Hallelujah

I love Martin Sexton.

There, I said it. You know how you through phases where you just can't get enough someone's music? Yeah. And, well, actually, it's not even that I consciously crave it as much as it just perfectly fits my mood. Nice when that happens.

Sitting here in the Portland aiport on another sunny Oregon day, thinking about all that's happened in the last week. I flew to Arkansas. I had my first ever grad school interview. Got to stay in a hotel through the most intense ice storm in recorded Arkansas history. Then I flew here to Oregon- all the way to the other side of our crazy country. Drove to Eugene and went through the second of my three interviews. And I have to say that I fell in love yesterday. Ok, maybe not love...but I definitely got super excited about U of O's program. Everything sort of unfolded in that sort of mysterious, natural, organic, everything-as-it-should-be kinda way. 

The misty, moist, morning Eugene fog welcomed the day in. My host and I climbed into mom's self-described "candy bar car" and zipped off to the College of Ed. Of course, we were about 5 minutes late- totally my style. But luckily, the brilliant folks who organized the interview day built in 5-10 minutes of gathering time- so I didn't look like a complete shitball. I grabbed some coffee and the apricot pastry thing sitting within reach before grabbing the last remaining seat around the interview tables.

Everything ran smoothly. It really did feel like one of those meant-t0-be days. That isn't to say that it was perfect. I started my interview day with a twenty minute one-on-one with Dr. Benedict McWhirter (the dude I applied to be my advisor). This was perfect because I didn't have any time to get nervous; just jumped in without thinking. I'm usually better when I'm not thinking...too much. Now to the not so perfect part. In my second interview, I met with two professors. And I don't know if it was because I was tired, just a bit nervous, outnumbered, and sitting across from two trained therapists, but as we got into the "describe a difficult confrontation in a work setting and how you dealt with it" portion of the interview, I got emotional. For whatever reason, the first thing that came to mind was being confronted by one of my supervisors at Three Rivers about my being emotionally unreliable and needy after my car accident last year. And I sort of knew that somehow my choosing to share this experience might be going a bit deeper than I needed to, but I went for it anyway. I mean, once you start in on a story like that you can't just stop and say, "You know, this story will probably expose a bit more information than I am comfortable disclosing in an interview for Graduate School in Counseling Psychology". Yeah, exactly. So I went for it. And I am sure that a combination of all the aforementioned factors, on top of, I think, staring into face of one of my biggest dream's- one that has taken shape over the course of years of stumbling, fumbling, and finally working very diligently toward-I just lost it. I started to cry. And now I was trapped. I couldn't just totally lose it, nor could I try to reel it back in. I didn't want to look like the actor at the Oscar's milking the crowd. And I didn't want to look like I was too insecure and embarrassed to express genuine emotion. So I took a deep breath, let my tears finish their job, gathered myself and finished answering the question. Though I still have some fears that I came across as somewhat inapporpriately emotional, I think I mostly gave the impression (one that happens to be mostly accurate) that I'm not afraid to express my real feelings. I hope that's how it was. 

The rest of the day went off without a hitch. No more tears. A few more interviews in different settings with different faculty and students. One was a mock group of grad students with a professor and current student watching us operate as a group. That was real interesting to be a part of. You know me, I have the tendency to jump in, take charge, and talk before listening. Knowing this, I actually turned down my talk first instincts, and listened first, which seemed to harmonize much more melodically with the group. Instead of drowning out everyone with volume and passion, I listened to the tone and made my voice to blend with the others. Ok, enough cheesy analogies. But you get my drift. I think I did well with this. 

After the group interview, the rest of the day was more or less q and a with different students. This was enjoyable and easy (though I think most of us were just extremely relieved to know that we didn't have to be "on" ). Students here were satisfied, looked healthy, expressed their honest opinions about the ups and downs of this program and being a grad student in general. On top of this culture of honesty and satisfaction, the weather yesterday was magical. The morning fog burned off by noon, leaving a rare blue, sunshiny day in Eugene. Gorgeous. I totally fell in love with this place. If they would of asked me to commit yesterday, I would have signed the dotted line. Really. Maybe that's impulsive. Maybe that's melodramatic. Actually it's both of those things, and I am really glad that's not how the process works. However, there was mention that, for the stud students, offers can come as early as Monday. Poop. So for the next 48 hours I will be thinking, fantasizing, obsessing- mostly. But I feel like I left it all out on the field and can feel good about having put my best foot forward. This is not to mention, that I still have one more interview at another reputable and strikingly similar Counseling Psych program. 

The waiting begins. 

All in all, I just feel so blessed to be involved in this process. I mean I got three interviews out of the 8 schools to which I applied. That's huge. I feel great about that. All I need is for one to work. 

I'm now sitting on my buddy Joel's sister's bed in Spokane, WA. It's weird to think that a week ago I was in Arkansas. It's weird how much has happened in one week. It's weird to think what things will happen in the next few weeks. And of course I would love to know right now which schools will send me offers, but I don't. I guess that's just what makes this crazy ass trip called life worth taking. We don't get to know what's around the bend. That's half the adventure right there. Doesn't mean that sometimes it'd be sweet to be able to look into the future.

It's only 9:12 pm, but it feels like 3:00am.

Bring your Birkenstocks

We all know about the stereotypes of Eugene, OR. Patchouli oil, birkenstocks, bikes, bongs, and...well, maybe cool punk anarchists. I don't know that any of these particular items were a part of the meet and greet tonight, but there's was definitely a classic, Eugenesque sense of "chill" about the group of current students welcoming all of us applicants. And as much as I tease about hippies (specifically my sister Leah), I'm much more at home in this crowd than the my-research-is-bigger-than-yours folks at more high-powered programs.

I felt about as confident and comfortable as I could imagine being in light of having been an hour late to the meet and greet. Maximizing the minimal time with Leah today was a big blessing. This is not to mention that she had both of her late morning/early afternoon appointments cancel. Nice to see Leah and Gabe's place. I know I tease you both about being dirty hippies, but I was impressed by the neatness and cleanliness. Totally great to see Laney and share a bit of a rushed but nonetheless wonderful little moment together. Somehow in the course of our strange and sporadic friendship, Laney (and I know I told you this Laners), you have become like a sister; like family. I will hold you, your sisters, and especially your mom in my prayers. I really was tickled that Laney's boyfriend Ramman (spelling?) made the effort to introduce himself despite being sick and pressed for time. 

Off to bed with big thoughts about big things. Unlike in Arkansas, I really don't feel anxious or nervous. I feel strangely calm. And although I pretty sure my being exhausted, a bit sick, and having gone for a vigorous run has something to do with it, I know that with the Arkansas experience under the belt, being familiar with this place, and having chatted with about 8 different people who said I would fit in here and especially with Dr. McWhirter (for those of you interested in learning more about the guy I'd be studying under- his full name is Benedict McWhirter- you should google him- he's led an interesting life).  I actually only talked with one other applicant (I was really taking advantage of the short time tonight) during the 2 hours I was there. And at one point I found myself moved to tears just thinking about all that has come together for me to have put myself in this position; a bit akward, but mostly beautiful. I'm just basking in the self-satisfaction of a personal dream pursued...and, I think, about to be realized.

Things for Granted

Woke up this morning in the Wingate by Wyndham to the sounds of people chiseling large sheets of ice off of their cars. Wandered over to the coffee machine for a delicious cup of Wolfgang Puck single shot drip coffee. I think they must have packaged that stuff in Germany in 1989. But, when it's free, I mean what can you say? The morning off to a good start I turned on the free Wi-Fi to check on the status of the airport and my flights. The hard part is that the XNA airport is about as small as the Pullman airport and thus is not particularly up to date with any sort of organized and well managed information. I looked at the United site and realized that I wouldn't be able to definitively know if my flight would be leaving until it actually left the Denver airport. Upon closer examination, this wouldn't be happening until I would need to be checked out of my room. So downstairs to check in with the locals. As my dad says, sometimes lo-tech is best.

Tom- the Manager- was downstairs fixing up his own personalized Belgian waffle at the Continental Breakfast Bar. He smiled and told me that several planes had landed during the course of the morning; one had even taken off within the last 30 minutes. Sweet. So I made a contingency plan with the gal at the front desk to make sure I'd have a room in the case my flight be cancelled again. All set. I packed up all my now completely disgusting clothes and hopped in the airport shuttle. 

The drive was remarkable. What I found out was the worst ice storm in recorded Arkansas history had left a two-inch glaze on all trees and grass as far as the eye could see. The sun decided to come out just as we pulled onto the road to the airport as if to proclaim some sort of divine predetermination. Being dropped off I just hoped that seeing the light ment just that and not that, as the orange terrorist threat thermometer had indicated, a sign that I was about to witness a terrorist attack on rural Arkansas. Seriously Homeland Security- get a damned life. 

Anyhow, I checked in with the same very kind and very large woman I'd checked in with the night before. She set me up with my new itinerary and assured me that things were looking very hopeful. Hopeful huh? Well, I went and sat down to call folks and let them know that things were at least hopeful. And after 45 minutes of waiting, watching the electronic screens, and commiserating with some fellow applicants who had actually slept in the airport the night before- the news came that everything was on schedule.

So I'm writing from the Denver airport; sitting at Gate 37, enjoying the smells of fast food, the sounds of small children, and the sights of people who don't look a whole lot better than I do. I feel better. Though I don't smell any better. 

I'll be in Spokane by 7:30 pm at which point my good friend Joel Edward Soden will pick me up. I'm just looking forward to sharing in person some of these hilarious misadventures as well as to finally be somewhere that I can do laundry. Really I'm craving a nice, crisp, winter run too. Sitting around feeling anxious in a smoker's, cat-infested apartment for three days- followed by a full day laying on a hotel bed eating pizza and watching Sportscenter isn't my idea of physical release. What a gift to have a body that allows me to run. What a gift to have a mind crazy enough to love to run. Truly, watching people get all stressed out these last few days- whether it be over grad school, flight plans, or the morons on the Arkansas local news in hysterics over the ice storm- has been a good reminder of how easy it truly is to take the basic things that make my life work. I think if nothing else, this trip has shown me how blessed I am to be able to pursue my dreams, supported by both friends and family. And with all that said, it's a lot easier to deal with the stress that life throws at me knowing that I've always got people around who'll be there. 

I'm leaving Denver feeling grateful and more glad than I may have ever been or will be about getting to Spokane, WA.

Gotta pee before we board.

Perfect Storm

Last night after the interview day Chad, my host, made dinner and we watched the evening news. It rained pretty much all day yesterday and as the temperatures continued to fall with the daylight-rain turned to ice. Scary stuff. Scary enough that, of course, the local news folk were hysterical about "the worst storm since Mark Wahlberg and George Clooney died in that one with a boat and a decent sound track". Well, they did freak out.Turns out it wasn't entirely unwarranted. 

As my ride to the airport and I drove north on the freeway, there were more than several cars off of the road covered in a thick sheet of ice. As we approached the airport, I knew there was no way planes could be landing on this stuff. Turns out that prediction was true. Chris dropped me at the airport and gave me the good luck look as well as the obligatory- "call me if anything happens." I went straight to the United desk and saw my flight listed as cancelled. Perfect. So I do the dance with the woman behind the desk and she tells me that I've been automatically booked on the next available flight; one leaving tomorrow. Then she informs me that that particular flight is also likely to be cancelled as it's leaving is contingent on having a plane land tonight. This is like 11 am.

The friendly woman behind the desk makes a few calls and tells me that the nearest hotel still has openings and a shuttle that is willing to brave the conditions. So I take it, make a phone call to Chad my host, and within a few minutes I find out that UArkansas Department of Psychology will be paying for my hotel and food. How sweet is that? I get a call from the professor I have applied to study with and he assures me that all will be taken care of- just not to go "hawg wild". A very appropriate warning here in Razorback territory. This small, funny detail will prove to have some real irony later on.

So I check into the hotel which is only like 10 minutes away from the airport (as opposed to Fayetteville which, with the weather, is more like 50 minutes). It's great. Simple and clean. You have to realize that I've been staying with a student who is a smoker and has a cat and I've been a little bit sick. This place feels like a spa. Not to mention I have it all to myself. Now it's like noon. I'm hungry.

I call downstairs to ask about the food situation. Apparently there is no food service in the hotel, but there a few remaining hot pockets and bags of pretzels for purchase. Yum. I'm told that Pizza Hut was heard to be open. I try them and get the busy signal the first twenty times. Then the business guy I saw at the airport comes down the hall to rub in the fact that he has apparently gotten through to the Hut with no problem and has a medium pepperoni on its way. He kindly pours lemon juice on the wound by mentioning that he'd be willing to part with a piece or two. Whatever dude. Now comes the fun part. Tom, the manager, comes out from behind the desk and mentions that he has to run into town to the bank and if I'd like I could find some food in town. Perfect. I jump in with Tom and we're off.

Only thing is that, oh yeah, there's like a solid sheet of ice on the road. Well, maybe not solid. Actually there were some pretty well established ruts- but sheet of ice makes a better story. I let Tom know that I've been in a bad accident on ice after I notice him start to drive like he's on a golf course in a golf cart. He corrects himself and slows down. He tells me there's a couple of different options: there are the usual fast food names and then there's this Arkansas-specific pizza chain called Jim's Razorback Pizza. Perfect. I'm totally craving some good 'za. I look the menu over and see a pizza that's called, no shit, "hawg wild". It's too perfect. I get the pleasure of hearing myself say the words,"Large Hawg Wild please." Awesome. 

So I've now spent the majority of the day picking off this pizza, snacking on oranges and croissants (if you can call them that) I picked up at the grocery store while on my trip with Tom, and watching a mixture of college hoops and the Australian Open. Right now Serena Williams looks like she's gonna lose which is sweet. And I'm just soaking up the good life. 

I know that everything will work out tomorrow with flights. I just hope the flight leaves tomorrow. As much fun as it was to do nothing but eat pizza and watch sportscenter all day, I'm ready to be somewhere I can go for a run- back in the Northwest.

Serena Williams is lame.

Interview Day

First interview done.

After having come down with a cold and sleeping for about 3 hours last night, I showed up looking more or less ready to go in my Gramp's grey suit and handsome overcoat. For those of you who are West Wing fans, I was having Josh Leimann fantasies all day. At more than one point I caught myself doing the little strut he does.

Anyhow, I think everything went quite well. I came here with the suspicion that this place would probably not work. And though there are still some things that I don't particularly like about the program, I would say that it's like a solid A-. You can't complain with an A-. But I'm still holding out for a solid A. 

The faculty are young, eager, and have created a very collaborative culture in the program that is noticeable. The students all seem satisfied- many of them in an I-didn't-expect-to-end-up-here-either sort of way. Interviewing with three different faculty members gave me a sense that these professors definitely care about their student's success. Interviewing with the different students it was clear that there's a healthy amount of space for students to craft a unique career path for themselves. I dig that. Dr. Cavell, the professor I'd be studying with, presents like a great blend of no-nonsense professionalism and happy go-lucky southern fun. I think he likes me. We'll see what kind of offer I get. 

I'm praying that I don't have to use the flight insurance I serendipitously purchased for this flight. It seems as though an ice storm has blown in here and could cancel my flight tomorrow. But who knows? That's really sort of the question of the day: who knows? 

This was a poopy post.

No Sleep til Brooklyn

Sometimes I honestly think I just write this thing so I have an excuse to come up with pithy titles that more than likely only I think are funny. I think having just said that I'm definitely making a good choice delving into the world of academia.You all know that I love the sound of my own voice. I wonder if there's a verbal equivalent of Narcissus?

I'm sitting at the computer of my gracious Arkansas host Chad and staring at his Michael Fox-sized monitor. Seriously, the thing has got to be 42 inches wide. I'd love to say it's dumb...but, well, ok, actually it is kinda dumb. That felt good. I just am, I think, so excited about this whole process. It's not even like there have been any moments of clarity, epiphanies, or other revelations. It's simply that I feel so proud to be out of the rut I got into and was in for the last five years.

Today was the grin and greet with the faculty and other prospectives. We met up at this great place called "The Hoghaus" - a sort of pseudo German microbrewery restaraunt with hand-crafted brews and tasty sandwiches (even had some cheesecake for dessert). The schedule didn't have us meeting until 6pm so I took advantage of the day by roaming the town on foot and simply taking it all in. It's quite the quaint little town. Actually I've always sort of hated the word quaint. It's like cute's more sophisticated sister. Except that really it means pretty much the same damn thing. I digress. So the historic (that's better) downtown area surrounding the campus is almost entirely brick, well-preserved, and clean. Not clean in the clinical sense, but well taken care of. It was nice to be outside and listen to the wind, read the historical plaques on the buildings, and do my best to let go of my need to evaluate every minute of this experience and just imagine: what would this place really be like? Ok, I guess that's kind of evaluating too- but you know what I mean.

So I walked for near an hour in the crisp winter air (around 28 today) and thorougly enjoyed imagining myself in tweed sport coats, walking around with a leather brief case from building to building with one of those look-at-me-i'm-so-busy-and-important kinda walks. Nice. And then, at my host's suggestion, I went and checked out the local used bookstore- Dickson Street Used Bookstore. Filled with books from vaulted ceiling to their oddly carpeted floor, this place has everything from erotic novels to local paper archives to portuguese-english dictionaries. Awesome. It has one of those classic used bookstore musty, dusty smells. And, of course, who better to be working there than one of the asocial local students with the kind of perfect smug, indie look that we all expect from a bookstore. Perfect.

I bought "The History of Mexico" and a Spanish-English dictionary for a grand total of like 13 dollars and took the books across the street to the only "coffee shop" on the downtown block. This was hilarious. I come in and I'm pretty sure it was Motely Crue playing and I went to the counter to order. I stand there and notice one of the workers walking my way with an expression on her face that said something like: "uh, can we help you!?". And then she did ask me some version of that question. I'm like: "Yeah, I'd just like a cup of coffee for here please." And she's all: "Well, you can go ahead and have a seat, we're actually a restaraunt and we'll come to your table." As if the music wasn't cue enough, I knew when the girl brought me my mug and a 3 dollar bill for it (and, of course, the music has now changed to a much more coffee shop-friendly Paula Abdul song) that this was not the place I wanted to be. I paid the bill and followed Paula's timely advice: "c'mon baby let's get away."

Last night we went to a cool bar just two doors down called "Brewskis" with like 75 beers on tap. I heard everything from Beck to Van Morrison to Thievery Corp. to The Shins all in like the first 20 minutes. Perfect. Plus, the old black dude from New Orleans I talked sports with last night is there watching the Lakers pummel the Spurs. Perfect. So I sit down order up a pint and relax. It's like 3:30pm at this point (for those of you concerned I might be turning into a barfly). Only problem now is that I've got to pace myself because any of you who have ever had the misfortune to watch me drink (or eat for that matter) know that I do everything at pretty much the same speed, that is to say, fast. So I ask if I can pull up a seat and Lourde (could be spelled differently but I'm pretty sure this is how it's spelled) thankfully remembers me from the night before...and apparently, fondly so. He starts in on his analysis of the game which is mostly decipherable despite his thick New Orlean's accent, not to mention the whiskey and beer he's clearly been drinking for some time now. But I get a kick out of getting him talking about sports, life growing up in New Orleans, and his family. I find out that he's been here in Fayetteville since Katrina- or rather- because of Katrina. He's 68 and barely communicates with any family other than his 26 year-old son who lives outside of Hattiesburg, MS. I watch him get somewhat agitated and sad reflecting the separation from his wife and 5 other children, but just sit and listen. I am just always so grateful for little moments like this. I soak up chatting with Lourde while continuing to keep an a eye on my beer and the time. I can just see myself getting caught up in some sermon on the barstool scenario, and totally showing up late for the dinner right next door.

So long story longer, I do get caught up in said barstool scenario, but am able to sneak away at like 2 past 6pm. I pay my tab, thank Lourde for letting me pick his brain, and head down the street to the dinner. My host Chad is just coming down the stairs as I am heading up them, ostensibly to make sure I am indeed coming to dinner. Funny.

Well, some of you who are more detail-oriented may at this point (or did right away) notice that it is indeed 3 am Central Time here in Fayettevill, AR. And I think after the tea I've been sipping and the neurotic typing I've just enagaged in, has brought me, at last, to a place I call Sleepytown. But suffice it to say, the dinner went well, I chatted up Professor Tim Cavell (for those of you interested in the research areas I'm looking at studying you should google Dr. Tim Cavell- it's cool stuff) and everyone was just getting settled into their seats as I walked in. Perfect. So the big day of interviewing is tomorrow and I am encouraged by my sense of excitement simply about the process. It's a real honor to be here and to feel in some strange ways a bit like a celebrity. I'm soaking it all in and thinking of how everything has come together to lead me here. I've been thinking about the last truly transformative year I've had in my life and I am certain it was my freshman year of college. I'm already getting a new version of the strange sense of excitement, curiosity, and potential that came with starting college and a transformative chapter in my life. But I better get off this damn machine and sleep before I get all riled up again.

If you've read to this point- I hope I made it worth your while.

Ike

Vintage Ike

The pilot comes on over the intercom and says that were getting ready to land in Denver, CO. I look down at my pre-printed boarding pass (thanks Joel) and notice that it lists my next destination as Bentonville, AK. Now, I haven't ever been to Arkansas, but when I see the letters "AK" on my ticket I almost poop. AK is Alaska last time I checked. Enter that pit in your stomach you get when you realize that you can't find your wallet- yeah that. So I attempt to calm myself down with some soothing self-talk: "don't worry; maybe it's a mistake; you'll figure it out; it'll just cost another 400 dollars you forgetful moron; how could you have possibly spaced out that detail!?" Soothing becomes scathing fast. I decide to swallow my pride and ask the flight attendant next to me about this scenario.

In attempt to save some face, I ask: "Do you know if there's a Bentonville, Alaska?" She looks at me like she can smell the poop I just made in my pants. She sweetly responds,"Honey, I don't believe that there is." Huge sigh of relief. She proceeds to examine my ticket and cross references the code on my pass with her little handbook and notices that I'm on a regional express jet and once again assures me that there are definitely no regional jet flights to Alaska. That is, I'm definitely heading to Fayetteville, AR. I think maybe Joel did that just to fuck with me (just kidding Joel). 

Anyhow, everything went smoothly. An easy 1 hour flight from Denver, CO and the smoggy mountains of the mile high city to the clear, blue skies of northwestern Arkansas. Chad Parsons- a fifth-year student in the program picked me up at the airport just late enough for me to call Grandma and Grandpa and tell them that I got in safe.  Chad is from a tiny town in Iowa nearby to Pella, IA (see how good I am with states now) which is where Grandma went to college. She, of course, upon hearing this detail wanted me to ask him if he knew about the tulip festival. He did. 

Everything continued to simply flow for the rest of the day. We dropped my stuff off at Chad's apartment. Met the girlfriend. Headed downtown to run some errands. Chad is working for a local private practice essentially as the secretary while finishing his final class and working at the University Counseling Center. He's busy. I just went along for the ride and picked his brain, enjoyed taking in the scenery of the area, and hearing another person's story of the Grad School adventure. Chad's kinda the opposite of me in the sense that he had to apply to like 20 schools over the course of 4-5 years to finally get a shot here in Fayetteville. He launches in to the story of his first few years here and I start to find out a lot about the impact an advisor can have on your life. His first advisor left after his first year. His second is being fired from the U due to his use of crank, meth, and other fun substances that have essentially rendered him psychotic. Well, I'm slightly suspicious of exactly how accurate all of this undoubtably slanted information is, but regardless- there's been some dysfunction down here in the AR.

More later.

Wow

Sitting here in the basement with my grandpa's suit hanging on the door, my bag (yes, singular) packed, and my stack of West Wing DvDs to return- I am going to Arkansas tomorrow. Holy Poop.

I don't mean to be too melodramatic, but this is huge for me. I can't believe it's all happening. All that has gone into all of this preparing, researching, studying for tests, writing annoying personal statements, paying annoying application fees, wondering, worrying, waiting, hoping- so much has gone into this. It feels strangely like Graduation from PLU in the sense that it's somewhat anticlimatic; it's like after all of this waiting and anticipating it's here. Maybe that's how it will always be with me and big moments. But, in a very different way, it feels new. 

Typically the night before something big- a race, a test, a trip- I can't sleep. Last night wasn't much different. I had to read for a while to get to the exhaustion point. Finally fell asleep at midnight. Waking up I knew this would be an extra strong cup of coffee kinda morning. I sat down read some emails, reviewed the UArkansas website, checked my planner for my to do list before leaving (I know your smiling somewhere Dad). Just spent the morning with good music, strong coffee, and myself down in the basement. This place here in Moscow really has been the perfect place for me to prepare for this next adventure. I have full time work. I have a few random social connections I can call on. I have my own space (to a significant degree) in the basement. And spending time just being around with Grandma and Grandpa has kept me focused on what's really important. 

Well,  I've prepared myself as best I know how. I got a hair cut. I got a suit. I've prepared myself this whole last year for this. I really liked what the UTenn program director said to all invited interviewees: "think of this not as weeding out-we already did that. Think of this as match making." So I laughed because it seems a bit like Eharmony for Graduate School. But hey, good thought. I think it's kinda true- I've spent the last year doing research, reading profiles, and looking at different value statements to find someone that I think has great potential. This someone has read my profile, looked at my value statements, and thinks I might have that great potential too. So now I just hope that I can chill out enough to simply be myself, enjoy the process, and trust that I will know which someone is the one to start a relationship with. Those of you who really know me- never fear- I know that I've been looking to hit a home run on the first pitch my whole life. Hell, maybe that's why it's taken me 5 years to finally find some ambition. Know that I'm just focused on getting to first base (even if it's bunt).

Ike

Fire

Seriously Grandma.

I walk upstairs on my day off to perform my typical day off duties- make coffee, fix Grandma's breakfast, and try to keep her from watching TV ALL day long. This has been especially difficult of late as the Inauguration festivities have had her obsessing about the dress of the first family as well as what they will eat. "Oh, Ikey, I think you should wear something like what Biden has on!"- she says. I just sneak downstairs to go watch last night's rerun of the Daily Show. Then I hear her yell, "IIIIIKe!" She wants me to check on the fire.

So I check on the damn fire- knowing full well that when Grandpa and I are away she manages just fine. I see that Grandpa has again failed to build up a nice bed of coals and so there are two large smoldering logs just smoking. Perfect. So I open everything up to keep the draft pulling the smoke up the chimney and I quickly put some small sticks on the few tiny coals and leave the door open a crack to give it extra air. Of course, and I knew it was coming, now Grandma's favorite daytime live melodrama has just begun: Smoke in the Livingroom. She plays the part of the neurotic Grandmother and screams her line: "Oh, oh, oh, it's smoking!!!!!"

Me: Grandma, if you want me to fix the fire than you need to let ME fix the fire.

Grandma: Well.

Me: Grandma, I really am not in the mood for this whole thing again.

Grandma: I know you don't want smoke in the living room, but I just think if-

Me: Grandma- if you know how to best take care of the fire, then you should.

Luck for me, this particular run in ended here. It really is sad the condition she's in. That is, she's capable of much more than she does for herself. But, she's so tired and feels so sluggish that she just tells Grandpa to do it (me when he's not available). Half the time I just want to yell at her and tell her to do it herself. Weird.

But the real truth is that my time here continues to make it clearer and clearer just how much of a gift being here is. Yesterday morning, Granny and I both slept in. I was in the kitchen making coffee when I see her doing what for her is the equivalent of sprinting to the living room. I'm like, "What the hell!?" I ask her what she's doing and she says that she's pretty sure the Inauguration was starting. Naturally, I had completely zoned that it would be in the morning our time. Not Grandma. She was front row on the couch and looking about as excited as I can remember seeing her. We drank coffee together and shared a moment that I know I will remember for the rest of my life. Watching our first black president sworn in with my 78 year-old Grandma was profound. It was particularly touching to see how engaged in the ceremony she was. She didn't even vote for Barack. And yet she couldn't help but be affected by the momentous event. We watched from the very beginning as Bush and Cheney (how hilarious was he in his wheelchair!?) walked down the corridor, to Pastor Lowry's Benediction (how hilarious was he!). I enjoyed watching Grandma and her reactions to the proceedings. There was a real sense for me that this would be the last President she would ever see. And while I'm sure I'll never know why she voted for McCain (getting her to talk openly about anything other than food and Oprah is like trying to plan a menu with Grandpa), I'd like to think that she's wise enough to recognize that sometimes change for the better comes for us despite our resistance. Sometimes.

Anyhow, I'm getting ready for these Grad school interviews and starting to realize just how critical it has been for me to have Moscow be my home base during this exciting and turbulent time. As much as I like to complain about the bizarreness of my Grandparents, they have been like Guardian Angels to me. They've sheltered, fed, and help me transport myself all over the country in pursuit of my big dream. I am getting teary just writing all this. I think part of it is that I see how easy it has been for me to be discontent with whatever my circumstances are currently. For those of you who've known me, you know that I'm real grass-is-greener kinda guy; always looking for the next thing. And I am seeing how the joy I experience in my day to day life is in perfect proportion to how much intention I put in to noticing all of the good that is in my life right now. Now I might be heading down the Hallmark Card/Dr. Phil road to cheesy axioms here, but I really do see how when I slow things down just a bit, look at what I have in my life, I can't help but feel blessed. And specifically, with regard to my Grandparents, I see how much they have given to me.

So tonight, my last full night here in Moscow before starting my Grad school interviews, I'm cooking up a nice dinner to honor my Grandparents. Phil's chicken recipe, steamed brussel sprouts (or asparagus), and apple crisp for dessert- I'm even gonna pick up some Sparkling Cider and break out the crystal- were gonna do it up. Break out the scrabble and have a rip roarin good time.

More Hilarious Moments in Grandparent History

So I finally had my first real conflict with Grandpa. Grandma I have mentioned. But Grandpa and I have lasted up until this evening- two and a half months after my arrival. I think it's mostly got to do with that Grandpa is so deaf that having any sort of conversation is a struggle (this is not to mention that he is about as well practiced at bringing up difficult conversations as I am with real, lasting relationships- talk about a conflict made in heaven). 

So Grandpa, being the saintly man he is, has up to this point been cooking the evening meal 5 nights a week. I do the other two on my days off. He always does his best to time so that when I come home from work (typically between 4 and 5 on weekdays) the meal is hot and ready to go. He's even arranged a tv tray complete with napkin, silverware, and water on several occaisions! Ok, so I've been a completely spoiled little brat. I am aware of this...sort of. Well, I come home today knowing that Grandpa has decided to try his hand at a fish recipe. He always asks,'Ike, what do you think of this fish recipe (from the Betty Crocker cookbook- the only thing he uses)?" And I don't want to tell him that it sounds about as appetizing as the instant bacon I can smell Grandma eating in the living room.  So I take one for the team and smile and say, "That sounds fine Grandpa." If my stomach had arms, it'd give me the equivalent of a punch in the arm.

You get the picture. I come home and Grandpa has the meal waiting and gives me his usual litany of directions: here's the fish, there's the peas, your salad's in the fridge, and you can put whatever dressing on your salad you want. This is a bit like when he explains the simple, corny jokes he tells; as if his explanation was truly necessary to decode their extremely complex punchline. Those of you who know Grandpa know what I mean. Anyhow, I am, of course, feeling trapped. On the one hand, I am totally grateful. On the other, the sight of flounder baked in cream of mushroom soup made me think of an activity that's sort of the antithesis to eating. I do my best to graciously decline- saying, "Gramps- I totally appreciate your getting all of this ready.  I just have my stomach set on a turkey sandwich (yeah, it sounded as bad when it came out my mouth the first time)." He looks about as close to wanting to kick my ass as I've seen in a while. Not since I beat him 25-23 in ping pong two nights ago has he had that kind of primal, steely glint in his eye. I watch him sit down in the chair facing the kitchen, staring at me as I begin making a turkey sandwich. Then, as he watched me take pretty much nothing of the things he had slaved over for me ( I can't believe how much of a dick move this really was on my part)- mashed taters, peas, and fish- he says to me: "Ike, we need to talk about the menu if you're not going to eat any of the things that I have prepared for you." He was of course right.

So I do my best to apologize for being a complete ingrate. Sort of works. But it's not what really is at the source of the conflict. I chew my sandwich and think. Well, I know that I don't want to try the Sisyphisian task of menu planning with Grandpa. My veto pen would run out of ink so much I'd have to start my own pen business. And Grandpa doesn't want to feel frustrated having to please my hippie palate. So I tell him that from now on he and Granny should cook and eat what sounds good to them and I'll put whatever's around and available into the arrangement that suits me best. They have an ongoing grocery list that they want me to add to, knowing that there are plenty of things that I like that they don't. Funny. So damn funny. It was actually really great to deal with some real conflict in a real way- and not do the midwest Lutheran-put-your-head-down-and-bear-it. We talked it through and it was just fine. I told Gramps how grateful I am that he has pretty much waited on me hand and foot these last months and that I didn't deserve any of it and that I was doubly sorry for being such an ass today. Granny benefited from seeing someone actually say they're sorry. Gramps benefited- I think- from just knowing that he can get frustrated with me...openly. And I benefited because I learned that I need to be honest and trust that it will be better in the end than some white lie that perpetuates awkward fish-eating situations. 

I actually sat down tonight with tears in my eyes; you know, the kind that are just on the tips of your eyelids. I don't know if it's being tired, feeling overwhelmed and excited about Grad School, listening to more of Granny's gibberish at the end of my day, or just one of those moments where the utter absurdity of life just sneaks up on you and scares the hell out of you.

Yeah. Anyhow, I sit here struck by how absurd life truly is. I listened to a story on NPR today about a girl in Gaza who was killed by a bomb 24 hours after entering into this world. I listened to MLK Jr. give his "I have a Dream" speech on CNN and was moved to stand up and smile for about 10 minutes just staring at the TV.  I booked a flight to Knoxville, TN. Now, I'll probably go watch some West Wing and fall asleep. When I stop long enough and look closely enough, there's so much that can happen in a day. 

Night.

Tennessee and Technology

You know when you are just in one of those moods to write, and then you sit down to write that heartfelt letter or poem, and you can't find a damned pen anywhere? And then you start frantically looking for one stupid, lousy, functional pen; you search for five minutes and to no avail. Now the moment's passed and you don't feel the magic. Well, I try to sit down tonight to capitalize on just that sort of moment, only to find that, in my infinite wisdom, I have forgotten my password to my blog account. Luckily I have enough technical smarts to overcome such a small hurdle- and here I am. But I can't help feeling a bit like when you're the person in the car on a group road trip who says they have to pee NOW, and so you make the driver put the pedal to the metal, you get to the rest stop, and as you pull in, you don't have go so bad anymore. Somewhere in the magical mysterious mess of neuronal impulses, thoughts, and insticts, the urge is gone.

What I like about writing is that I can actually see how my mind works. When you talk to people the thoughts just come out and disappear. Can you tell I'm posting this at 23:35pm? 

So I feeling excited and just a bit overwhelmed. I got my third interview invitation today to U Tennessee Knoxville! That's three invites in a week. I feel like the luckiest little poop. It would appear as though I'll actually have a choice between a few different programs, and all of them good ones. And I'm reminded of one of my favorite Jon Steinbeck quotes: "Change is always hard- especially when it's for the better." Just reflecting on where I was last year at this time makes me want to cry. I was studying during my off time to try to ace the GRE and feeling a bit like the overweight dad trying to train for a marathon as his new year's resolution. I felt so nervous, anxious, scared shitless that I would put all this energy into studying for this "hoop" of a test and then get crushed by some mediocre score. I guess I have always been more afraid of success than failure, because when I got my test scores in February last year I was more surprised than anything. Even as a kid I remember with sports not actually trying my hardest, not ever giving my all, saving just that little bit so I could always hedge my bets and not risk real failure. I guess what all this muttering is getting at is that I am starting to see how much true success goes hand in hand with risking real failure. The cheesy old adage- nothing risked, nothing gained is an old adage for a reason. Anyhow- I think listening to Patty Griffin and writing this at midnight is turning my blog into an Oprah Book Club journal entry. Sorry.

I hope all of you are taking real, healthy risks- whatever they may be.

I'm going to brush my teeth and fall asleep thinking about all the great friends I've been blessed with.

Suuueeeyyy!

Got an interview at U Arkansas!

I sit down last night at this cool bar in Spokane just to check email and this- write some gibberish to feel somewhat productive and not look like a total loner at the bar- and there it is: the invite.
Of course, as fate would have it, I am writing this within earshot of two Spokane hipsters doing "God talk". How funny the world is.

Anyhow, I just booked a flight to Fayetteville, Arkansas and, at the behest of my dear friend Jens Olsgaard, will be going to JC Penney's to be fitted for a suit. All the dots are connecting and I feel like a kid whose parents just won a trip to Disneyland. I got to celebrate with Joel over local cold brew last night and over local hot brew this morning. Fun to be chasing a dream and have that dream starting to materialize. The pursuit of something is so much more rewarding than wondering and worrying about which path to take. I have done that for the last 5 years (and I'm sure I'm more prepared to do this grad school thing because of that) and am soooooo glad to be moving in a positive direction. This year is getting off to an incredible start.

I apologize for the following piece of Hallmark/Oprah Book Club/Cheeseball sermonizing, but I feeled compelled to say something. I think that everyone has some sort of dream (or dreams). I think that the people who are truly alive are the ones who actively pursue those dreams. I can definitely say that I feel so much more alive in the pursuit of this dream than I have in a long time. In many ways, I feel more alive than I ever have. I hope that all of you have dreams and that, however it fits for you, you are pursuing them.

OK enough. I am going to go watch Slumdog Millionaire.


Peace in the Middle East-

Brandt

Perfect Timing

Ahhhhh- days off. Just pulled in from Moscow and am sitting at the Rockwood Bakery in Spokane. I have to admit that I both surprised and a bit shocked that they do not have Wi-fi. Even Taco Time in Moscow has Wi-fi. I guess I respect the whole let’s-just-be-the-place-where-people drink coffe-listen-to-Damien-Rice-without-the-internetz-fucking-the-mood kinda place. I respect that. Still, here I sit writing in Word, hoping that I can simply cut and paste this into the Blog.

The drive from Moscow to Spokane is much more beautiful with snow and clear roads. Those two elements don’t often coincide; but today they did. Snow covered hills, blue skies, relatively straight roads, and some shitty rock radio- what else does one need for a road trip?

Today has been one of those days where the stop lights all seem to turn yellow right as your in the middle of the intersection; the lights turn red as soon as you push the crosswalk button; you know- when you feel like your perfectly in sync with things.
I got up after going to bed early at 8- perfect because Grandpa has been up just long enough to have started the fire and finished reading the sports page. Before he hands it to me, he typically starts telling me about how the Cougars or the Vandals or the Zags have done the night before- before I can read it myself. Yet another one of the idiosyncracies which initially was cause to furl my brow, but now just makes me smile. Grandpa lights up like a little boy on the playground when he talks sports- like he and I are neighborhood buddies back home in Wisconsin, pretending to be Bart Starr and the Packers. I love it…mostly.

Then, just as I finish my coffee and the paper, Grandma wakes up. Grandpa hears her rustling and moaning ( for those of you who know Grandma, you know this sound- it’s a bit difficult to describe- something approximating a blend of a rooster’s crow and an orgasm- with a mid-western accent). Grandpa starts running around making her breakfast- typically a perfectly balanced meal of bacon, pancakes with butter and syrup, and coffee. Who could think up a more perfect way to start a diabetic day? So I grab my running shoes and head out the door for my late morning run. It was gorgeous today- about 45 degrees and near cloudless. I stripped down to my t-shirt after the first mile. I made it down the Old Pullman Highway about a mile and turned around (anyone else feel like the wind is always in your face in Moscow?). Anyhow, it felt good to have the sun shining on my back and to be able to sweat and not have it instantly freeze to my face. I wonder if there were some long distance runners in my Nordic ancestry, because I feel more alive when I run than any other time during the day.

Back home just in time to catch the Daily show reruns and stretch. Actually, I think this morning was the Colbert Report. Sometimes I just stretch and listen to Granny and Gramps chatting with each other- I catch glimpses of the love they have shared for 50 plus years. They still find ways of being sweet to each other.

After stretching, it’s upstairs to bake bread. I’ve been using mom’s “dump” recipe (named for the nature of the style of blending ingredients- not the content) for the last several weeks. Granny loves my homemade bread and she’s always brutually honest about providing feedback. The last batch was too dry and didn’t have raisins. So I baked this batch for ten minutes less and tossed some dried grapes in the mix. I think it turned out. As I mix the dough, I chat with Granny about whatever stream of consciousness seems to be flowing at that particular moment (this morning it was the pronunciation of Leah’s boyfriend’s last name- Villegas). For those of you who know my Grandmother- you know her love and curiosity for spelling. Insert Granny voice: “How do you say it again Ikey? Vee –lay-gus?”
“No Grandma, think of the two l’s as sounding like a “y”, I respond.
Granny: “Vee-yah-gas”
Me: “Closer”.
Granny: “Vee-lay-gus”
Me: “No Grandma. Vee-yah-gas!!!!!!”

Win some. Lose some. Anyhow, I finish kneeding the dough and forming the loaves and leave Grandma and Grandpa to their nap and head downstairs to pack the little day bag I’ll need for an overnight with Joel. You know- sportscoat, chinos, and cigarette holder- Joel and I do it right. I call my other Granny in Newport News, VA to check in on her and chat while packing. She is the sweetest ray of Southern sunshine you’ll ever meet. Her soft, lilting Virginian accent and colloquialisms: “Oh, hot dog Ike!” I love it. She gives me the update on her social life, her church, and the relatives. She is still chipper and spry as an 82 year-old woman with two artificial can be. I love her.

Now I’m finished packing and the bread is near done, so I go up to pull it out of the oven, have a quick bowl of soup, and hit the road. Granny is just waking from her first nap of the day and we chat while I bring her a piece of fresh bread. I eat soup and listen again to the babbling brook. I smile, kiss Granny, and say, “See you tomorrow!”

As I’m on the road I realize how helpful Gramps and Granny have been and are for me. Letting me use the truck to visit Dad, Joel, and U Oregon for my interview; giving me the opportunity to save money for a trip to Mexico; and the incalculable feeling of unconditional love and kindness. Some days- especially with the ongoing economic crisis- I feel like a spoiled brat. But mostly I see how supportive and loving my Grandparents are in my life. And more and more, I hope that I am in some small way returning the favor.


Love to you all,

Ike

Much Needed Trip to Oregon

So coming down from the high of being given an interview at U Oregon, I am now planning my trip out to the land of euthanasia, granola, and good ole fashioned rain. I'm excited about getting to see a few of the folks who are dear to me who I haven't seen in a while: Leah, Gabe, Laney, and Shelley.

I'll be hollering at each of you to figure out what we can work out in the way of time together. I will be coming through Portland on Wednesday Jan 28 and Thursday the 29. Hopefull Laners, we can squeeze in a cup of coffee, bowl of soup, something during that time. Something.

Meems- I'll call you so we can make plans. 

Jens once told me that it takes about two weeks for the reality of any sort of decision or new change to fully sink in. Well, J-man, I think mine is closer to a week (maybe I'm just a bit more neurotic and frenetic than you). Today, I fully realized how necessary it is for me to have an outlet for this experience with my Grandparents here in Moscow.  As I mentioned before- there's a sort of ebb and flow to my complete annoyance with and unconditional love for my Grandparents and it's not like I can really share much of that with them. That is, I am learning to accept them on their terms. Everyday I will hear Grandma ask me if I'd like her to cut my hair. Everyday I'll have Grandpa ask me what I'd like to eat for dinner (knowing full well that he will end up making whatever he's found in the Betty Crocker Cookbook anyway). Everyday I'll witness Grandma bossing Grandpa around to pick up the nearest piece of lint or swat at the fly on the wall in the far corner of the living room that is probably already dead from the astronomical temperatures in the upstairs. I have to breathe. I have to breathe again. And then I have simply accept the situation for what it is. 

Could have been the big news yesterday. Could have been that working a retail schedule messes with your circadian rhythms. Whatever the case may be, I woke up today, drove to work, and as I was about to clock in, my immediate supervisor says, "Hey Dude, what are you doing here?" I'm like, "Uh, what you talkin' 'bout Willis?" And he's like, "Shit, you ain't gotta be here til noon man!" I'm all, "Damn, I thought it was Saturday!?" And we were both like, "Damn!!!" I don't know why I felt like my boss and I talk jive (we don't), but I think it adds to the story.

So I drive home kinda pissed that I got up when I did and strangely cheered by my now having three seemingly "extra" hours on my hands. As soon as I walk in the house, Grandma asks,"Ikey, if you want, Grandpa and I will help you to get your hair cut." Awesome."Grandma," I respond, "you don't have to worry about my hair, or what I am going to wear, or what I'm going to eat- despite my track record- I am twenty-seven years of age and am competely capable of making an appointment at SuperCuts and purchasing whatever Old Navy, cheesy shirt I may need for my Interview. " Again, some mornings, this would be cute and endearing, but today...annoying. 

So here I sit at my favorite place in Moscow- One World Cafe. It sits right on one of the main intersections downtown and has huge South-facing windows which I love. Music is pretty hit and miss; and the wanna-be-Portland-hipsters vibe is comical. But as I walked in this morning The Reverend AL Green was sermonizing and I've been digging on him these last 45 minutes. It really does feel nice to just sit, drink coffee, and write. Bradley- I'm starting to understand the simple magic of creating with words.

It'd be nice to close with something profound...but all I've got is that I love all of you very much, and at the risk of sounding, well, a bit delayed on reality realizations regarding friends (this particular reality delay is clearly longer than my typical one-week)- I realize how blessed I am to know all of the truly wonderful and good people I know. And I am looking forward to seeing some of you over in Oregonia.

Ike

I Want a New Duck

So I wake up this morning and check my voice mail to hear some woman's name and the words "university of oregon". I got an interview for the PhD Counseling Psychology Program at U of O!!!!!!!! So after pooping myself, I wiped, and started dancing. 

Anyhow, I have to run off to sell shoes. But I wanted to get a little note out to those I love and especially to those in the Oregon region. Ike may be a Duck.

Quack. Quack.

Ike

I'm Definitely a Fire Sign

It's a typical day-off morning for me- waking up to the sound of Grandpa's shuffle to the bathroom about 8:30. I get up and make my morning coffee; saving just enough for Grandma to have a half cup (she likes my fresh coffee over the instant she typically drinks, just needs it cut with water).  Grab the morning paper and sit down in the recliner with the view of the snow covered hills, and just as I'm reaching for that sacred first sip when Grandpa says, "Grandma pooped last night!" How do you respond to that? 

Everyday gets a little bit weirder and yet somehow furthers my endearment for my strange and simple Grandparents. Grandpa continues to spend his time running between his duties at Good Samaritan Village (for those who don't know, my Gramps is a retired Minister who continues to serve in the capacity of Chaplain/Devotions Leader/Juice Pourer/Corny Joke Teller for the elderly at this Lutheran affiliated care facility) and responding to Grandma's every whimper and cry (which she does a lot these days). Although I'm sure that Grandma's failing health has made things more extreme for Grandpa- it's a small window into all that he does and has done for Grandma. He's not your typical 78-year old male. He cooks, cleans, and keeps the fire stoked all day and all night. Grandma will help with dishes and though she doesn't actually go down the stairs to do any laundry, she LOVES to ask me if I need anything washed. My daily life is largely a mantra that sounds something like, "Grandma, I'm 27 years old."

The funnier part of all of this, is that I AM 27 years old and living with my Grandparents!? I have definitely wondered at times what the hell I am doing here. Grandpa is still quite capable and is used to being in charge and responsible for Grandma's care. Grandma is still more capable than she is willing to believe, but is used to relying on her "Hubby" for pretty much everything. So where does that leave me? Well, I figure that twice a week (on my days off from selling shoes) I can cook the dinner meal. I can be an added presence in the house. Grandpa enjoys having someone he can unload his frustrations and observations on (not to mention watch football and basketball games with- without feeling too terrible guilty). Grandma LOVES having me around. She says this most everyday, and although it made me feel like she still thinks I'm still in diapers at first, I know she means it (and compared to her, I may as well be in diapers). We have dinner together most everyday that it works with my work schedule. When Grandma is feeling up to it, we get in a rowdy game of scrabble. Apparently she hasn't lost control of her scrabble playing skills, as she dominated both Gramps and myself last go around.

She even gloated a bit, saying, "I didn't even really think about what I was doing". I don't think Grams realizes how true that statement is. I actually think it might be her life's motto.

OK, back to my title for this post. So I'm getting ready to leave for the day to come to my little sanctuary: One World Cafe. Being the considerate grandson I am, I go grab an extra large piece of wood to put on the fire while I'm away (Grampa is at Good Sam- so he can't obsessively monitor the fire and Grams only gets up to make herself microwaveable bacon or to pee). I obey all of the rules of the fire place: open the flugh, close the airflow, spread the coals, and place the log on the red hot and ready coals. Well, in my infinite capacity for small details, I have neglected to notice that this log has a notch that will prevent it from entering into the fireplace. But now I've got it halfway in and, in classic Ike fashion, I am jamming and pushing it with the poker...to no avail. I can close the door to the fireplace just enough to prevent the flames from leaping out to start what Grandma is certain will be the inferno that finally does her in. She starts screaming. I push harder. She screams louder. I start slamming the door. Her screaming turns to weeping and hysterical tears. Being the embodiment of all calm and peace I scream, "Grandma just shut up already! It's going to just fine! I dealt with fires all year last year in Montana!" This naturally provides instance placation for Grams. I think to myself, "I should write a bood I'm so good!" Yeah right. So she continues to escalate her dramatic cries and continues to ask if I think we should call 911. To which I scream, "Grandma, stop acting like a 4 year old." To my surprise, this actually works and she clams up. 

Finally, after 5 minutes of this melodrama, I am able to get the entire log completely into the fireplace- with latch firmly closed. I consider driving down to the local tavern for a beer- after all it is 11 am and I have already had to deal with listening to the Bowel Movement Report delivered by Grandpa and some sort of bizarre, soap-opera like moment with my Grandma. But, I realize that this response would not be a whole lot more mature than what I've just witnessed. So I just say I'm sorry and sit next to Granny and hold her hand. We both look at each other and laugh out loud. She says,"I hope no one was recording that!" And you all should know that I have informed her of my writings here- so I do have some level of informed consent (but I can't help but chuckle that she should say that on the very day I start this blog). Perfect.

Anyhow, I realize more and more where my fiery, stubborn nature comes from. Yes, some comes from my Dad's side. Yes, some is my own unique personality for which I am ultimately responsible. And yes, I now know that some comes from my hilarious Grandmother whose flair for the melodramatic, willingness to fight over small things like the size of logs on a fire place (or in my case, for those who know of the story, the maneuverability of hanggliders vs. parachutes), as well as the ability to simply laugh off harsh words and immature actions without so much as blinking. For all of these things, I have my Grandmother to thank.

So to all of you who are willing enough to read my ramblings I thank you. I have also realized in the context of being socially isolated how absolutely blessed I am by all the amazing people I have met in my life. My bizarre, beautiful, loving family is my foundation. My diverse, talented, and caring friends give me the faith necessary to spread my wings and fly just a little higher than I might dare by myself. Indeed, this may be the greatest gift I am given by this time here in Moscow- a deep, daily appreciation for the miracle and gift of life. 

I wish all of you a happy new year. I wish all of you joy, peace of mind, and a reminder to laugh at the stupid things we all do!

Ike

I Just Created a Blog

So I'm sitting downstairs at Grandma and Grandpa's next to the fire, drinking a beer, watching sports center, listening to Grandma tell Grandpa to turn up the volume on Lawrence Welk and I think, "I gotta write this stuff down." 

So here I am- I'm starting a blog for all who care to read my musings and to hopefully provide some level of update to family on Grandma's on going saga.

I love you all and hope this brings some small level of enjoyment.

Ike