I think my parents can attest to my love of dance from birth. There’s a rumor that at age 3 I sat and watched the entire Nutcracker performed on PBS. Then, a couple of years later I was enrolled in my first class at our local YMCA. From there I was quickly recommended to start training with a dance studio. It was breathtaking… the huge mirrored walls, the slender girls with their face-lift hair do’s. And everyone was much older than me.
The instructor was very strict, I remember, but I must have lost my mind when I decided I wanted to quit. And since my parents were never the kind to force a child into something they hated (other than vegetables), quit I did.
I don’t remember exactly when I started thinking about dance again. Not just watching it, but being it. Because you can’t just do dance, it comes from somewhere in your soul.
Anyway. The past year or so I’ve tossed around the idea of joining an adult dance class. But now all those years of enjoying the ballet come back to haunt me. Physically. I’m far from slender, and hardly athletic. Some days I’m barely coordinated enough to not run into the door frame. But I still love to dance.
I can’t describe how badly I want this, nor how terrified I am of my 26 year old self not having anything left of that 6 year old ballerina.
I know that I should just try it, regardless of what I might look like in a leotard. Maybe I’m more afraid that I just CAN’T. That even with all my best effort, I won’t be able to do the work. That I’m just too late.
I’m really not sure what to do here.
I’m just not.

I don’t know where I’m at with this

These past couple of weeks have been blissfully busy. I haven’t given much thought to the wedding at all except to book our appointment to sign the museum contract & put down our down payment.
I did find out there are a lot more people interested in going dress shopping with me than I realized. Tiff, Abby, Mad & Mom (I’m sure, even though she hasn’t actually said as much :P) all want to be my posse in the quest for the virtually impossible.
Ok, maybe not so much sarcasm. The more pictures I’ve looked at, the less I know what I want. I’ll probably need all the help I can stand. I suppose I should be practicing my tolerance for these kinds of things anyhow. I just can’t help gagging a little no matter how grateful I may be for the second (third & fourth) opinions.
Back to my glass of wine for the evening.

I don’t know you, but you can share my tea

This holiday season I decided that I probably had a lot more time on my hands than money lying about, and I should try my hand at making some gifts.
Well, now that I’m (almost) done with all that, I think I learned some things about myself that a) I wasn’t surprised about but b)I really am glad to know.
First of all, I baked about 8 dozen cookies and two cheesecakes this year. This still doesn’t seem like a lot when it’s said like that, but considering I waited until I was making the cheesecakes to bust out my Kitchenaid mixer, that’s a LOT of manual labor. I feel buff after two batches of oatmeal cookies. Also, we don’t have a dishwasher. So after the first couple rounds of baked goods, Brandon started doing dishes twice a day so I could always have my mixing bowls & measuring cups clean. (I don’t think I ever would have gotten all this done without his help). He also read recipes to me when I was elbow deep in batter, reminded me to set timers, and bravely tested all my creations. Only once did he spit it out and tell me that it was under-cooked.
Anyway, I realized that I know a lot more about cooking & baking than I thought. I’ve watched a lot of PBS cooking shows. And I can’t remember an age that I wasn’t helping my mom & grandmother in the kitchen. I feel really comfortable there.
The other thing I learned is that I really love the look on a person’s face when you give them exactly what they’re craving. “You made this? Really?”
Yup, really.
On the flip side, I’m really glad to be (almost) done with this for a while. Dinner for two has never sounded better.


I’m still seething.
You cannot just arbitrarily change something and not check with me first.
You cannot expect me to go character by character through every single one of your 3 page orders and double check EVERY single specification just on the off chance that you changed something. And did not check with me first.
You cannot assume that the change you want to make is available. Or that it costs the same.
You cannot wait 3 weeks after I shipped you something to finally tell me that it’s wrong. Especially if you’re going to order it again and still not mention that you changed something.

You people are making parts that go into bodies. You have to communicate with me.


More so than the impulse to find the perfect over-priced gift, this season to me represents my own guilt-ridden gluttony. It’s horrifyingly embarrassing how quickly one cookie can turn into five or six. And these are really good cookies. Our vendors at work bring us treats; yesterday we packed up tins and tins of home made cookies for our customers too. They’re everywhere.
I’m even finally getting back into my gym routine, which makes the guilt worse. Sore muscles all for nothing? Sigh.
So far there is no happy ending to this story. OH yeah, and I have a checkup the first week of January. I guess if my doctor thinks I’m doing ok then I’ll stop being so hard on myself.