. They're people who do things that are critical to who and what we are as a nation, what we do and how we function on an hour to hour basis. Should they have been more forward-thinking when it came to innovating? Very much so. Is hindsight 20-20? Same as it ever was.

We don't hold people who make things and who make things work in very high regard anymore. Just ask my husband, who teaches kids English to kids who are uniquely suited to making things, whether it's by aptitude or interest or conditioning or personality. These are kids who aren't special education students to a degree that they need to be in a special education classroom--they're kids who, like my husband, have learning disabilities. Some are emotionally impaired. Some come from backgrounds of such abject horror--my aunt, who's a public school counselor, said it best when Dan was beginning teaching. She said, "It's kind of hard to give much of a damn about enriched math when your mom's a crack whore." My husband has taught children whose stories would make people with a stronger stomach than mine throw the fuck up, and I am not exercising my over-developed sense of hyperbole when I tell you that.

Of course there are inspiring stories about kids who rise above their station. I am married to a man who not only overcame dyslexia to have a successful military career but has completed two college degrees and is pursuing a master's degree as well. But the educational environment is such that kids aren't encouraged to do anything but go to college and become that guy in the suit, sending the emails and moving the paper from one folder to another.

Look, I think if a kid wants to go to college and can possibly be successful in doing so, nothing should stand in their way, especially not their ability to pay for it. But I also think that we need to throw out the notion that everyone should go to college. I think we need to get used to the idea that we need auto workers and plumbers and electricians, people who make things and fix things. I think we need to prepare the people who want to be those people as thoroughly as we prepare our doctors and lawyers and teachers and support them as thoroughly.

Yes, I think we should bail out the auto industry, not because I think that the auto industry is so great, but because I think that the auto industry is about real people, doing real work and producing something concrete that we need. I think the people who do that work are a dying breed in a dying industry, and I think it's important that we not let it die. It matters in the short run and in the long run, it matters for my kid and your kid and their kids. The thought of Detroit becoming more and more like a modern day goldrush ghost town breaks my heart, because of the real people who live and work there, who are raising their kids under circumstances that I can't even fathom. We've had it good for a long time, and I think that how we weather this storm will define the next century the way that the Depression and the World Wars defined the last one. I hope that we get it right.

NaBloPoMo Day 18: Six Things I Am Currently Enjoying

Gee whiz, Day 18 and I'm already hitting a wall. That didn't take much time. It's hard to find something to talk about every day, much less something interesting. Some days I think of two things, and I write a post ahead of time, which makes me feel virtuous and also like I manage time very well. The second thing is true, the first one, not so much. It's hard to like soft, ripe cheeses as much as I do and still refer to yourself as virtuous.

I've often said I don't really have guilty pleasures. I am not plagued by guilt when it comes to pleasure, mostly because I'm pretty comfortable with myself and I am basically a sensible person who doesn't do a lot of things that I should feel guilty about. That means that I freely admit my enjoyment of microwaved frozen bean and cheese burritos, secluded beaches, rainy Sundays, prosecco, moderately terrible television, chips and really great hot homemade salsa, unabashedly making out with my husband on the couch like teenagers, pedicures, high thread count sheets, fabric softener, the smell of bacon, luxury yarn, my late grandmother's ugly but extremely comfortable old recliner, listening to my son sing the songs he's learning in preschool, playing Scrabble online, and a number of other things that I feel certain most people would find unpleasant at best, and thoroughly annoying at worst.

Here are a list of some of my current favorite things, in no particular order.

1. Nathan's Kosher Half Sour pickles. Holy cheebs, I have never had a pickle this good in my life. My paternal grandfather used to make homemade pickles with cucumbers and dill and garlic and other spices that he grew in his garden. When I was little, I would eat whole jars of them at a time. But even my memory of these pickles can't measure up to Nathan's Kosher Half Sours. I bought a jar this weekend at the grocery store--we are a family of pickle lovers and I didn't have high hopes for getting more than one or two of them. But last night when I got home from work, Dan said, "Have you tasted one of the new pickles yet?"

I said, "No, are they great?"

To my great surprise, he said, "No, they're awful."

I had to try them. Dan does a thing sometimes--he tells me something is terrible so he can eat all of it. I took the jar out of the fridge, I opened it, and sliced a pickle lengthwise into quarters. The whole time, Max was jumping up and down, begging for a pickle. I immediately gave him the first bite, which he chewed--and then his face soured, his eyes teared up, and he immediately turned to his father, who held out his hand. Max spit the chewed up pickle into Dan's hand, and declared, "That's disgusting!"

I've never seen Max turn down a pickle. Never.

I bit into the pickle, and was immediately pleasantly surprised. This pickle was crisp, without being the slightest bit tough or rubbery. It was perfectly balanced, with just enough salt, garlic, tang, and just a hint of pepper and mustard seed. It was quite simply the perfect pickle. I honestly haven't enjoyed a pickle that much since I was pregnant. The best part: I get the whole jar!!!

Nathan's Kosher Half-Sour pickles are available in the refrigerated section of the grocery store. Go to your grocery store right now, and buy several of them.

2. West Wing Reruns. My very favorite show, ever, rerun in two hour blocks, at least, every morning on Bravo. Typically on days that I work, I work from home for a couple of hours in the morning just so I can watch, despite the fact that I own the series on DVD.

3. KitchenAid Stand Mixer. My mother-in-law bought it for me for Christmas last year, and I am crazy about it. It makes amazing bread, perfect cookies, and for the first time in my life, I am having success with cake--real cakes, not Betty Crocker. I am thinking about which attachments to ask for for Christmas: I'm thinking of the ice cream maker and the meat grinder. Because what goes better with homemade sausage than ice cream?

4. Twitter. Everyone knows about Twitter now. I have this blog, of course, and I am on Facebook, like every other person on earth, but Twitter is simply blogging in 140 characters at a time or less. I like that. It forces me to be concise, pithy, and self-editorializing.

5. Thanksgiving Plans. Dan and I have friends who, inexplicably to me, not only love to eat, they hate to cook. They love to buy groceries, invite us over, and have us cook--possibly the best deal ever for us, because they have a great kitchen. Remember last year, when I admitted that I don't really care that much about Thanksgiving food except for mashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing? I still don't, and better yet, our friends don't either. So we're planning on another Thanksgiving like last year--sausage balls (which I still can't say out loud without giggling myself half to death), shrimp, bacon-wrapped water chestnuts in teriyaki, dill dip with veggies, hot spinach artichoke dip with French bread toasts, meatballs and kielbasa. Maybe bacon-clam dip and potato chips. Maybe chips and homemade pico de gallo. And dessert! There has to be dessert. There, now I'm thankful.

6. Gas Prices. I never thought I'd be excited to see gas for $1.89 a gallon, but I am. Right down the street from here, too. What I don't get, though, is why gas is so cheap here and 20 minutes away, where Dan works, it's typically $.30 to $.50 a gallon more. Someone explain that to me.

One short order of business: my most heartfelt and deepest condolences go out to my best friend Kimberly and her family, whose loyal, adorable, and deeply loved retired guide dog, Garnet, had to be put to sleep last week; and whose stepmother Debbie died yesterday. If ever there was a public service announcement for thorough regular checkups, this is it. Kimberly and I met in college, and her family has sort of become mine over the last 14 years. Kimberly, Michael, Ian, Perry, Annie, Jana, and Carter: we love you and we're thinking about you all.

NaBloPoMo Day 14: Garnet

My best friend, who is blind, got a guide dog when we were in college. Garnet was a big black lab who had a stubborn streak and an occasional attitude problem. At Kimberly's wedding, Garnet snored loudly through the service. She walked Kimberly into puddles in an effort to keep her own feet dry. She was more eerily human in her non-verbal communication than most people that I know.

When Garnet retired three years ago, I know it was a tough decision for Kimberly to make, but Garnet was getting older and arthritic, and Kimberly worked long days which Garnet spent mostly laying on the floor. I wasn't worried about Kimberly, whose independence I had already seen demonstrated for two years before Garnet came along, but more about the dog, who was very much a working girl. It's not as if retired dogs take up golf or do some volunteer work. I couldn't imagine Garnet without a job to do.

Over the past few weeks, Kimberly has been saying that Garnet's been getting weaker. I know that she doesn't think she gave Garnet all the love or attention she should have over the last few months, but Garnet's love for and loyalty to the Boss Lady never wavered, I'm sure. The two of them have been such an unbreakable team for the last twelve years, I can hardly imagine them apart.

Garnet was loved by everyone who met her, not just for being a cute doggie, but for being devoted, keeping Kimberly safe and independent, and even for the smart mouth to which she was prone. When I read this yesterday morning, I sat down and cried.

Kimberly, Michael, and Ian: we're thinking about you.

Garnet: congratulations on a job well and faithfully done. You've been a part of my story, as well as a part of the story of some of my favorite people in the world. Here's to squeaky toys, a bottomless bowl of kibble, a big spot of sunshine to nap in, and a much-deserved rest that you are finally taking. We will all miss you more than you know. Good girl.

NaBloPoMo Day 3: Knitting

I don't really take pictures of what I knit. For one thing, I don't think I'm that great a knitter. For another thing, I typically forget to take pictures of almost everything.

But I am knitting like a madwoman. I have a lot of yarn stashed, and instead of cooking expensive and decadent meals that I'm too wound up to eat, I am instead knitting madly. Lucky for me, other people take pictures of things very similar to things I am knitting. Here are some of them:

Noro Striped Scarf: See it Here, Here, and Here.

I am very fond of Noro Kureyon, which is a Japanese wool with incredibly vivid and beautiful colors and long color runs. This scarf is slightly different from what I'm knitting. The pattern calls for Noro Silk Garden, which I don't have stashed, in two different colors. I have a lot of one color of Kureyon, which I bought for a blanket which I still would like to make but that I don't have the stamina for right now. I also have a nice coordinating shade of merino wool which I'm using as the other color.

Next time (and there will be a next time, because I love this scarf) I might use two skeins of the same colorway. There is enough contrast within each skein that I'm thinking I'll like the results. I might bite the bullet and buy a few skeins of Silk Garden -- it's a sizable investment, but beautiful yarn.

Felicity: See it Here, Here, and Here.

This is named after some hat that Keri Russell wore at the Sundance Film Festival. I love it. It's slouchy and adorable and chocolate brown wool. I can't wait to wear it. I can't wait to make it in thirty different colors. Love, love, love love.

Pleat: Here, and Here.

The saddest thing in my life is that this will not look good on me. I would need far smaller boobs than I have for this to look anything other than appalling. But I have beautiful yarn for it, a silk/linen blend that I picked up in Kentucky when I was there for Kimberly's baby shower. I don't have any flat chested friends that come to mind immediately--if I'm forgetting about you, please let me know, because a much-cherished hand-made object may be coming your way shortly.

I also have a few other things going--Treen and Gerry's wedding gift, a shawl for my mother, a shawl for an undetermined recipient.

I am finding myself watching a lot of "West Wing" and knitting a lot these days. Both are wonderful escape for me.

So Much More Than A White Dress

Dear Gerry and Trina,

Dan and I have been trying to think of something to say about marriage to the two of you. Basically, you couldn't find two bigger proponants of the institution than us. We have been married for four years, which isn't that long, but four years is as long as you spend in high school, or getting a college degree (or a third of a college degree, in some cases.) It's not an insignificant amount of time. In that four years, we've moved halfway across the country, we've gotten new jobs, we've lost family members, made new friends, rediscovered old ones, encountered crushing disappointment, had a baby, watched him start to grow up. And we've done it side by side, which is what marriage is about. We haven't always seen things eye-to-eye, but the point is that you will continue to have moments of significance throughout your life, and this other person will be there to bear witness.

In four years of marriage, we've learned some things. In lieu of our wedding present, which still isn't finished (but to be fair I'm making significant headway), we have the following pieces of marriage related advice for you. Like all advice, it is at least 38% bullshit and possibly not at all applicable to your marriage, but it's what we've learned.

One is to never go grocery shopping when you're hungry. You'll blow your budget completely. This is actually a good lesson for anybody. A corollary of this rule is that, although you're newlyweds and perpetually on your honeymoon and you can barely go to the bathroom without each other at this point, it is really best to grocery shop alone. I spend so much less money when I grocery shop alone, it's ridiculous. I don't know why that is.

A marriage is like an inside joke. Once a lot of other people become privy to the joke, it is not as funny.

Another thing that we've learned is to never try to move furniture or hang artwork after 9 p.m. It is a sure recipe for a knock-down, drag-out fight. No matter how good a mood you start out in, no matter how firmly in agreement you are about the right thing to do, three hours later you will both be sweaty, furious, not a single step closer to having things arranged how you want them, and quite sure that you've married the only person on earth who can screw up the use of a laser level.

Your spouse is family you choose. This information is more important than you think.

Sometimes you feel like this person's conjoined twin, sometimes you will need a little space. Sometimes you will feel like you will never run out of things to say to each other, and sometimes you will worry that you will never have anything to say to each other again. Sometimes you will feel like everything is worth it all the time, and sometimes you will feel you've never been happier than when you were living alone. In every case, you are both right and wrong, simultaneously.

Don't assume that your spouse can read your mind, but if you're trying to hide something, keep in mind that this person knows you better than anyone has ever known you, and part of the reason you married them is their brain. You are probably getting away with much less than you think you are.

Your marriage is not a static thing--you will go through cycles of being close to each other and needing distance, talking a lot and leaving things unsaid, getting along famously and bickering a lot. There is a level of comfort in getting the distance that you need and knowing that you can come back, knowing that you can argue with your spouse without them holding a grudge.

Don't hold grudges.

Respect each other's privacy, space, needs, dignity, foibles, pet peeves, and opinions. You can safely assume that someone who loves you will willingly make sacrifices for your happiness and safety from time to time, but you didn't marry a martyr. Neither did they.

In my experience, relationships fail because women expect men to change, and they don't; and men expect women not to change, and they do. Accepting your partner for who they are, or aren't, is a key to living happily with another person.

An excellent way to end a fight with your wife is to suggest that she might feel better after a nap. Then make it possible for her to take one. Likewise, an excellent way to end a fight with your husband is to suggest that he might feel better after a snack. Then make it possible for him to have one.

Pick your battles, and learn when not to talk.

Whatever challenge, opportunity, disappointment, disaster, or hardship comes your way, remember that you are on the same side. You chose each other for a reason. You are each other's advocate, partner, and best friend, and those things are even more important than the mere formal title of husband and wife. You were those things before you stood up in front of your friends and family and took vows, and, at least in my mind, they are just as sacred, just as significant, and just as permanent as the vows you took.

Don't worry. Marriage is easier than it looks. Anyone who tells you how "marriage is a lot of really hard work" may potentially be doing something wrong. I have found being married to be a hell of a lot less work and complication than being single ever was.

I love quotes. This is part of what our friend Kurt read at our wedding, and I found it to be profound then, and still true now:

"Marriage hath in it less of beauty but more of safety, than the single life; it
hath more care, but less danger, it is more merry, and more sad; it is fuller of
sorrows, and fuller of joys; it lies under more burdens, but it is supported by
all the strengths of love and charity, and those burdens are delightful." --
Bishop Jeremy Taylor

Dan and I wish you both the best of luck. We hope you find marriage as otherworldly as we have, and we are thinking of you this weekend.

Love,

Molly and Dan

Seven Skills Every Woman Should Master

Yay for Maggie Mason and her lists. She made a list of skills every woman should master (or muster.) I agree with most of her things, and I have a few of my own.

1. Write a thoughtful and personal thank-you note. I can't tell you how many times recently I've received a "thank-you" note from someone for whom I took at least a little trouble to find a personal and thoughtful (I thought) gift. In every case the note was not addressed to me on the inside, and in most cases said something like this: "Thank you for your thoughtful gift, whatever it was."

When I was in elementary school, my mother once refused to allow me to complete an assignment handed out as a punishment: copying pages from the dictionary by hand. As a professional writer, she loathed the idea of writing as punishment. These deeply impersonal and thoughtless notes seem a lot like that kind of punishment to me; frankly, I'd rather not receive a thank-you note at all rather than one of these no-thanks notes.

2. Entertain unexpected guests. Keep a bottle of white wine in the fridge and a bottle of red someplace dark. Keep bags of cashews, toasted pecans, and dried apricots in a dark place in the cupboard (and don't polish them off while watching "Grey's Anatomy.") Invest in a nice cheeseboard, and keep a wedge or two of decent cheese (like an aged cheddar and a hard cheese, like real Parmigiano or Dry Jack) in the fridge.

3. Perfect one easy appetizer, one salad, one main course, and one dessert. In case the unexpected guests stay for dinner. Here are some that are easy and use things that ought to be in your pantry (if they're not, consider keeping them in your panry.)

Cheese straws
Spinach-Basil Salad with tomatoes, candied walnuts, and warm bacon dressing
Glazed blueberry chicken
Orange flan

4. Break up with a toxic friend. You know who I mean--it's that one friend who admires your new shoes, and two days later has some of her own. The one who, when you told her you had a crush on a new boy in high school, became enamoured of him herself. The one who is just a little two-faced or likes inappropriate drama or doesn't return phone calls when she's got a boyfriend. Yeah, you don't need her--you just need a good way to lose her.

5. Throw a frisbee, a baseball and a football. Believe it or not, these things will come up. And if you can't do them, the boys will notice you. And not in a good way.

6. Apologize convincingly. You would be surprised how far a heartfelt apology will carry you. And even if you don't mean it, you should sound like you do.

7. Say no to your mother-in-law. If she's like mine, she is surprisingly convincing. I am working on this skill myself.

About to Bake Something Fattening and Have it Delivered to All Your Houses

I would just like to take this opportunity to say thank you so very much, to my friends (on the computer and not), former co-workers, and most especially my perfect husband, who've been so sympathetic, outraged on my behalf, full of good, smart, sensible, and proportion-keeping advice, and so supportive it's impossible for me to feel even a little sorry for myself.

I've been laid off and lost jobs before, but I've just never ever felt such a bunch of great support and encouragement before from my peeps. I am truly and thoroughly grateful, and I know how lucky I am.

Treen, Kimberly, Merseydoats, Goon Squad Sarah, Kerry, and Dan: You are all such a bunch of total rock stars. I heart you.