The Church of Facebook

I grew up in a good Lutheran church. Well, really in a little house four blocks away, but you know what I mean. It was the church where my parents were baptized and married. We went almost every week, and I could count my non-Lutheran classmates on one hand throughout elementary school (hello, Shannon Welch, you crazy Catholic girl). For the most part it was a good place, for community building and taking care of one another. Often prayers during church were the first place we would learn that someone was sick, and it was through church that help, in the form of hotdishes or snow removal or visits to the hospital or whathaveyou, was most often organized.

But I have, as an adult, left the church. There are many reasons, and that's not really what this post is about;  my mom is still active, and it provides her with lots of necessary community and spiritual goodness, most of the time. I no longer believe in an all-knowing or all-loving god, or any higher spiritual being at all, so it seems disingenuous to spend much time in church.

So for me, in all honesty, the community of Facebook has replaced church.

I'll let that sink in for a moment. Some of you, no doubt, are thinking me a blasphemer. I'm okay with that.

For me, Facebook provides a central place where I can interact with many of my favorite people. I have, according to my Facebook profile page, 183 friends. I find that number startling, really. (My mom's church only has 50 active members, now). Many are people who never post anything, and may well never even log in, for all I know. And I've blocked some people, and unfriended some people, because I just didn't need their particular vibe in my life at one particular time or another. Kind of like sitting in a different pew at church, if you will, or leaving the narthex early to avoid running into someone you're tired of, perhaps.

My friend Tenessa, who probably has 8 million Facebook friends, is very good at moderating conflict and getting disparate sides to come together civilly (she really should be the president. Of the United States, not Facebook. Though if Facebook needs a president, she'd do that well too). I am not so good at that. I tend to call bullshit when I see it, and then sometimes scream and gnash my teeth, and sometimes leap before I look, and so I'm certain that I have, at one time or another, had more than 183 friends, but I have alienated them, and they blocked or deleted me. That's okay too. I didn't want to sit in their pew anyway.

I try not to overuse Facebook. There are times when I should be playing cards with V instead of perusing articles posted by my Aunt Shirley, or I should be vacuuming the carpet instead of playing MonsterWorld or GnomeTown. It's not always easy. But when I log in after I drop V off for the first day of school, and see my friends who are parents posting their kids' first day of school photos, it warms my heart. When I sit down after V's bedtime and see photos of my cousins' dogs, who live in Seattle, I feel less lonesome. When I need advice on who to call in this town for after-hours plumbing, I get five to ten responses, often in conversation with one another, within thirty minutes.

Just in the last 24 hours, these are the conversations in which I participated:

• Red Delicious Apples Desperately Need Renaming, with which I concurred.
• Ultra-sound and sex determination, in which I shared our experience with fetal V.
• Gone With the Wind vs. Game of Thrones, in terms of reading over holiday break, and how much war each book contains.
• A flow chart about the Prince song "When Doves Cry."

Other important social duties I performed or information I gleaned today:

• I wished my friend Chad Smart, with whom I grew up, a very happy birthday.
• I discovered that my friend Debbie, who grew up in England, just learned who Mr. Rogers is this month
• I found out $haun shares a birthday with Lou Ferrigno. 
• I tried to help Tenessa deal with some nasty vertigo (I suggested she pretend she's on an ocean cruise, because it's sort of like seasickness)

I also enjoyed my friend Terry's weekly tribute Garbage Day; updates from sites to which I subscribe, like NPR and mental_floss and Planned Parenthood and the Plains Art Museum; and an article from the New Yorker reposted by Terry of Garbage Day fame. I was invited to two different events this weekendThere were many other things, too, in my feed today, including some I would like to spend more time on but I decided to write this post instead. 

And sometimes Facebook has direct, tangible benefits. When Shaun was sick, in the past, I could put a notice out on Facebook that I needed help with childcare, and often more than three options would quickly be offered. When Sarah and Robby were fighting the flood in their backyard in '09, we used Facebook to coordinate meals and support. When my washer died on Christmas Eve two years ago, I posted it on Facebook as a "hey, this is what sucks in my life today," more than anything. Charlotte in West Fargo offered up their extra set if we'd come pick them up (and I love them still, Charlotte!). Just this week, I lamented my lack of a Bedazzler (tm) and my Aunt Shirley told me she had something similar just waiting to come to live with me. It seems like magic, doesn't it??

It's not a perfect church, the church of Facebook. But I've found what feels to me a good balance, with people who are loving and funny and bright and good, most of the time. Many of them are people I haven't seen in years and years (more than ten, in some cases), or people who live so far away (like Seattle, or London) that I just can't physically see them at all. And sometimes, it makes reunions weird: we had less to talk about at our 20 year high school reunion, because we all friended each other on Facebook before hand, so there was a lot of "So, anything going on you haven't posted on Facebook? No? Huh." I don't agree with all my friends on all things, and if I were a better person I'd weather even more conflict and grow and learn from it. But right now, Facebook provides me with a community that is supportive and smart and and often hilarious. I like it a lot.

And I don't even have to sit in one of those uncomfortable pews. 

I'm baaaaack.....

So a Viking, Frida Kahlo, and Merpunzel walk into a bar.....

or at least into Robby's photography studio. We had such a lovely time at Sarah & Robby's annual Halloween bash. And it was their Cousin Ben, I believe who coined "Merpunzel:" V is both Rapunzel and a mermaid. Of course. 

On Wednesday, she chose to just be Rapunzel ('cause it's hard to walk in a  mermaid tail), and we again trick or treated in my hometown with V's cousins. Luckily, Hendrum is still generous with the candy.

All three Johnson cousins wore sweatshirts I'd embellished for them. They can spell WEV, or EWV, or VEW, but I love them any which way.

So much fun for our wacky little Mer/Rapunzel, Iron Man, and Supergirl.

Hope your Halloween was happy, gentle readers. As you can see, I found my camera, so let's see what happens next, shall we?

All's Fair...

We're pretty boring. Just like last year, we did the Fun Slide...

 And the Ferris Wheel....

 This year, V did a few more rides on her own....

 Because she is almost 52" tall.

She rode this Ferris Wheel all by herself....

 And Shaun pointed and waved. I smiled tightly and held my breath a little. A lot. (hello to the random family walking past in this photo)...

It was a really good day.

You thought I wasn't gonna finish, didn't you?

Yodeling: I have a vague memory of my dad's cousin's ex-wife yodeling in a country-western style when I was about ten. Even before then, I loved the sound of yodeling. It may have started with this awesome Leroy Van Dyke song (which isn't really yodeling, but is so melodic), but we also listened to a lot of Hank Williams and Jimmie Rogers when I was growing up, and that vocal break has always been appealing to my tender ears. With the joy of the internet, YouTube will teach me how to yodel (with Bonnie) if I want, which I clearly do. I'm not quite sure what I'll do with the new, impressive talent I'm sure to develop, but karaoke night in Fargo is never gonna be the same. I sure hope Pepper has this song.

Quilting with friends

I write about my quilts and other sewing excitement fairly often here, so it must come as no surprise to you that Q is for Quilts. I considered just directing you to the "Quilts of Our Lives" series, in fact, and calling it good. But then I remembered these photos I took at our last quilting retreat, and decided you probably wanted to see them.

 The first rule of Quilt Retreat is we don't talk about quilt retreat. No, wait. It's that you don't have to take a shower if you don't want to. No, wait. It's that we offer sisterhood and support to each other in a crafty way. Yes. That's the first rule.

 The second rule of Quilt Retreat is it must include some combination of the Johnson Girls and the Sund*seth Girls (the asterisks protect the innocent from unnecessary Googling). My mom was a freshman in college in 1961 when she met this crazy woman, Kathy from Detroit Lakes. They became part of a rough and tumble group of card players and, after graduation, remained close friends. I wrote about them years ago here. And other places too. Anyway, my point is, I've known Jennifer (above, in green), and Emily, (up above, in pink, saying something with passion) for my entire life, and they are like sisters to me and Jess, but without the weird competition vibe you sometimes get with your own sister.

 Married into this tangled mess is Min*ke, above, who provides a calm, thoughtful perspective under the dull roar that is the rest of us. She also is mama to twin sons, who are the oldest of the grandchildren in our group. She once made a king-sized flannel quilt and decided that was enough quilting for anyone, so she added really cool stencils to t-shirts for her boys during our latest festival.

 And here is Meagan, whose name I rarely spell correctly on the first try, and whose figurative adoption into the Sund*seth clan more than ten years ago (How long has it been, M?) has brought all of us so much joy. She is an expert knitter, a beekeeper, and soon a graduate student who fits right into to our crazy little family.

The third rule of Quilt Retreat is to keep it classy. Above, one of our matriarchs, picking breakfast out of her teeth with a pin, I believe. If you don't know how to play cards, Kathy will teach you, and then proceed to never ever let you win. But she'll do it in a classy way, I tell you.

The fourth rule of Quilt Retreat is something mechanical always goes wrong. Here, Em, Meagan, and I have taken apart my poor Shark sewing machine (don't try this at home. I mean it). On the one hand, cool sewing machine innards, eh? On the other hand, we still couldn't fix it. But we sure had fun trying.

 The fifth rule of Quilt Retreat is no drinking until you're done cutting. Obviously, these three had finished for the evening and were on to wine-fueled discussions of music therapy or dog ownership, probably.

There may be other rules, but if you follow these five, you're sure to have a productive, entertaining weekend of crafty goodness. Now pass me the rotary cutter, and make sure to save me some wine.

Hula, Hendrum, haiku

(Still managing to keep up with the A to Z blogging challenge. Much love to all my commenters, who make this conversation seem so much less one-sided!)

Hula: I've never been to Hawaii, or actually seen hula performed live. But I like the sound of the word, and how it invokes the very motion it describes. The Hawaiian language sounds tropical and lovely to me, too, even "mele kalikimaka." Tenessa and I (and Dan and Shaun) threw a Hawaiian themed party, once, in which we draped our whole apartment in various Hawaiian fabrics, played catchy ukulele music, and allowed Shaun to wear a coconut bra. It was a mostly beautiful thing. I still have approximately 17 yards of Hawaiian fabric to utilize for other projects. Suggestions are welcome.

Hendrum: My hometown, a little blip on the map of the Red River Valley. Hendrum is so much a part of who I am, crafted so much of my childhood, and provided so much to me while I was growing up, that I barely know where to begin. Both of my parents were born in this town of just over 300, in homes right across the street from one another. My maternal grandfather ran Johnson's Fairway, a small, three-aisle grocery store, for over 40 years there; my paternal great-grandfathers helped build the city, moving large buildings across the river with 16 horses, and building shelters at the city park and houses within the city limits. As V gets older, I find myself longing, in some ways, for her to have more of the childhood I had: freedom to roam from yard to yard, knowing all our neighbors, to hear the churchbells and know that it is supper time. There are deep constraints, too, in a town this small with roots so deep: when over half the town remembers her great-grandparents, people she never knew, sometimes a sort of stagnation can set in. In her kindergarten classroom, she has people of all colors, all backgrounds, from Christian to Muslim to Atheist. In Hendrum, diversity amounts to people whose names don't end with "-son." Bake a pie, eat a pie, I guess.

Haiku:
Little poem, precise
simmering words exploding
from my heart to yours.

Dan Lee

I had an elaborate list of D words: death, dirt, douche, die, deaf, deer...man, the letter "d" is kind of depressing. Ah! De-pressing! But then I remembered my old friend Dan Lee. It's his birthday on Friday, and I finally found a word that starts with d that's not bleak, heartwrenching, or yucky.

Now, if you thought all I had to say about Dan Lee is that he's not bleak, heartwrenching, or yucky, you'd be wrong. I mean, that's true, he's none of those things. But wait, there's more!

I first met Dan Lee at Lauerman's bar in Fargo in 1998. I had fallen in love with his then girlfriend, now wife, Tenessa, earlier that semester in our Margaret Atwood class, and went to meet Dan and the gang (like Kool and gang, but with more Dan!) with our mutual friend Steve. I remember walking in and seeing this guy who looked a little like a roofer or farmhand, standing at the bar in a crowded Lauerman's. He was telling a story, surrounded by people, and everyone was listening intently to him, laughing. "That's Dan," Steve said. I didn't believe him. I knew this guy's special lady friend, and I was SURE he wasn't Tenessa's type.

I'm not sure why that was my first reaction, but once I got over my lack of sensitivity to my new friend's type, I liked Dan right away. He's funny and smart and had read all the back issues of Languishing that I'd forced on Tenessa.

I don't know where to begin to explain to you how much I like Dan. I know here, and in real life, I write about my family of origin, and my own family, a lot. I write about my female friends, too. But I somehow just don't talk much about my male friends. I have several that I hold dear, but none dearer than Dan. I guess I'll just tell you a couple of stories about him.

Once, when Shaun and I were first dating, Shaun dropped his keys into a sewer drain on the street. Seriously: like a movie cliche, Shaun came to my apartment all worried, because the keys to everything in his life (car, work, home...) were down the sewer. I didn't know what to do, so we went upstairs and got Dan. Dan brought a wire hanger, and after seven or eight very tense minutes, triumphantly raised the keys from the depth of Fargo. Both Shaun and I knew then that this man was no mere mortal, but some kind of specialized, hanger-wielding superhero.

After he and Tenessa moved to New York City, Shaun and I went out to visit. I had recently started collecting vintage Samsonite suitcases, and while it's an admirable thing to collect (I think), it's totally impractical to travel with. Still, because I was filling my home with the stuff, I really felt it was important that I show Shaun it was useful! And cute! So I packed the large white hardside, (it looked like the one in the link, but had a handle and wheels built in) and off to NYC we went.

After picking it up at the baggage claim, it was clear I'd made a terrible mistake. Though this suitcase had wheels, they were small, close together, and hard to maneuver. And on an average day, apparently, Dan and Tenessa walked 300 miles just to get from their apartment to the subway and back. Oh, the humanity. And Shaun and I, being at least as lazy and out of shape then as we are now, were in no condition to navigate the Big Apple with such a burden. I should've bought a different suitcase at the damn airport, but instead relied on Dan's skillful maneuvering skills and North Dakota hospitality. (I don't know if I ever told him how sorry I was. And am. Ach).

He taught me how to drink from a glass bottle out of the side of my mouth, the joy of The Big Lebowski, and shares my knowledge (and most of my appreciation) of late-70's/early 80's country hits like Sylvia's "Nobody" or David Frizzell's "I'm Gonna Hire a Wino." V calls him Uncle Danny, because that's what I call him, too.

I hope he has a fantastic birthday, and knows just how much I love him. More than dirt, death, and deer, that's for sure.

Crafty Blitz

As we adjust to a schedule where we see very little of Shaun and we juggle care for V (especially on Mondays), I have lots of papers to grade that I'm avoiding, and my favorite way to avoid things is to sew. And sew and sew and sew. 

 Last weekend, we had a little family-esque craft retreat, where I made 3 appliqued t-shirts (V's and Emmy's, above), and pinned a long-finished quilt top (below, Em and Meagan doing my dirty work).

 I also worked on crocheting a uterus, because I love  combining my political beliefs with crafts. My uterus is complete now, but the oviducts (also, but inappropriately, called Fallopian tubes) are causing me some headaches.

(That's right: I'm using an earring as a stitch marker, so I've pierced my uterus. That's hardcore. )

And then I made quilted duffles. Above are mine and V's on the steps of our cabin at Campfire Bay Resort (awesome place! We're totally going back there!).  V picked her colors (the blue and green polka dots + the firefly fabric) and I picked mine, because that white fabric reminds me of the floor of the Rio in Vegas.

Here are all four of them together: Myra's is on top, and left to right it's mine, V's, and Jess's. Jess' has little yellow stars on a green background. These bags are my new obsession, and if it weren't for my pesky job, I'd have made another dozen by now. They're lightweight, come together quickly, and hold lots and lots of stuff (plenty for a weekend). Plus they provide a good home for all those lovely 1-2 yard cuts of fabric that I buy without having a plan.

I've done more than this, even, but I think this post is lengthy enough. Besides, now I'm just using blogging to avoid grading, and that's not helping, either.

Stories I Tell My Students: Walking in the Dark

As I think about the stories I tell my students, I realize that many of them involve gender issues. So often my students, especially the 18-20 year olds, come to my classes believing that inequality between the sexes is a thing of the past, something their mothers and grandmothers had to contend with once upon a time. So I tell them my stories, and see if they think that's still true.

Several years ago, back when I lived just a few blocks from downtown Fargo, my friend Bayard and I stayed at Lauerman's, a bar that's not there anymore, until closing time. It was around 1:30am when we started walking home, and it was a lovely summer's night. We hadn't had so much to drink that we were impaired, really, and I remember the night clearly.

Bayard lived three blocks closer to the bar than I did, in The Gardner, a big security builiding that used to be a hotel. We walked west on 1st Avenue north, laughing and talking, until we got to his door.
"You want me to walk you home?" he asked. I laughed at him.
"Nah. It's just three blocks. Have a good night."

For those of you who are unfamiliar, 1st Avenue North is a one-way street, very busy during the day, but almost totally deserted after midnight. Aside from the former hotel-turned apartments, it's lined with little shops, and across from Bayard's building is the federal courthouse (where Leonard Peltier was convicted of murder).  There's a lovely art museum, an insurance office, and other small office buildings. Nothing at all is open after 7pm. The nearest gas station was 6 blocks away, past my apartment by several blocks. And the security of Bayard's building is not like other security buildings: there's no entryway where you can run in and buzz to be let in. At this time, in the late 90s, you had to go to the payphone up the block and call whomever you were visiting to come down and let you in.

At this point in my story, the men tend to seem quite bored. I wasn't terribly drunk, so they don't see how this story could get interesting. The women, though, almost every one of them is sitting up straighter, staring at me, with a touch of fear in their eyes. They know where this story is probably headed. And that difference in reaction is exactly why I tell this story.

About a block further, as I'm walking, happy with my dear friends and thinking about my little apartment, a man turns the corner toward me. He's about my size, maybe a little taller, probably thinner than me. He looks to be in his late 40s or early 50s. He's just walking, coming my direction, on the same sidewalk I'm on. There are no cars near us, and the stoplights will soon start blinking off and on, as they did at 2am back then.

I stop my story. The women are leaning toward me, wanting to know what happens. The men are looking out the window, or at the carpet. Sometimes, though this is rare, one or two men will be listening carefully.

By name, I call on the most verbal of the men. "What would you do?" He usually looks a little sheepish, because he hasn't been fully paying attention, and he usually doesn't understand the question.

"I'd keep walking. What else would I do?"

Then I open it to the women, who are itching to speak, by now. "Ladies?"

"I'd taze him!" "Did you have pepper spray?" "I'd get on my cell phone and at least pretend to call the cops!" "I'd cross the street, or run the other way."

The men are almost always startled, thinking they missed some important part of the story. To prove my point further, I ask the women, "Where would your keys be?" They almost always have the same answer.

"In my hand, with one out that I can use as a weapon if I need to." They nod together, as if this is the only answer.

I repeat the story, from when I left Bayard at the apartment until the man turns the corner and begins to walk toward me. I ask the men why they think the women react so differently from them. This man showed no malice, appeared to carry no weapon, and clearly was not following me, but just minding his business. He was not enormous and didn't have a wicked mustache he was twirling evilly. The men squirm uncomfortably, realizing that the possible violence women face is more than they realized, and more deeply feared than they knew. The women are often surprised that the men don't know this is our reality.

They want to know how the story ends, so I tell them. I crossed the street, almost immediately, and the man knew why I did, too. He called out to me, "You don't have to be afraid of me. Honest!" Which, as is clear as soon as I say it out loud, is not a comforting thing to say to a woman on a desolate street late at night. "I know," I called back, and walked the block and a half to my apartment, listening for footsteps the whole way, locking the door behind me.  I do feel bad for that guy, who was almost certainly just minding his own business, and who probably had no intention of harming anyone, that night or any night. His intentions didn't matter to me, then, though.

The women point out that we have to do those things, to assume the worst, in order to protect ourselves. I point out that it's a terrible thing, to have so much of our energy go to that kind of self-preservation. 

I'm not sure which reaction makes me more sad: the complete surprise from so many of the men, or complete acceptance of this as how the world works from so many of the women. Both, I guess, just break my heart. Which is why I keep teaching, in the end.

Annual Gift Ideas Post

Unlike previous years, when I would barf ideas for gifts up on the page, this year I swear I'm going to be clear and organized and intentional. Stop snickering at me. It's unbecoming.

Gift ideas for your bestest friends:  You shouldn't even be reading this. They're YOUR bestest friends, people: what could I possibly say to guide you? Oh, okay. i'll try.

• Do something different. If you always buy them a new coffee table book, mix it up. Buy them a new coffee table (check thrift stores. V and I found several funky ones just last week), or some Sanka or something. Is Sanka still a real thing?
• Buy them a beer sampler (Leinenkugel's has some tasty ones this time of year) and refuse to drink from it. Buy two, if you can't help yourself.
• Consider purchasing something you can do together. A pedicure or massage, for example, as opposed to an ob/gyn appointment.  Tenessa has, over the years, gifted me things like my 1/2 of the hotel room cost when we go away for a weekend, or paying for us to go away to a meditation retreat. This ends up sort of like a gift card, though, so make sure you follow through and book that trip together.
• Something matchy. This doesn't work as well if you work together, or if your bestie has fashion rules beyond what this allows, but if you live in different cities & aren't out in public together constantly, having identical scarves or mittens can be a warm reminder of your affection for one another.

Gift ideas for your neighbors whom you don't wish to piss off but don't really care about all that much:

• Cookies or sweetbreads. You can't really go wrong with baked goods, because it seems like a tremendous effort, so even if they hate your cookies, they will still think you like them well enough. Wrap it up pretty and present it in person!
• Liquor: Provided your neighbor is at least 21, liquor is often a welcome gift, unless you know they're in recovery or ought to be. A nice bottle of red wine or sparkling wine says "I thought of you. Not a whole bunch, but I did think of you."

Gift ideas for your in-laws or out-laws:  Like your best friend, I don't know your in-laws or out-laws. I will make some assumptions, but please forgive me if I'm totally off-base.  In-law/out-law relationships can be really varied. For example, you may totally adore your mother-in-law but find your cousin's wife repulsive. In this case, they may better fall into other categories (bestest friends and tolerated neighbors, respectively). You have to help me out here, people.

• If you are new to their family, consider a safe but luxurious option. Plush towels, for example, are often a welcome addition (unless your in-laws have OCD about matching things, in which case, good luck with all that). My mother-in-law once received a cashmere sweater (not from me), which raised the bar all to hell, I tell you what. It was a very inspiring gift.
• Along those lines, a luxurious throw that matches their couch is a lovely option, especially if their house is cold and you have to wear three pairs of pants at once to get through a family evening without shivering. Sort of a gift for yourself disguised as for them deal.
• Food. Especially if your in-laws are hosting holiday get-together time, they will appreciate any addition to their larders. I mean, don't buy them a case of green beans (unless that's how they roll), but something that can be added to the food offerings of the weekend might be especially helpful. Consider summersausage, really great cheese, things that taste amazing on crackers. A nice whiskey or brandy or package of licorice is often a welcome offering to the patriarch, again, if'n he's not in recovery. And don't expect him to share: he might, but he might not, and that's the point of a gift, really.
• Paper products: okay, bear with me here. You may not want to give only toilet paper to your in-laws, but if you're going there to visit, bringing over a 4 pack of TP will be a welcomed thing. Think about it: you and your brood is always going to their house on the holidays, always eating their food, always pooping in their bathroom. Who buys that toilet paper? They do. And it does not grow on trees. (well, you know what I mean). 

Gift ideas for those people you're expected to buy a gift for but just can't think of anything because you don't really know them that well or whathaveyou:We all have these people in our lives, from the mail carrier who knows about your poodle fetish, to your hairstylist who consistently talks you off the ledge every six weeks, to your child's teacher(s) & therapist(s). If you have a go-to gift in this department, I'd love to hear it, because this one tends to stump me. But here's what I know.

• If you're gonna give a gift card, consider the broadest possible options. My sister, who used to teach pre-school, got a lot of use out of West Acres gift cards, which could be used anywhere in the mall. She got a lot less use out of the Starbucks gift cards. Which is not to say she didn't appreciate them: she just doesn't drink coffee, and it seemed like a bit of an effort was necessary to get herself over to a Starbucks not knowing if they'd have anything she'd really like.
• At the same time, I'm all for supporting small & local businesses. A Target gift card will certainly get used, but a gift card to Zandbroz will be more memorable.
• Another gift-card based option is an online one. Etsy's got great stuff, and a lot of etsy shops offer gift cards. Check out these places I like to drool over: a Minnesota jewelry maker, a North Dakota girl, or this shop, from Oregon, that sells prints of animals in suits. Lots of unique,  beautiful gift suggestions just in those three spots. Order soon!
• As a teacher myself, once in awhile I do get gifts from students. Sometimes it's from an entire class (a Hello Kitty coffee maker!) or individuals (a giant tin of popcorn, a Coke and a small bag of Doritos; delicious holiday treats, food from an international student's homeland, WonderWoman socks). Because I teach college, I never expect a gift, but they are always very appreciated. In fact, I think I just listed every gift I've ever received from a student, in 12+years of teaching. So they're very rare, too.  Which means they're heartfelt. I think.
• Because I've mentioned it in the other categories, liquor. It might seem a little awkward to present your preschooler's teacher with a bottle of rum, but seriously, if you spent all your working hours surrounded by toddlers, wouldn't you want a drink?

Gift ideas for your favorite blogger, who has an inordinate fondness for sideshows and murder ballads: Truly, I don't need anything. I'm just honored you thought of me.

• I already have this, but I highly recommend it for people who can stomach creepy music and horrific lyrics. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' Murder Ballads was a gift from my friend Dan, and I can't stop playing it, even though it's the most haunting set of songs I have ever heard.
• If you really want to give me a gift, do some of your holiday shopping through my link at the bottom of the page here. Anything you buy at Amazon by clicking through the link on my page gives me a tiny bit of money. Ever since I put the link up four years ago, I've been raking it in: just under $2 total to date. Amazon won't even let me have the money until it gets to $10. So if you plan to shop through Amazon anyway, why not help me reach my goal?

Gifts for your favorite blogger's partner, who has anxiety issues and cardiomyopathy: Um, yeah. I don't know what to get him. You can't really buy Xanax over the counter (yet), and he's the kind of guy who just buys himself what he wants. Don't you hate that? I mostly farm out the basics (socks, underwear) to our family...which leaves me having to think of something exciting. My ideas so far (Shaun, you should totally not read this part):

• Fancy salt-free potato chips. These actually exist. I don't pretend to understand them, but he really enjoys having junk food that won't hurt his heart immediately (as opposed to the long-term).
• A hilarious picture of V. This is sort of a go-to gift for me to him, because she makes him laugh, and he rarely takes pictures of her. I think he's got 4 frames already on his nightstand. Hm. Maybe I need to think of something else.
• A microwave-safe bowl just for him. We have lots of these, but he eats leftovers almost everyday, and some of our bowls get hot. Would this be a good gift? Or the kind of thing he'd lump in with the shop vac I got him for Father's Day that year? It's so hard to know.

When in doubt, ask for a gift list. Or get a book. Just wandering around a bookstore can often offer you all kinds of inspiration: they totally have books for everyone. Or the aforementioned liquor.

I know you can do it, Languishers! Think different, heartfelt, and lovely. Happy shopping.

Birthday post #2

The ridiculously fashionable Tenessa, helping set up the food table.

 Including the amazing cheeseball she made. That's $haun's head. In cheeseball form. I really would like all my food to be both delicious AND hilarious.

 Here's the rockstar corner. The Elvis poster was there when we arrived: we just had to add KISS. And the squares on the right side of the photo make up Shaun's present from me: a t-shirt quilt. It probably deserves its own post, but it was part of our decor.

Some of the songs we sang (if yours isn't listed, or is listed incorrectly, please leave a comment! I loved every single song but got a little drunk on all the love, so I forgot many):

$haun:

Brick: Ben Folds Five

Chantilly Lace: Big Bopper

Cat's in the Cradle: Harry Chapin

Copacabana: Barry Manilow

One More Minute: Weird Al

Time in a Bottle: Jim Croce

America: Neil Diamond

Soul Man: Blues Brothers

Asshole: Dennis Leary

Superstar: Jesus Christ Superstar

Jen:

Any Man of Mine: Shania Twain

You're the One that I Want: Grease (w/Shaun)

Piece of My Heart: Janis Joplin

Uncle Bill:

Cracklin' Rosie: Neil Diamond

Toddio:

Jambalaya: Hank Williams

Don't Stop Me Now: Queen

Melt With You: Modern English

Anna:

The Gambler: Kenny Rogers (w/ Eric)

Eric:

River of Dreams: Billy Joel

Isn't She Lovely: Stevie Wonder

Ed:

Baby Got Back: Sir Mix-a-Lot

Bring Him Home: Les Mis

A Buck Owens song

Alejandro: Lady Gaga

Tenessa:

Louisianna Woman, Mississippi Man: Conway Twitty & Loretta Lynn (w/Dan)

Honestly: Stryper

Act Naturally: Buck Owens

Carla:

That'll Be the Day: Buddy Holly

Total Eclipse of the Heart: Bonnie Tyler

Jess:

Somewhere Over the Rainbow: Israel

Happiest Girl in the Whole USA (w/Jen)

We Didn't Start the Fire: Billy Joel (w/Jen)

Another song I don't remember

Dan:

Work It: Missy Elliot

Hold On: Wilson Phillips (w/Tenessa)

Party party party

As promised, we had belly rubbing:

 Shaun and Brady. Behind Shaun is our life-sized cardboard KISS, a gift several years ago from our friend Johanna. Our decorating theme for the party was "Things Shaun Likes."  Shaun's shirt is from Teenwolf. Of course.

 Tenessa made a beautiful Shaun-shaped cheese ball. Yum.

 Ed surprised us!

 The Johnson sisters. Here we're singing Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire."

 Our friends the Runestads, singing "The Gambler."

 Uncle Bill! He sang "Cracklin' Rosie." I love that song.

 Dan & Tenessa sang "Louisiana Woman; Mississippi Man" but applied it to their lives. "Minnesota Woman, North Dakota Man." It was beautiful.

 Carla came down off the stage and worked the crowd.

Brad and my Jess. And my purse.

We didn't have a huge turnout, but it ended up perfect: everyone got to sing several times, with basically no wait, and we could visit and still hear each other sing. Plus, karaoke is just more fun when you know and love every person in the room. It was really, really, really the perfect party for us. Thank you so much to everyone who came, even if you didn't sing.

I'll work on posting at least a partial list of songs performed, after Shaun wakes up from his nap. We're not accustomed to partying like rockstars, apparently.

Last night's party portrait: Skol, pop star!

At the Kjos-Njos Halloween Bash last night, V and I had our portrait taken by Robby, who's, like, a real photographer. (Uncle Shaun has a bad cold, and doesn't feel like dressing up when he's sick, so he stayed home).

As a Viking, I always hoped my daughter would grow up to also be a Viking. Since she aspires to be a popstar, I scowl even more than usual.

I made both of these costumes, completely, with the exception of V's microphone and my helmet, both of which we borrowed from my sister's family. I tell you this not to impress you, but to explain any sloppiness.

(And I know that historically, Vikings didn't really wear horned helmets. But it's the easiest way to identify oneself as a Viking today, so I went with it.)

I'll do a more detailed post on V's costume after tomorrow, when she presents the second version of her pop star self.  Stay tuned!

Ye Halloween Costumes of Old

You know, it's that time of year again: spookier things than usual show up in the neighbor's yard, my niece resumes her candy corn addiction, and our friend Carla plans a giant pumpkin carving party. As this week's public service Languishing article, I'd like to inspire (or disgust) you with costumes from my past. (In the interest of historical accuracy, these are not in chronological order. I know you folks are into details like that). Enjoy!

• An awesome inflatable head alien that my cousin Nathan had worn a few years earlier. This is the only costume I remember from when I was a kid. It was mid-October, and I didn’t have a costume yet, so I went over to my aunt Beverly’s house to see if she had any ideas. This goofy, inflatable alien head was my favorite in her costume box. It was made out of the same material as a beach ball, and as such wasn’t all that comfortable, but I loved that I had a head on top of my own head. I saw one kind of like this at the thrift store a few weeks ago, and I felt this tug of nostalgia for a plastic hat.

• Saloon Girl: in purple satin with black lace. This was the first major costume I sewed for myself, and I got to use a grommet maker for the corset part. I made the mistake of wearing it to work one year, and discovered it’s just a tad disconcerting to have college freshmen catcalling their English instructor.
• Medusa: I put my hair up and stuck little plastic snakes all over. It made me laugh, anyway, and made for one of my favorite blog post titles.
• Rosie the Riveter: my favorite of all. I found a denim shirt and a red bandana at the thrift store, and made my own backdrop out of yellow, white, and blue poster board. And put a monkey wrench in my pocket, AND I was happy to see you.

Jesus, Supergirl, & Rosie the Riveter walk into a Halloween party...

• Fortuneteller. The go-to easy last-minute costume, from upper elementary until today. A long skirt, a flowy shirt, some shiny earrings, and a Romanian accent, I can offend Gypsies near and far. I've actually been a variation of this costume twice in the last six years. But I wasn’t trying to offend anyone: I was a Fortune Teller. I even studied a little palm reading and tarot. I’m all about authenticity, you know.
• A separated conjoined twin: My friend Bayard and I, who looked nothing alike, except that we’re both white and we both had long brown hair, drew scars on each other’s sides, then pulled down our t-shirts and went out. This was a lovely costume, but it took too long to explain it to the bartenders who kept accusing us of not having costumes.  Later in the evening, when we got separated into different bars, it just got funnier. At least to me.

Consider yourselves inspired. Now I'm off to figure out what I'm doing this year....

Longtime friends

In the big city for just under a day this weekend, I got to see some of my dearest friends from college. You know, the kind of friends who were beside you as you figured out who you wanted to be when you grew up; the friends who would help you devour a pint of butterbrickle ice cream because  the dorm fridge would be defrosted over break and who wants to waste an entire pint of butterbrickle? Ah. The friends that just make you happy to be near. I don't see them nearly enough.

 Jeni

 Heather

and Tami Jean. The four of us hadn't all been together since Tami's wedding five years ago. That's just not right.

Jeni's David, above, with their son Christopher and Tami's daughter Holly. Chris adores Holly.

 Holly's impossibly tiny fingers. She's already 3 1/2 months old, and this is the first time I'd met her. She's a delicious cuddle of a girl.

And Holly's big sister, Violet.

So, so glad I got to see these folks. I hope it can happen again very, very soon.

More birthday photos

Below, the hat decorating station (yes, that's a church pew. Yes, in our backyard. Where do you keep your church pew?).

 And here are more shots of my friends and their beautiful children. My sister's a fine photographer, isn't she?

 With such lovely guests, how could it not be a lovely day?