Things That Happen When I Leave My Camera in the Car

Oh, I wish I had my camera in my purse yesterday afternoon...but then, maybe if I had, I wouldn't have seen the things I did.

So, I brought my camera with me, because I was seeing Jessica, and I haven't had a picture taken with her in...oh...about two years? We've known each other forever, yet never seem to be anywhere where a picture seems important. So, I needed to capture us at this current moment in time, before we're suddenly 30 and have only pictures of ourselves at 23 with which to amuse ourselves.

So, I did get those pictures.

But later in the day, I met someone new in Berkeley, and I didn't bring my camera. I wanted to, because I've been aching to take some pictures of the Berkeley campus, but I didn't bring it. I didn't want to take pictures of this new person, because I am somewhat...shall I say...superstitious about taking a picture of a new guy. I tend to no longer think the guy is cute after I take a picture, so it's best to let the "cute" settle into "dating" or a "relationship" before I take a picture.


But that means that I did not get pictures of:

1) The view from the top of the Campanile. I had never been to the top of the Campanile, because it was frequently closed as a student. And, oh, were there things to take pictures of. The bells, the art deco architecture...sigh.

2) The shoes. Okay, so through the course of this five hour...date? outing? I don't know what it was, but we encountered abandoned shoes three very distinct times. The first was up by Haas School of Business. There was a single male's Teva sandle on top of a rock, like in this, "I conquer the mountain" kind of pose. About two hours later, there was a pair of lady's mary janes tucked neatly under a white picket fence on College Avenue. And finally, at just before 8 p.m., there was a pair of sneakers, complete with either a sweatshirt or a pair of socks, I didn't care to check, resting on a bus stop. These shoes were very interesting. I wonder if someone had set them up intentionally for people to find, as I imagine often happens in Berkeley, but in any case, I didn't have my camera.

But I did capture the images in my mind, and I suppose that's a good thing.

Saturday

Perhaps because I'm reading a book about a journey around the world, or perhaps just because today was a whirl-wind day, I want to describe my day in pictures.


First, let's start with something telling about my hands on interview day:



I think that I was, perhaps, just a tad nervous.

Luckily, my nerves did not get the best of me, I survived the interview and lived to spend Saturday morning working in the garden. I finally got the roses trimmed, and I discovered that we had some green beans ripe for the picking!



I also had the energy to spend a bit more time with my dogs...and they were certainly happy for the attention. I noticed that my German Shepherd finally looks like a proper German Shepherd again...after a bout of Polish depression:



And, of course, what's an afternoon in the garden without JJ, the best helper-dog in the garden :)?!



Mostly, I'm just relieved to have the interview out of the way and to have returned to some level of sanity :).

Interview Day

I had my very first professional interview today.

Siiiiiiigggghhhhhh

I'll know "within two weeks" whether or not I will be hired/promoted/given a new job/force to look elswhere for a job that never once threatens to numb my midn.

And it's a job in the library system where I already work, so I have to be patient as I see the panel of interviewers every. single. day.

But, I do want to share the nicest thing that was said to me today:

"I would hire you on the spot, just because you look so nice in your suit!"

This was said by someone in our office (not a smarmy guy, more like a nice grandmotherly type), not too long before my interview, and it was a lovely confidence booster.

On A Soapbox

As each day passes, I become more and more of a feminist.

I read an article in Glamour Magazine that says that in India, right now, some parts of the country are actually experiencing a shortage of women because of a process known as "gender selection." Basically, what happens is that when a woman is far enough along for an ultra-sound, she goes in to the doctor, finds out what she is having, and if it is a boy, the neighborhood throws a party. If it's a girl, she has an abortion. Signs around the country say things like "Spend 500 rupees now, save 50,000 rupees later," pointing out the cost differences between an abortion now and a dowry later. Since abortion became legal in India, millions of baby girls have been aborted. And when they are not aborted, they are often left in what Glamour called "extended infanticide," where they are left without nutrition, health care or other basic necessities of life (including love and affection)until their mothers are relieved to see them die.

Possibly the saddest part beyond the murder of countless women is the fact that the solution to the female shortage is NOT for women to have their daughters or for the country to realize that the value of women goes beyond childbirth. No, the shortage of woman is countered with bride purchasing. BRIDE PURCHASING. And the whole problem begins again. If the purchased brides produce only daughters, then the brides are re-sold. Some of them are re-sold after giving birth to sons as well.

Why does this happen? How did it come to be that women have such a low place in society? Have such a place that their own mothers feel compelled to kill them before they are born, just because they are girls.

Seriously, what is going on here? How did we get to the point where women are having abortions just so they can have sons?

One man in the article proudly proclaimed, "My wife aborted 15 daughters, but I have 6 sons."

That makes me want to cry. That makes me want to scream. That makes me want to get on my feet and do something.

The Last of the Top 100

Here's the last of the 100 things about me, and then, in the next post, I can talk about boys, or dogs, or vacation, or, uhm, anything but me.

And so, the final installment of the list:

76. I continue to find it fascinating how ridiculously small the world is.
77. On Friday, I saw my sort-of-ex from college (aka Goat Boy) at the fair.
78. I didn't talk to him.
79. Nor did I want to.
80. This is a good thing.
81. The sudden, out of context, appearance made me realize how much I've changed in the last several years, most specifically in the last three years.
82. For one thing, my hair is longer...and its natural color.
83. And I don't live in Boston.
84. Nor do I want to.
85. I do want to date someone who wants to be more than a jazz musician, because only rich white kids from the burbs have the parental funding to pursue such a career. And I want to date someone who actually is a contributing member of society.
86. And I have a serious bias against rich white kids from the burbs.
87. I am not a rich white kid from the burbs, nor was I ever.
88. Instead, I am a roughly-middle-class kid with a desire to save the world.
89. I was relieved to discover that I can save the world without having to move cross country.
90. My new career does not require a Ph.D., although I have friends getting Ph.D.'s, and sometimes I feel like I should get one,and then I remember that I don't need one.
91. Plus, I think that getting a Ph.D. would impede my newly resurrected habit of talking on AIM.
92. Apparently, I CAN still carry on three simultaneous conversations with different people on AIM. Ahh, remember the days.
93. While I have changed a lot in the last three years, I haven't changed that much from my favorite picture of myself from my childhood - I'm about four years old, dressed in pink overalls, glaring angrily at several dolls on the ground. Apparently, I was playing house, and my children were in trouble. There are two very funny things about the picture - 1) I have SEVERAL baby dolls...never just one and 2) My dog is staring helplessly up at my mom, who's taking the picture, as if to say, "This child is way too stressed out for a four year old, and I don't know what to do about it."
94. I find it both amusing and reassuring that I've always been this tightly wound.
95. Seriously, I was born stressed-out.
96. I've worried about my grades since kindergarten.
97. I've also had a slight obsession with the color pink since childhood. It's my signature color.
98. I still tend to match colors (what's wrong with matching, I ask you, what IS wrong with matching?), but I don't really wear socks that often and no longer have any scrunchies.
99. I am, at heart, a little country girl who happens to like frequent excursions to the big city and as such am oddly proud of the fact that my dad almost got in a fight with someone in the parking lot of a museum on a recent excursion to the big city and of that fact that my mom and I almost duked it out with a rude cashier in the cafe of the same musuem.
100. When I stop to think about it, I have a pretty awesome life, and I am rather happy with who I am, where I am, and where I'm headed.

Heated Shopping

What a great weekend! Of course, it was 115 degrees on Saturday and 113 on Sunday, but it was fabulous and just what I needed.

I volunteered at the fair on Friday afternoon and had a nice time pretending to be an actual librarian. I informed people about library programs, signed them up for library cards and otherwise acted like I know what I'm doing and my mom had a good time chatting up the other volunteers and getting out amongst the people - it was a blast. I also found out that my collage won first place in the Graphic Arts category!! Whoo-hoo!!

And Irene and I melted our brain cells on Sundy in Walnut Creek. Why we thought going to an outdoor mall would cool us down, neither of us know, but we blame the heat for that decision.

...and I just have to share this one little tidbit, because it just speaks volumes about Walnut Creek.

Irene and I went to the restroom in Nordstrom's. We opened the door to leave said restroom, and there was a woman on the otherside, just about to open the door.

"Oh, you scared me!" she said, as though I had purposely snuck up on her and opened a door in front of her, when in fact, it was her who almost ran right into me.

I am confused by people who are shocked to see someone exiting a restroom, and are, in fact, scared when they see someone leaving a public restroom. Uhm, are you the only person in the world who uses the restroom? Haven't you seen enough comedies to know that someone always gets their face slammed by the door, and you should be prepared for such an eventuality?

Ah, well, perhaps the heat had addled her brain, as well.

Issues

Going against what I said just a few short months ago, I'm back on Match.com. I know that it's a risk and that it might end in disappointment, but it also gives me hope and offers some possibilities. Recent events have proven to me, once again, that I'm not too good at the spontaneous meeting.

In any case, I've been browsing the profiles of some young men and have noticed a disturbing trend. Many of them specifically request a woman "without issues." Now, clearly, that's not me, and that's okay. I don't have to be a match for every man on the dating site. What I realized, though, is that everyone has issues. It's just a matter of how we respond to our issues. No one but a robot has a perfect existence. No one but someone so seriously deep in denial that they might actually wind up injuring themselves could possibly say that they don't have any issues.

Maybe these guys just got out of a relationship with a drama queen, or maybe they dated someone with some serious issues, or maybe they don't want a relationship at all, just someone to, uhm, hang out with.

But really? A woman without issues? Isn't that like a birthday without presents? Or even more impossible, like spotting bigfoot?

I can see the headlines now:

SPOTTED! AN ISSUE-FREE WOMAN. SHE GETS ALONG WITH ALL MEMBERS OF HER FAMILY, BUT ISN'T TOO CLOSE TO THEM, DOESN'T GET CAUGHT UP IN TRIVIAL DRAMA AMONGST HER FRIENDS, HAS NO PROBLEM IF THE GUY ONLY CALLS WHEN HE WANTS SOMETHING AND NEVER, EVER, EVER CRIES.

Good luck, guys!

On Judgment and Plaid Skirts

And so, I continue the list about little ole me.

51. This morning, I tried on three different shirts before settling on something to wear. I also ended up changing from capris to a skirt. Why is this interesting? Uhm, maybe it's not.
52. I pick out my clothes for the whole week on Sunday, and clearly, by the time I get to "Wednesday" in my mind, I am out of ideas for clothes that don't make me look like I have never met an iron I liked.
53. Yes, I pick out my clothes for the whole week on Sunday.
54. I blame this both on twelve years of Catholic schooling (and never really having to pick out an outfit) and on my intense desire to sleep as long as possible in the morning.
55. I survived twelve years of Catholic school and then went to Berkeley. This often surprises people.
56. Yes, Britney Spears' Catholic school girl get-up in her "Hit Me Baby One More Time" video did offend me greatly.
57. Not that I care anymore.
58. The first day I moved into the dorms, some stupid guy asked me if what they say about Catholic school girls was true.
59. Innocent 17 year old me said, "What do they say about Catholic school girls?"
60. I wish I hadn't asked.
61. Needless to say, I never attended a "school girls and principals" themed frat party in college. I am way too judgmental and uptight for that.
62. See, I am aware of my flaws. It's not like I think I'm perfect (well, not entirely perfect all the time, but certainly more perfect than some people...but then, that defeats the meaning of the word perfect)
63. It's quite obvious, at times, that I was an English major.
64. I never wanted to major in English, because I grew up with English majors in the family, but somehow writing essays was the only thing I knew how to do when I went to college, and I'm way too lazy to start from scratch.
65. Many people in my family never even went to college. In fact, my great-grandmother was 14 when she got married...a strange fact that I love to tell people.
66. I love to shock people with various tidbits from my family's past...and present.
67. Some people don't believe me. After all, how can one family be that nuts?
68. But really, it's four families...and if you keep going back to through generations, you would see that I descend from a long line of wackos.
69. But a lot of my extended family are really nice people...
70. And the others married their cousins. First cousins.
71. I haven't met a cousin I wanted to marry, so I think we're safe for at least another generation.
72. When I do get married (to a man who's not a blood relative), I want to hear "Only the Good Die Young" at my wedding
73. Mostly so I can sing aloud to the parts, "You didn't count on me, when you were counting on your rosary" and "You Catholic girls start much too late"
74. My wedding's gonna ROCK!
75. re: #64...I'm not really lazy, and I would feel just awful if you thought I was. See, I'm judgmental enough to assume that everyone else is judging ME...

A Tasty Treat

I have to pause between writing about ME to include some pictures of things I've been making in the kitchen lately...keep in mind that none of these things were served in the same meal...so, don't get worried :).

I've been enjoying my newly rediscovered hobby of cooking and baking, and luckily for the scales in the houses of my family and friends, I've moved more towards cooking than baking. So, more dinners than desserts, but still, there are some tasty treats coming out of the kitchen.

I made a Gâteau de Crêpes - a cake made of 20 layers of crêpes. The layers in between are raspberry sauce, pastry cream and a mix of chocolate chips & hazlenuts that tasted like Nutella, only not so sweet. I topped it off with powdered sugar and raspberry sauce. I called this "breakfast for dinner" so that I could get away with it not being dessert. I recommend starting a day early with some aspects of the recipe.



For my parents' anniversary dinner on Friday, I made a Salmon and Leek Quiche. I've never made a quiche that didn't have cheese in it, but this one didn't, and I liked how it turned out. I also have never made a quiche where the pie crust wasn't cooked before the "insides" of the quiche were put in, and, again, I was surprised by how well this worked.


And, finally, one last treat, fried okra. I can't share the recipe, because it's sort of a family tradition. Actually, it's sort of made up, but between my dad and me, we guessed at the appropriate spices for the okra, and it turned out quite well. I realized that trick is to use fresh okra, not the sticky frozen kind.

This side-dish (which went with a complete Southern-style meal on Sunday) reminds me of visiting my Great-Grandmother when I was younger. Other than her company and playing a game of marbles (during which she always cheated...), the best parts of the meal were fried okra and rice pudding. MMMMM. I guess I'll always be a Southern girl at heart.

Part Deux

And so, the list of 100 things about *me* continues...

26. This weekend, I was not bored. In fact, I went to go see Monet at Normandy at the Legion of Honor over the weekend.
27. I love Monet and the other Impressionists. I know that it is a cliché for girls to like the impressionists, and I don't care.
28. I will never be a painter. I can paint things like walls, endtables and chairs, but I cannot paint pictures of things.
29. Thus, when a boy asks me what I like to do in my spare time, I will not answer that I like to paint pictures of things.
30. But I do like to take pictures of things.
31. So, when I remember that one of my favorite things to do in the world is to take photographs, then I will reply that in my spare time, I enage in my hobby of photography.
32. But I often don't remember my own favorite things to do, because I am inexplicably caught off guard by this standard question. Perhaps it's because I hate that standard question so much that I subconsciously refuse to provide an honest answer.
33. Lately, I have realized how much of the dating game I actually can't stand.
34. I read an article that said that men like women who "walk with purpose."
35. I don't know what that means. And I don't want to know what that means.
36. I want a boyfriend (perhaps Scott Foley), but I don't want to date if it requires that I change my fundamental personality.
37. I tend to dump guys who suggest that I change any aspect of my personality, whether that be the fact that I tend to run a little late, that I have a very loud laugh or that I live at home. I will scream the next time a guy asks me when I am moving out.
38. I don't see a problem with dumping someone who suggests on the second date that I need to start doing bible study.
39. I am one of the few women I know who is the same person whether or not she has a boyfriend.
40. Unlike some of her friends and how they act around their husbands, my mom is the same around my dad as she is around the rest of the world, and I admire her for that.
41. I never want to be a Stepford Wife.
42. I imagine that my children will be slightly out of control but very lovely none-the-less.
43. I worry that I will end up with either a) a problem child who will simply refuse to obey even the simplests of suggestions from his/her mommy, or b) an incredibly OCD child who will be the pinnacle of perfectionism, the result of generations of over-achiever-dom honed down into one, incredibly tightly-wound child.
44. But first, I need to actually start dating.
45. Please note that I did not say, "First, I need to find a boyfriend."
46. I am considering online dating again, specifically Match.com.
47. Did I mention that I tend to make vows like, "I will never try online dating again," and then go ahead and do just what I said I wouldn't do?
48. Did I also mention that I work in an office comprised almost exclusively of women, live in the suburbs, where the men are either a) a married or b)white boys who pretend to be ghetto and work at the cell phone booths in the mall?
49. I have never dated one of these scary white boys, and I do not intend to start now.
50. I have also never dated a frat boy, a fact of which I am very proud.

One Hundred Things

I read that it's important for a blogger to post this list, at least once, and considering that I'm coming up on the third anniversary of this blog, I think it's high time.

So, in case you were wondering, here are 100 things about ME (or at least a start).

1. I'm a blonde, but I don't have blonde moments.
2. I am incredibly offended when someone says something ditzy, then says they had a blonde moment, then looks at me and says, " Sorry, Sarah."
3. I love my name. My parents did a fabulous job, and I have great fun telling people that I was sort of named after a Clint Eastwood movie.
4. In addition to having a strange fondness for Clint Eastwood, I have a weird attachment to Stephen King, all because my dad read my Stephen King books when I was an infant and a toddler.
5. The fact that I was read Stephen King as a child explains a lot about me.
6. My childhood, while also full of strange family disputes that really belonged in a trailer park, and not in a suburban neighborhood, was also quite full of love. I never once doubted that my parents loved me, and my grandparents at least tried to feed me cookies.
7. Cookies are one of my favorite things to bake. They don't fall like a cake, and the fun keeps going and going and going, because I almost always double the recipe.
8. Baking is the hobby that calms me down the most.
9. Photography excites me the most.
10. People do not like it when I take their pictures, and this explains why my pitiful portfolio is full of close-up pictures of my dogs' faces and pictures of roses and cakes from odd angles.
11. I like to look at the world from different perspectives as often as possible.
12. I am conservative, but I generally don't get along with conservative people, because I'm not that conservative, and I find super-conservative people way too judgmental.
13. The same is true for uber-liberals.
14. This could explain why I am so fond of saying that I "love the middle."
15. I love the middle of vactions, relationships, books, movies, outings with my friends. I love that point where you forget where you came from, forget where you're going and just enjoy the moment.
16. In my regular, daily life, I find it incredibly difficult to enjoy the moment and tend to worry about what's coming up next.
17. I get bored very easily.
18. I have difficulty concentrating for extended periods of time. It's extraordinary that I made it through high school, college and grad school without failing a class (and actually finshed with a rather extraordinary GPA).
19. Of course, I did once choose not to take a class in college because it took place when Dawson's Creek and Felicity were on, and I so enjoyed watching those shows with my roommates and other friends.
20. I did not watch those shows for the life lessons or for the realistic portrayal of high school or college life. Rather, I watched them to make fun of the pretentious dialogue and comment on Kerri Russell's hair.
21. I pick Noel.
22. I would date the real-life Noel, Scott Foley.
23. I am such a good future girlfriend that I didn't even have look up his name on IMDB
24. But I almost did.
25. I'm bored. Stay tuned for Part II.

Feminism Circa 1920

In honor of the Relay for Life (an event that honors cancer victims and survivors), my family had the opportunity to decorate luminarias in honor of two of my great-grandmothers, both of whom passed away from cancer.

This mean delving into that great unknown that is the family album. Luckily, I have a fairly well organized one that I created when I had a *slight* obession with scrapbooking.

We did find a great picture of my great-grandmother lifting my dad as a toddler up to to get an apple from a tree.

But I also found something else.

I found permission.

I have my great-grandmother's social security card. And the card lists her first, middle and last names, but there is something else. There is an initial between her middle and last names, and I know what the initial stands for...her maiden name.

My great-grandmother got married in 1920, at the ripe old age of 14. She lived in the deep south and had little education. One would assume that she would shed her maiden name and fully adopt her husbands name, but she didn't.

I knew that her maiden name was important, as my grandmother used it as my father's middle name, but I didn't realize how important.

Now, 86 years later, the fact that my great-grandmother kept both her middle and maiden names gives me permission to do the same. I am no where near close to getting married, but in the last couple of years, I've thought a lot about what I would do with my name when that time does come. I have wanted to keep it in some way but didn't want it to replace my middle name.

I can see now that it wouldn't be quite so new for me to keep my name, and if I have the opportunity, I'd like to give my great-grandmother's maiden name in some form to one of my children, after all, it's clearly important!

After Lunch

NLC called at ten in the morning to tell me that he had arrived at my office building but that he didn't know where my office actually was.

At ten in the morning, I told him that I would come downstairs in a couple of minutes and return the book to him.

At ten in the morning, I sighed at the fact that ten in the morning is not right before lunch.

Over the weekend, I neither thought about nor talked about NLC. And it's not just because I didn't talk about guys with my grandma. I did. I mentioned one or two that I dated, or at least I told her why I broke up with one or two guys I dated. I made no mention of NLC.

On Monday morning, I realized that I no longer wanted to chew out NLC. I didn't care enough to do that. I did care enough about my reputation and my working relationship with both of his parents to not come across like a crazy person (that person is saved for those who really know me).

I still thought about what I might say when I saw him, but then he called me much earlier than expected, and as I headed out to meet him, I decided that I wouldn't say anything about my feelings.

So, I walked downstairs, gave him his book and chit-chatted a little bit. He smiled and talked about things that didn't interest me and about the weather. I smiled and told him I'd gone to Arizona over the weekend, talk about weather! He said, "Oh, yeah, that's right! You were going to Arizona!"

In my head, I said to him, "Don't do that. That's not fair. You don't get to remember things about me or even pretend to remember things about me. That just confuses me."

Outloud, I said, "Yep, it was a really nice trip."

As I turned to go back inside my building, he said, "Thanks for the book. I would totally have forgotten about it, and I really like this book."

In my head, "Must you follow up a remembrance with a forgotten tidbit? I just don't get you."

Outloud, "Yeah, of course, no problem. Thanks for lending it to me."

Then, a mutual series of "see you around" and "take care," and he was out of my life, and that's okay.

I've been "getting over" him since the barbecue and my subsequent belief that he wouldn't call me, so this seemingly sudden and peaceful ending has actually been in the works for about a month.

I was okay before him, crazy during this weird little interlude in my summer, and am okay again after him. He wasn't the guy for me. He was Chad Sterling combined wtih a guy I hung out with but didn't date in college, someone who always seemed interested but never remembered our conversations from day to day, or now, from year to year.

And I'm really glad I didn't go all crazy on NLC. How's that for maturity?

Family Is Forever

...or so says the crocheted poster in Grandma's living room.

Here's the thing: I had a great time visiting my grandma.

This "great time" was completely unexpected, as I had anticipated being slightly annoyed and mildy irritated all weekend. But it turns out that it was fantastic...

She was right where she said she'd be (when she finally called and left a voice mail on my cell phone about three hours before I was supposed to arrive and told me where she'd meet me at the airport), she hardly drank all weekend, and she made sure that I had enough to eat. My gosh, she even turned down my bed in the guest room! She came into the living room at about midnight on Saturday and said, "I've turned down your bed." Totally unexpected.

I had fun talking with my aunt, although she did most of the talking.

I realized how like my family I am, and for a girl who sort of looks like no one and everyone at the same time, it's a nice feeling to have that link. I know that I am my father's daughter, but I also learned that he is very much his mother's son. He didn't particularly like hearing that he's not the black sheep of the family (as much as he prides himself on being so different), but it's true. He's part of that family - he even looks like them.

The hard part was seeing my grandpa. He's in a "behavioral health" facility, and he's not really mentally there anymore, although there are some looks that he cuts that make it look like he's about to say, "Why am I here? I shouldn't be here? I should be at work, fueling planes and bossing people around." As a matter of fact he told my grandma that he could take the day off on Wednesday...she told him she'd be coming to pick him up for a dentist appointment and he said, "Okay, I can get off."

I think he's really confused but at least he's not as scared as he seemed to be a few years ago, when he was still aware enough to know that his mind was gradually slipping away.

I was happy to come home to my own little family and our own odd little ways, but it's also nice to know that I inherited my irrational fear of escalators from my great-grandma.

In any case, I had a good time, and it was actually really good to get away and keep my mind of things.

I'll give an update on those things tomorrow...today is about family.

Why Do I Do This to Myself?

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

But over the last several weeks (in particular the last several days), I have questioned my decision to visit my grandmother (and spent $260 on a plane ticket).

I knew as soon as I got the e-mail from my aunt about how my cousins just happened to have a camping trip that just happened to come up suddenly the same weekend of my trip after I had booked my flight. What did I know? That this will be a weekend during which I do not even once get my way.

And I'm okay with that. Really. I can handle not getting my way for what amounts to under 48 hours. Really. I can. Honest.

I'm lucky, actually, that this trip comes right smack dab in the middle of one of my attempts to better myself as a person. Reeeaaaalllly not being able to get my way for two and a half days with my grandmother will be good for my soul. Yep. Sure it will.

In other news, I haven't packet yet. I wonder why.

Heh?

My grandma refuses to give me her cell phone number. She never has it on, she says. Well, at least we know where I get my tendency to not have mine turned on (although I'm getting better at that).

There is one problem with Grandma not giving me her cell phone number, though.

I'm flying in to see her on Friday. She's picking me up at the rather large airport.

And I won't have her cell phone number.

Now, it's not that she doesn't HAVE a cell phone.

She just doesn't turn it on very often.

This seems like one of those times when she should turn it on (trying to find her granddaughter in a crowded airport), but then, that would make sense, and I'm not sure that anyone on that side of the family has much use for ever making sense.

This is going to be an interesting weekend.