The World Gone Mad

Sometimes I feel like the world is going mad. When I say "world" I mean the planets in the universe known as my life. Sameness is something that can be a blessing and a curse in life, but generally, I like a certain amount of "sameness" in my life. When the people in my life make changes in their lives, it makes me aware of the fact that words like "constant" and "unchanging" don't describe a real aspect of life. Nothing is ever really the same. Routines exist - this is true. Routines being the human way of trying to create sameness. Routines being a means of enforcing the illusion of sameness. But then, I am not talking about routines. I am talking about the world gone mad - or at least the planets in my world slipping out of an alignment I had accepted.

My sister has decided to move to Mexico. My sister is a blond-haired, blue-eyed American who has a fascination with the Mexican culture (if this weren't true, I don't know how she could be nearly bilingual) and a Mexican boyfriend she first made contact with on a family vacation last May. My sister is 23 and has the blessing of not having made any really big missteps in her life thus far -- I hope this doesn't turn out to be the first. She will be leaving for Mexico in about a month. I don't know the details of her plans. I do know she is going there without a job or a place of her own.

I find these things a little scary, despite having a good deal of faith in my sister. She has, in her life, always seemed to make good decisions -- or at least well-thought out.

I admire her sense of adventure - and after a year of living with Mom and Dad and working hard, she has been able to save enough money so she can afford to be a little more adventurous than your average 23 year old.

I know that the world hasn't really gone mad, and in time, I will be able to make the mental adjustments necessary to deal with my sister's move. I think perhaps my sister has a mental capacity for bigger dreams than I. My dreams are kind of small, and within what I consider a realistic scope of expectations. I guess I can't fault someone for having big dreams. I can, however, miss my little sister. And I will.

The Mailman Brings A Package

A small package arrived for me at work today. I knew where it originated because the sender, Grandma Pat, contacted me in advance of the package's arrival, but I did not know what could be inside.

Grandma Pat is a no-nonsense kind of gal. She is well-read, and a honor student of life. She grew up in Winona, Minn. an area she has described as rather insular (and very humid in the summertime). She moved to the big city of Milwaukee when she was 19 years old and got a job working for that company that makes bowling balls oh-why-can't-I remember-the-name...

I have always thought Grandma Pat was very brave; leaving her family to go live in a strange place in another state. I don't know what Grandma was like as a girl, if her confidence, wisdom and unapologetic curiosity were traits she always embodied, or if they were developed over time. I have trouble imagining Grandma Pat any other way than straight-forward and fascinated by life.

There is a lot to love about Grandma Pat, besides the pre-made meals she sends home with me when I come and visit, or the apple sauce, or the strawberry jam, or the cookies at Christmas time (especially the frosted ones this year, oh yum). She loves her children, and her grandchildren, especially. She is the only person I know (besides my mother) who can randomly break into song and make it seem perfectly natural. She does not dwell on the bad things in life and never takes herself too seriously. She keeps the special things we grandchildren made for her when we were growing up. She is not afraid of the Internet (she may be the biggest fan of the e-mail forward button I know!) and is one of my only blog readers. (But I would never allow that to influence my objectivity).

Grandma Pat is a person who will randomly send a package to you in the mail just to let you know that she is out there -- and she is thinking of you. The world needs more people like that.

I feel lucky to have such a wonderful grandmother. (I Love You, Grandma ;-)

Just Another Thursday

This morning a girl I work with greeted me as I entered my cubicle. She stood in the tiny opening, a mischievous expression on her face. The last time I saw such a look, she had transposed our boss's head on Brett Favre's body, so I asked her what she was up to. She flashed a shiny engagement ring and a smile to rival the diamond's sparkle. Her boyfriend proposed to her last night - on Valentine's Day.

I did something on Valentine's Day, too. It was not romantic in the least. Ex-fiance called me up. His alma mater was playing the local basketball team at the high school's gym. Ex-fiance intended on going to the game. Did I want to come? Considering the alternative (spending the night with TV boyfriend Gil Grissom doing autopsies and solving crimes) I agreed to go.

The team lost and we left the game early. Ex-Fiance offered to buy me dinner at the freeway truck stop. I am not in the habit of turning down free meals, so off we went. He was enjoying his eggs and bacon and I my BLT when in walked in his parents. Turned out they were in town for a wake. Ex-fiance half-heartedly invited them to join us in our tiny both. They did.

I would say it was awkward, but it was so beyond awkward, it was no longer awkward. It struck me as very, very funny. Because we were already half finished with our meals when they showed up, Ex-Fiance and I left before their food arrived, our dirty plates in a heap on the table. Ex-fiance tried to get the waitress to take them away, but she was oblivious. And so we left.

I feel bad for Ex-fiance. At least I won't see his parents for a while after this "incident." Surely his mom will have a million and one questions for him why he was "out" with me on Valentine's Day. Both of his parents have always been nice to me, even after our romantic relationship disintegrated. I got the feeling that his mom was somehow, relieved that he found someone to put up with him. When we broke it off, she assumed it was his fault - not a very motherly point of view. But then, she did raise him.

If only they would realize, for us, yesterday was not Valentine's Day at all - just another Thursday.

Valentine's Day Autopsy, Anyone?

I have an important decision to make. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and I haven’t decided to whom I will give my heart. I have two possible choices for “leading man” in my life – both will be somewhere on my cable TV tomorrow night. They are (drumroll please) Gil Grissom of CSI: Las Vegas and Horatio Caine of CSI: Miami.

Gil Grissom (William Petersen) is a forensic entomologist and the night-shift supervisor of the Clark County, Nevada CSI (forensics) team, investigating crimes in and around the city of Las Vegas. His hobbies include: Bugs, dead bodies, history, and quoting from a variety of literary sources, including Shakespeare and Keats.

Horatio Caine (David Caruso) is the Head of the Miami-Dade crime lab, a forensic analyst and former bomb-squad officer. He is a commissioned police officer, and thus carries a badge and gun. His hobbies include: Wearing black, helping people and putting bad guys behind bars.

Hmm....Grissom is emotionally unavailable and Caine is obsessed with catching criminals. Both sound so promising. Good thing I still have a few hours to think this thing through...

Thoughts of Love

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

-Shakespeare

Three Cheers for Civic Duty & Holy Days of Obligation

Voters in 24 states are going to the polls on today: Alabama, Alaska, American Samoa, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Utah and West Virginia.

As much as I am NOT looking forward to having to drive 20 miles to my caucus, barring any natural disaster I will be there at 6:30 p.m. to register. The good news is I won't have to stay and argue for two hours with my "neighbors" about issues: I can just fill out a presidential preference ballot. Thank goodness! This isn't to say I don't care about issues, but it's a Tuesday night of a publication week for me and I am super busy...I have stories to write, a dog to walk, exercises to do, etc. etc. Then I have to get up early tomorrow morning for the Ash Wednesday service before work, so I will need to get to sleep earlier tonight.

The Philosophising Farmer

The man who was the subject of an interview that took three-plus hours, called me today to personally thank me for a job well done and to request that I mail him a few more copies. (Not because he "likes to toot" his "own horn," but because he has a lot of family who would like copies of the story. I find it endearing when people are so modest that they feel compelled to preface their requests for additional copies of an article about them with this sentence.)

The man also called to tell me why he liked the article and how he was pleased with his decision to allow me to print it without a pre-screening. The article gave him closure, which he really needed as he was leaving the dairy industry. I think it was a reaffirmation for him, too, to see in black and white the reasons behind his decision. I think this whole experience will prove useful when I come across people in the future who either a) object to being the subject of an article; or b) feel like they have to see the copy before it is printed.

In addition, the man told me he had thought about me after the story was written. (He has children my age so he meant this in a fatherly way). He said he believes my future will be filled with good things because I "have it coming." It's nice to here that "I have it coming" in THAT context. He also offered some romantic advice, telling me not to settle and to "keep shaking bushes" until something good falls out. I love people in rural communities - where else can you hear something like that? He also advised me not to cling to anyone with the hopes that someday I could change them - because I can't.

It was a dose of philosophy I wasn't expecting today, but it went down pretty well. Days like today I am glad to be a journalist.

Here is a snippet of the story about the man, whose name has been changed for the purpose of keeping my blog semi anonymous. NOTE: The story ran in advance of his retirement, which is why, taken out of context, the verb tenses may not make sense.

Dairyman Joe will complete the final chapter of his dairying career Monday, Jan. 28, when he takes his herd to the Smalltown Stockyard.

Joe, who farms with his wife, Elsie, has milked between 10-12 cows on his dairy operation the past 14 years without exception.

The beginning of the end of Joe's dairying days was in November, when he tore his left rotator cuff. He had milked through the pain for the past three months, hoping his body would heal itself; now the time has come for him to defer to the experts.

"I went to the doctor and he said, 'Dairyman, you're not connected,'" Joe said. "I will need to have surgery and after that I will have to do several months of rehabilitation. I am told the rehabilitation will be hard work."

But the last thing Joe is afraid of is a little hard work.

For the past 14 years, Joe has been milking between 12-15 cows in the stanchion barn his father built in 1963. Little has changed on the farm since then.

Joe milks his cows with a Surge bucket milker. After the bucket is full, he transfers the milk to a stainless steel 5-gallon pail. Joe then carries the pail into the milk room where he pours the milk through a strainer and into his 160-gallon bulk tank. He repeats this process for each cow. Milking 12 cows usually takes Joe about an hour and a half.

For manure handling, Joe doesn't use a skid loader or a barn cleaner, but a manure carrier. The manure carrier runs on a track traveling down the middle of his barn. Joe estimated the manure tub holds waste from about four animals. The waste is then carried out of the barn about 60 feet and dumped either onto a pile or into the manure spreader. Cleaning the barn takes about 45 minutes.

Reporter vs. writer

A lot of things that have been happening in my life lately have lead me to the conclusion that - barring some kind of crazy, unforeseen event - I am going to remain a journalist for probably the next 20 years. At that point I can think about going back to school and being a journalism professor. I think that sounds good.

I really wrestled with the whole journalism thing my first three years out of college. Honestly, I wasn't prepared for the reality that existed beyond the safety of the campus walls, where I feared nothing. I have come to believe that just like some people are "right brained" or "left brained," journalists can also be divided into two camps: those who are "genetically" more "reporter," and those who are more "writer." Those with more "reporter" genes, are those who will seek the truth until the ends of the earth and ask the hard questions - sometimes even when there are really no "hard answers" to be found. They are either not easily intimidated by nature, or are so bound by the power of their convictions, they can overcome intimidation. Those with more "writer" genes, may still want to seek the truth, but are more easily intimidated. We would rather ponder the telling of the story, the words, the rhythm of the piece, etc. I definitely have more writer than reporter genes. The good news is, after three four years of being at this, I am becoming less intimidated by topics, and people. I have come to stop looking at people I interview as hit and run accidents. ( i.e. interview them one time, then disappear from their lives forever). Really, good reporting is part of relationship-building. Recognizing this has made my life much easier.

Both the reporter and writer can become better at the areas where they are less naturally gifted by practice, which is a good thing.

What a Week

Tuesday

I drove two hours to Pelican Rapids to conduct an interview. I arrived around 4:30 p.m. and didn't depart until about 7:30 p.m. I have mixed feelings about interviews lasting this long. My instinct is to say - wow - that is waaaay to long to be conducting an interview for a story that will be somewhere other than the front page. An interview that runs too long is dangerous because of its ability to create information overload in the mind of the reporter/interviewer. However, the more time you spend with the person you are interviewing, the more accurate a picture you are able to paint of them in your story - no matter how abbreviated. The day after the interview, my editor actually received a call from the man I interviewed, vehemently praising me. He said our "interview" was like a conversation, and nothing like he expected (this being a good thing). Initially, this man only agreed to do a story if he could read the article before it ran; he told my boss on the phone that he trusted me and he didn't need to see the story. That is a great compliment.

Wednesday

I hustled my hinder at work so I could skip out early, around four, and meet my broadcasting journalism buddy in St. Paul, Minn. for a media workshop (which is actually a 10 week course) sponsored by the police department. The chief of police, a training Sergeant and various others spoke at the introductory class. Unfortunately for me, the inaugural class focused only on the history of the St. Paul PD. It was interesting, but not particularly relevant to me since I don't, and probably won't ever, live in St. Paul. The information they are planning to cover in the future classes - how police approach a crime scene, the difference between misdemeanors and felonies and which city/county agencies work with the department, Q&As with investigators/detectives (the difference between the police department ranks) - promise to be more interesting. I only intended to go to one class, but I am really fascinated by these topics - so I hope to continue to attend the class.

After the class, my buddy took me out to dinner at this place called "Cafe Latte" where we had some tasty soup and pasta salad. Then she gave me a tour of the television station where she worked and I was able to watch the anchors deliver the first segment of the 10 o'clock news -- Live! It was a rockin' good time! I was really pumped after such a great night.

Thursday

I woke up around 5:30 a.m. to hurry up and pack my stuff for the Minnesota Newspaper Convention, get myself looking all fine and professional, and take my doggy to the Puppy Boarding House. I got on the road, Bloomington-bound at about 8 a.m. I checked into the Sheraton hotel and got situated. Then I took a little nap before my first seminar because I was exhausted. The highlight of my day was the luncheon, where career journalism and WCCO anchor DON SHELBY shared his thoughts on the First Amendment and the challenges facing journalists today. I could write an entire blog on it. It was really emotional and insightful. After his speech, I was able to introduce myself to him, shake his hand, and mumble something silly and high school girl-ish about how he is my favorite anchor. (see "Dear Mr. Gable: You Made Me Love You," as sung by Judy Garland). I also enjoyed sitting in on a seminar about small-town journalism that feature a panel of newspaper editors, including my former editor. I was able to ask a question that had been plaguing me and received a somewhat satisfactory answers. It was so great to be around so many people from small town papers (of varying sizes) and listen as they shared their struggles and triumphs.

Afterward, I reconnected with a lot of my college friends who have gone on to work at newspapers, mostly moderately sized weeklies. One friend even won a second place award. I was very excited for him! I know how fun it is to win an award at MNA (even if my present editor makes like its no big deal). Plus he is a pretty talented writer, so I know the award is deserved. The paper where I used to work took home about seven awards at this year's convention (according to my friends/colleagues there). I was glad to be able to congratulate them. Soon they will need to put up more walls in the building to accommodate their growing number of awards.

My current boss (not to be confused with editor) took all of my paper's staff (mostly sales reps and me)to dinner and it was nice because I really got to know the rest of the staff more intimately (especially the sales rep I roomed with - she is something else!). Attending a sales meeting also gave me a better idea of how the other half lives. We don't always understand each other, but we need each other to be viable!

Friday

I attended two rockin' seminars - one about photography/web video, which is all the rage now. It's really exciting and overwhelming at the same time. I hope to be able to put together web videos someday. It seems like tremendous fun (and work) plus it will increase my marketability. The second seminar was about writing better leads (the first paragraph of the article/story). I was psyched to learn that I was already employing a lot of the techniques the speaker described as effective (and sometimes the one he described as less effective.) The funny thing is, I think we small town journalists all learned the less effective technique from looking at the New York Times and Washington Post, which we automatically assume are the poster children for effective, professional, journalistic writing. All in all I had a FANTASTIC time at the MNA convention, learned a lot, reconnected with a lot of old friends/colleagues/editors/teachers, and am pumped for my future in journalism! Yeay!

My Faucet Runneth Over

Handyman Bob saved the day yesteday, when he stopped by after work to assess the frozen faucet situation. He brought with him a device that looked and acted like a turbo-powered hairy dryer. First we tried heating up the pipes using this device with little progress.

Then we went into the basement to inspect the pipes further. There is a portion of my pipes that is exposed almost directly to the cold ground. I can see them through a hole in my basement wall that looks like a window. The window revealed a few pipes tunneling underground away from my house. They would not be easy to access.

Bob and I pondered how to deal with this.

Bob had an idea.

We went back into the kitchen and started dumping hot water from the bathroom sink through a hole in the floor of the kitchen beneath the sink that followed the cold pipe down into the business. We dumped several bowls of water down the hole and saw no evidence of improvement. So I called my land lady. She seemed genuinely surprised that this happened.

Was I gone over the weekend? No.

Had I turned the heat way down? No.

Just as she was advising me to take my space heater into the basement and point it so it blasted heat through the hole/"window" in the wall onto the pipes, water began to drip from my faucet. After dumping a couple more bowls of water onto the pipes, soon the cold water was flowing. Not long after that, so was the hotwater.

Bob advised me to keep my water running at a slow dribble until the cold weather has subsided, and we return to the balmy, above-zero temperatures we so adore.

Spoon-less in Stearns County

The cold snap that we have been experiencing in Minnesota lately is taking its toll on my mind, my body and my breakfast consumption.

Yesterday when I attempted to do dishes, I noticed that the kitchen sink was no longer working, i.e. I turned the levers and no water came out. Apparently a pipe is frozen.

A woman in my bowling league last night suggested that I turn on the oven for a while. I guess that is something most people do on a regular basis and would probably provide some heat to the much cooler side of my house. Since I am not a very domesticated animal, the only device that gets much use in my kitchen is the microwave.

Desperate for water to wash my cereal bowls and spoons, at about 10:30 last night I turned on my stove. After about 45 minutes, I was tired and the water was still not flowing, so I turned the oven off and went to bed. This morning: still no water.

A friend of mine with mechanical tendencies will be stopping over tonight to try to help me address this problem. The sooner the better. I am all out of clean spoons. This morning I had to eat my cereal with a grapefruit spoon, which is downright dangerous. The good news is that I still have running water, hot and cold, in the bathroom, which is where I really need it the most.

You've Got Mail

And I don't mean e-mail.

That is right, good old fashioned snail mail.

Although modern technolgy has attempted to trump the tried-and-true, if not always reliable, United State Postal Service - the door to door service cannot be replaced.

Until I moved into my house in December, my relationship with USPS was perfunctory. I never had my own mailbox, but instead, a PO Box. I didn't care about my mail. It was always bills that I also received online, or junk. In the event that someone was sending me something important: I was notified to be on the look out.

Part of the reason for my bad attitude toward the USPS was that the office in my town kept very inconvenient hours. It opened after I left for work in the morning and closed before I got home. The office was open a whole two hours on Saturdays and was closed an hour every weekday during the only conceiveable time I could get my mail: lunch hour. As a result, my mail was often held hostage for weeks at a time.

Now I have my very own mail box -- attached to my house. Mail comes right to my door and I can get it whenever I want (every single day, any hour). I am also experiencing the joy of ordering things and having them sent to my house, instead of my office. I only had necessities (i.e. things I forgot in Wisconsin when I visited the family) mailed to my office, because I didn't want to overstep any bounds. Since moving into my house I have ordered two items that have successfully arrived in my mailbox - parts to repair my dryer and a DVD set.

I even like mailing cards and letters now.

The whole event of ordering something you want, then knowing it could arrive at your house any day is a fun experience. It's as if you know Christmas is coming, but you don't know what day it will be. Fantastic.

Who said being a grown up is no fun?

Good Old Boys: I'm About to Crash Your Party

Next week, the Minnesota Newspaper Association will be having its annual convention in the big bad city and guess who is going to attend? Why none other than little ol' smalltown me!

Although the convention takes place during an exceptionally busy time for the newspaper where I work, my editor has given me permission to attend. I even get to stay overnight at a semi-posh hotel with the newspaper's sales staff (at the newspaper's expense). Very exciting.

This is the first year that I have attended the event since 2005. Unfortunately, I won an award at the 2006 convention, but was just starting at the paper where I currently work and my former editor failed to notify me so that I might attend the convention. (The award-winning article was published in his paper). He is a nice man, so I am sure this wasn't intentional, but I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to walk up and receive my (first professional) award in front of all of my colleagues. My former editor was kind enough to mail me the signed certificate, however, which is now displayed proudly in my little cubicle.

In my new capacity as writer/intern supervisor/copy editor/photographer/classifieds manager/go-to for all things "Dairy Princess," I have not been able to attend the arguably prestigious convention. Nor am I eligible to compete for awards. However, I can still take in the numerous workshops and seminars that will help me to become a better journalist. Best of ALL, I get to attend a luncheon for which the keynote speaker is none other than the incandescent, Don Shelby! (http://wcco.com/bios/don.shelby.anchor.9.313263.html).

But the mind-bending will (hopefully) begin prior to the MNA convention. There is a law enforcement journalism workshop in the Cities on Wednesday night. I hope to accompany a broadcast journalism friend who heard about the workshop from one of her contacts. Although right now I don't really see any immediate place where I can apply this knowledge, the workshop sounds very interesting and you can never know too much.

Update on My Great Resolve

About a week ago I made the following resolution:
1. I will keep better track of holidays, birthdays, and other important events in the lives of those around me.
2. I will think about what I eat before I put it in my mouth.
3. I will try to exercise more discipline and take better care of my physical and mental health.

There is already evidence I am making slow progress in each of these areas. Resolution one has been met with flying colors this month. Card were sent out for two birthdays and one retirement all in advance of the special events! Go me! However, there is one strike against me for forgetting a rather important event in someone's life. I am currently at a 3-1 record.

Resolution two has been going pretty well. I have been giving the food I eat slightly more thought before sticking it in my mouth. I have been eating my lunches without the highly caloric desserts of either chocolate chip cookies (Subway) and apple turnovers (Hardees). I have been making an effort to eat breakfast every day, as well. And breakfast is either cereal or a bran muffin (not chocolate chip cookies). My biggest obstacle for the upcoming four weeks or so will be my beloved Conversation hearts. I loveeeeee them and have in two weeks, consumed two bags...Yikes!

Resolution three also has been going pretty well, thanks to my hyperactive doggy and my new guilty pleasure, "Charmed." I easily logged an hour of calorie burning on my recumbent bike watching an episode of the the series 5 out of 7 days last week. I have also walked the dog 5 out of 7 days last week (about 25-30 minutes) Eventually I would like to through some strength building stuff into the mix, but that probably won't be until mid-February or the end of February. In the meantime, I am just going to shoot for 5 days minimum of an hour on the bike and walking the doggy.

My Wal-Mart Haircut

In my relatively short time one earth, I have spent a lot of money on my hair. Initially, I did this believing there was a direct correlation between the amount of money spent at a salon and the quality hair style you received. This, however, is misnomer. Over time, I learned that you can get just as crappy results for half the cost, so why waste all of that extra money for the same end product?

And so, I went to the Super Wal-Mart in town (the store that is like a small city) and had my hair trimmed.

They only take walk-ins, and the going rate for a hair cut (with shampoo) was $12.95. "Why not?" I thought. I was overdue for a trim and I wanted it done cheaply.

Prior to my visit to Wal-Mart, I had been going to a mid-level salon in "the big city." I had been seeing my stylist, Jamie, for about a year before she left the salon to pursue her dream of becoming a navy mechanic: no joke. I was happy for her, but sad for me. It's not easy to meet a stylist who really understands you.

Part of my problem with stylists is communication. Rarely do we seem to understand each other as intended. My mistake in the past has been to put all of my trust in the stylist (who, let's face it, doesn't know me, she just knows the trends) and usually end up allowing her too much power over my hair. My misplaced reverence for her superior authority (as denoted in the certificate issued by the cosmetology institution from which she graduated, displayed proudly by her little hair station) has resulted in one too many bad experiences -- and sometimes, at a hefty cost both monetarily and psychologically.

My last bad experience (before I met Jamie) was with a stylist named Katie. Ironically, the stylist at Wal-Mart who informed me she would be cutting my hair was also named Katie. Under normal circumstances, my somewhat superstitious self might have run the other direction, but it has been my experience that the majority of stylists have two-syllable names with five letters or less. So I hopped in her chair.

Because I was getting my hair cut inside a Wal-Mart (where I also get my eyes checked, buy groceries, get prescriptions filled, and pick up assorted other items) I mentally decided I was not going to be intimidated by this stylist. I (perhaps, unfairly) decided that because she must be working in this setting, she somehow was less pedigreed; this made me feel comfortable telling her exactly what I wanted, without asking her opinion.

"Just a trim, I am trying to grow my hair out," I told her. "And I like my bangs angled, but not too short."

We discussed this a little bit further (If I wanted to get the split ends off, I would need to lose about 1/4 inch from my layers; the rest would be sufficient with a 1/8 inch trim). I agreed to these terms, and she went to work.

After she was done, I told her to blow dry my hair, knowing it was $2 extra. It was snowing outside, after all, I didn't need my newly healthy hair to freeze and break off. So she got out her dryer and when she deemed me adequately dry, she turned off the device and allowed me to view my healthy hair through her hand-held mirror. I gave her my approval and it was time to pay.

My total amounted to $18.95.

Mysteriously, $3 had been added to my bill. Apparently there was a fee for conditioner. By conditioner I mean a CREAM RINSE. Not a fancy conditioning treatment that needs to be left on for 10-30 minutes. This annoyed me, but I said nothing, keeping in mind I did just get my hair cut in a Wal-Mart. I was more annoyed by the fact that my hair was not dry. It was actually quite damp. I try not to make a fuss with people that hold sharp objects around my hair or head, so I just paid the bill and left. This was the first time I left a "salon" without given a stylist a tip.

My hair is adequate. Sometimes that is the absolute best you can hope for whether you pay $20 for a haircut or $50. Right now, I would rather pay $20.

Getting a 'Handle' on Things

A couple of days before Christmas, the snapping-latch-device that keeps my dryer door shut bust beyond repair. Never having been responsible for the maintenance and upkeep of a large mechanical device, my reaction (after I verbally assaulted the device for inconveniencing me) was to panic. What had I done? Why had I been so rough with the dryer door? I didn't think I closed the door anymore aggressively than I have ever closed a dryer door in previous history. This time, had I gone too far? Why didn't I use more finesse? Was it really necessary to slam it shut? I was a bad, bad person. I immediately jumped to the absolute worst conclusion (a personality trait that is, no doubt, a part of my immense charm): My landlord would make me replace the whole entire machine at my expense. Oh God help me!

After Christmas break, I calmed down somewhat, and tried a more level-headed approach to the situation. This was in fact, only the door latch. Surely replacing such a small item couldn't be that complicated or costly, could it? I took a notebook downstairs and jotted down the machine's vitals: Brand, serial number and model number. I used that wonderful resource called the "Internet" and quickly learned latches for this brand of dryer were pretty universal, and one could be shipped to my door in eight days for about $10. I figured it was worth a shot.

To dry my laundry while I waited for "the part" to arrive, I arranged my ski pole in about a 65-70 degree angle and wedged the door shut. By this time, I was feeling about as resourceful as a carrot-chomping Bugs Bunny. "Go me."

I waited in breathless anticipation (no exaggeration) for my dryer "part" to arrive. By Wednesday I was getting a little concerned and doubting the validity of the Web site I had visited to order "the part."

Then Friday, it arrived. I didn't even take my coat off. I went immediately downstairs to the basement (OK, I let the dog pee first, I am not inhumane). I ripped the bag open and in about 10 minutes my dryer door was again operational. It was a proud day.

A lot of people would laugh at the fact that I am savoring this "small" accomplishment. I understand. The people that know me also would laugh, but because they know me, they would be aware of the fact (while laughing) that (for me) this IS a noteworthy accomplishment.

I have a tendency to rely on the opposite sex to "rescue" me whenever a situation arises that I feel (or am too quick to assume) is beyond my can. At the risk of sounding like a Lifetime Original Movie, I have learned an important lesson here: Maybe I should try to handle things myself before hitting the panic button and involving someone else.

*Wow.*

When you are having a drink this weekend, have one for me and make a toast, "to small victories." When you are a small town girl, that is all you have!

Notes on Being a "Journalist"

I don't always feel it is appropriate to call myself a "journalist." This is because for the past two years I have been writing about cows, farmers, agriculture, dairy princesses and related topics. The degree I earned in college, however, declares that I am, in fact, a journalist. Still, to me, the title seems to suggest an occupation with a higher purpose than describing milk parlors or farm implements.

Still, writing about these things comes with its own challenges.

Raisins and the Need for Truth in Advertising

Has anyone ever noticed that raisins appear EVERYWHERE? I have nothing against raisins, but sometimes I don't want to eat them -- and don't expect to find them -- but then there they are: in bread, cereal, muffins, cookies, salads, and even chicken entrees. Today I wanted a bran muffin for breakfast. I stopped at the coffee shop and eyed *their bran muffin. Kindly, they posted a sign identifying that this was not JUST a bran muffin, it was a RAISIN bran muffin. Many places don't make a distinction. Not in the mood for raisins today, I opted for something called a "Prairie Muffin." I didn't know what would be in it...I thought maybe oats or corn? Wheat? Wrong. Carrots, apples and RAISINS. I thought Raisins were shriveled up, dehydrated grapes, which grow in vineyards. I was unaware that prairies include vineyards. I guess you learn something new everyday...

A Brief Retrospective

2007 was the year I...
• Made the smart decision to move from one small town to a slightly larger small town
• Accepted that I gained 10 to 15 pounds since college
• Dramatically reduced my budget-related stress (thanks to help from my family of advisors)
• Accepted that the dog had gained 10 pounds since 2005
• Realized "it" was really over. Still haven't completely accepted it.
• Lost my grandfather.
• Reconnected with old friends.
• Developed a new appreciation for my sister (that wiener).
• Made a dream come true.
• Lived without cable (actually it was the second year I lived without cable).
• Refused to be somebody's doormat.
• Had a health issue that scared me.
• Grew watermelons in my garden.
• Bowled a 203 game.
• Successfully maintained a blog. Who'd have thunk it?

Damn Pores

For Christmas my sister gave me a new make up product called "Bare Minerals." While the product DOES seem to work pretty well (I still feel kind of exposed without my tried and true caked on compressed poweder, foundation and three different kinds of concealers) it has brought something to my attention that I hadn't given much thought since the angst-ridden years of my adolescence.

My pores are as numerous as the stars, and some as big as black holes! Even AFTER the blemishes clear (as promised by the Bare Minerals, and as appears to be happening in my reality) I must enter a NEW level of self-criticism. Why doesn't my face look as airbrushed as those featured on the instructional DVD? I swirl, I tap, I buff.

Although I am grateful to not have as many blemishes as I have had previously, it was easy to blame my imperfect skin on them. Now that they are GONE, I realize my skin is STILL imperfect. It has all of these tiny little pin-prick-sized or bigger HOLES just waiting to gobble up oil and dirt. Oh YUCK. I will just try to be happy that my skin is still healthier, even if it does look like the moon’s surface.