7/7 Day Six: What's Life Without Surprises?

Today's book giveaway is a mystery (even though it's not). I'm keeping it a secret (but I promise it's not The Secret).

Here's what I can tell you: it's a second novel from a spectacular writer. It's a fictional account of some very cool things happening to a protagonist I think most of us will identify with in one way or another. The advanced copies received rave reviews, and there's a good chance we'll even see this story on the big screen.

The book won't be available in stores for months, but thanks to the general coolness of this fabulous author, you, my awesome blog readers, have a chance to win a copy NOW, which we'll send to you as soon as s/he gets author copies from the publisher.

Want to win? Leave a comment answering this question: Are you good at keeping secrets?

7/7 Day Five: Joshua Henkin's MATRIMONY

This giveaway series is making it look like I stalk authors on a regular basis, but that's simply not true. There have been dozens of titles I've read this year that I loved in a polite, quiet way, turning the last page and then placing them back on my shelf without harassing the author at all.

But Joshua Henkin's MATRIMONY was not one of those books. I harassed Josh (note that I call him "Josh" now, instead of Joshua, totally inflating the level of our discourse, which basically consisted of me emailing him and saying, "I love, love, love, love, loved MATRIMONY...thank you for writing it!" and "Josh" emailing back to say, "I'm so glad you enjoyed it." Of course now, in my mind, we're best friends forever...even though I have no idea if anyone in his real life ever calls him Josh...) and am so glad I did. Because as he planned the launch for his paperback, he emailed me and asked, "Would you like a signed copy for one of your blog readers?" Which was where the whole idea of Seven Books in Seven Days began.

MATRIMONY is an awesome story about relationships and writing and characters in the midst of figuring out what life--individually, collectively--might be about. It also taught me the correct use of the semicolon, which is no small thing. You'll love it, even if you already have a firm grasp of basic punctuation.

If you'd like to win a copy, leave me a comment. Perhaps with an observation about...matrimony.

Here's to a wonderful Saturday :)

7/7 Day Four: Alison Pace's CITY DOG

Today's selection is brought to you by THAT DOG, who is looking at me right now as if to say, "You're a writer--Why haven't you written a book about ME?"

If anyone can inspire me to make THAT DOG's literary dreams come true, it's Alison Pace.

Alison is the queen of canine-lit. She built her career by deftly weaving adorable pups into compelling story lines, creating her own sub-genre and raising the bar for the rest of us. To put it bluntly, her books captivate me and make me happy. (While reading her last book, I told Steve one night, "I can't eat dinner until this dog gets adopted...the adoption has to go through, it just has to!!!") Her stories are funny and memorable, which is why when I learned that her latest, CITY DOG, will be out early next month, I sent her an email and asked, "Can we give away a copy now? Can we, can we please???"

(Note: if you're the winner of CITY DOG, and your copy arrives looking like someone might have read it already, you're wrong. I'd never do that. Really....)

Leave a comment if you'd like to win...tell us about your favorite pet, the one you have now, or even the one you'll have someday.

[ADMINISTRATIVE NOTE: I'll be giving away books through the weekend, so tune in to check them out. All drawings are open until Tuesday, when I'll pick the winners for all seven. So if you're just discovering this, feel free to drop a comment in any/all of the posts.]

How happy are we that it's Friday??? I'm off to walk THAT DOG. She wants to discuss who will play her in the TV sitcom version of HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT, and whether she should retain her own agent...

7/7 Day Three: Cathleen Falsani's SIN BOLDLY

Earlier this year, I stalked Cathleen Falsani at a writer's conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I'm not sure what came over me; maybe all the Midwestern niceness in the air convinced me that since everyone I'd spoken to had been so kind and wonderful, anyone I spoke to would have to be kind and wonderful. I guess I thought those were THE RULES.

Still, though...I made a bit of a fool of myself.

Cathleen's talk was scheduled for some unspeakably early hour, and yet the room was packed. I, along with millions of others, had been captivated by her first book (celebrities talking about their spiritual beliefs...what's not to love?) and was curious what lurked beneath the cover of her newest project, which wouldn't be out for several months. The title? SIN BOLDLY. For a girl like me, it was the literary equivalent of "You had me at hello..."

After her talk, I literally stormed the podium, my little frog-faced book cover postcard in hand. "Idlovetoblogaboutyourbookwhenitcomesout!!!" I gasped.

"Ooookay..." she said, warily (she was very nice, but decidedly wary...). "I'll do my best to get you an advanced copy..."

At that point, I may have hugged her. Or maybe not. It's all a blur.

Later, my publicist said, "Cathleen and I are friends--she's great! I'll introduce you." My inane response? "I'd give my eye-teeth to meet Cathleen Falsani!"

Since then, Cathleen and I have communicated by phone and by email. She wrote a wonderful column for the Chicago Sun-Times comparing parts of my book to the friendships between the girls in Sex And The City (reprinted here in the Huffington Post) and I wrote rave advance reviews of SIN BOLDLY. We've talked about dogs and cats and friends and husbands, and how the right lip gloss really can improve an otherwise crappy day. My publicist is right; she's fabulous. And chances are we'll meet in person (possibly soon). So I need to set the record straight:

Cathleen, I cannot exchange my eye teeth in order to meet you. Aside from all the obvious reasons, both functional and aesthetic, My parents spent thousands on orthodontia when I was young, and they just wouldn't understand.

Fortunately for me, Cathleen resides in the Midwest. I don't think prevailing niceness laws permit her to demand my teeth. (I guess there's also an outside chance she wouldn't want them...) Still, I hope she'll want to hang out :)

Anyway, SIN BOLDLY is great. It's finally out in the world, and Cathleen is sending me a signed copy to give to one of you. You'll love it. Leave a comment and you're in the running to win!

Happy Thursday. I hope the sun is shining where you are...

7/7 Day Two: Heather King's REDEEMED

Heather King can write. Her style is raw and confessional, beautiful and poignant, absurd and funny...it's the real deal. Her memoir, REDEEMED is on my short list of go-to sources when I want to dive into the world of how writing should/could/would be done. She even does subtitles well. I mean, "A Spiritual Misfit Stumbles Toward God, Marginal Sanity, and the Peace that Passes All Understanding"? How could anyone not want to read that?

REDEEMED covers a wide swath of life: alcoholism, law school (she's perhaps the only person I know who went into law school a drinker, rather than picking up the habit as a survival tool sometime in the middle of her first year...kind of makes me wonder if I might have done better with a similar approach?), breast cancer, marriage struggles, her father's death...it' s a doozy of a book. And yet somehow, she manages to weave humor through these stories, and hope, and an overall sense of life that's hard for me to describe.

Perhaps the best compliment I can give Heather King is what happened when I gave REDEEMED as a gift to my friend Midwest Girl: the next time I saw her, she brought the book out to dinner with us and we spent the better part of the evening talking about King's words and stories and experiences, sometimes just saying to each other, "I can't believe how well she captured that...I thought only I felt that way..."

If I had the chance to sub-subtitle this book, I'd call it DRINK, PRAY, LIVE.

Heather is a fellow New Englander (which is not at all relevant to this blog post except that it means I'm a tiny bit like her and I'm dorky enough to think that might someday make a better writer...) She'll be sending me a signed copy of REDEEMED to share as part of our "Seven Books in Seven Days" adventure. Presuming I can overcome the urge to keep it for myself (and I won't lie; that's a fairly big presumption...) I will be passing it along to one of you next week when I draw the winners. So leave a comment!

Have a great day :)

7/7 Day One: Laura Dave's THE DIVORCE PARTY

There aren't many novels that prompt me to pull out a pen and underline. I write nonfiction, so novels are usually an escape for me, a way to be swept away in a story. Laura Dave's THE DIVORCE PARTY is the (wonderful) exception to this rule.

It's a story about relationships--one fresh and new, another falling apart, and then the interlinking familial bonds you can't just walk awayfrom, the ones you spend the better part of a lifetime working on and working out.

One of the pages I dog-eared: a mother thinking how she wishes she could go back in time and do things a bit differently. She longs to, "Make different choices, be braver, do just about anything so her daughter thinks she is worthy of getting everything that she needs as opposed to trying ot figure out how to be better at giving it away."

And this thought I loved so much, I used it in the first day of my Forty Days of Faith blog earlier this summer: "In the end, belief isn't supposed to make sense, at least not all of the time. In that, it finds its power. It gets to creep up on you and carry you forward."

So gorgeous. So true. So underlineable! (Is that even a word?)

Laura is not only brilliant, she's generous, too. She's sending me a signed copy of THE DIVORCE PARTY to share with one of you. If you'd like it, leave a comment. I'll include a pen when I mail it to you, because you just might need it :)

And if you'd like to see my thoughts on the romantic trials of Olympic swimmer Laure Manaudou, check out my inaugural post in the Love & Relationships section of Basil & Spice.

Happy Tuesday!

Seven Books in Seven Days

I'll be at a conference here in Cambridge this week, speaking about reading and writing. As I prepared, I thought about the books I've loved over the past year or so and what captivated me about them--some entertained me, some inspired me, one was just so beautifully written that I couldn't stop underlining passages. In the midst of this, I thought, Why not share the love? Why not do a big Trish's Dishes book giveaway?

This gave me a fun excuse to contact some of my favorite authors (each of whom I've accosted with fan-emails before, so they're familiar with my love of their work) and ask, "Would you be up for donating a signed copy of your book to give to my blog friends?" Of course, being gracious and wonderful, they all said yes.

So starting tomorrow, we'll be giving away Seven Books in Seven Days. That's a bit of a misnomer, actually, as I'll also be giving away copies of my book, along with some fun prizes and who knows what all else. Really, what could be better?

(And for those of you who are kind enough to wonder, THAT DOG is healing nicely.)

See you tomorrow!

Recovery Ward

I'm here in the bedroom with THAT DOG this morning. She and I are recuperating.

She's got the worst of it--yesterday morning she jumped into the car enthusiastically, expecting to go to the park or maybe even the beach. Instead she woke up seven hours later on the vet's recovery table with sutures in her ear and eye where weird growths had been removed, drugged in a way she hadn't experienced since we lived with the roommate who toked up every day after work (as I recall, THAT DOG had a particular fondness for him...)

She's still stoned this morning, looking up at me from time to time as if to say, "Dude! Wasssup???" In her natural state, THAT DOG rarely says "dude," but her recovery persona seems to skew towards Ashton Kutcher.

Me, I've got a run of the mill head cold that wiped my voice out minutes after the TV crew left our house on Tuesday. It was bizarre--I had functioning vocal chords, and then I didn't. Things are better today--just a little foggy--but not at all conducive to writing my first guest blog for the website Basil & Spice. So if you log on there next week and see a post about the spiritual connection one can find in a bottle of Tylenol Cold & Flu, please-- could you leave kind comments and email the head of the site to reassure her that I'm not usually like this?

Ready for my close up

Yesterday was TV filming day at the Ryan house! It was unlike anything I've ever done before, and I'm not even sure I can describe it all...but I can try :)

When I first learned that CBN, a faith-based television channel from Virginia, wanted to send a crew to our condo to do a story on my book, I had two reactions: First, I called Steve at work and screamed, "WE NEED MULCH!!!" because the front of our house looked like an overgrown junkyard. Then I pulled out our new vacuum cleaner and vacuumed...the curtains (You know, because clean drapes are such an important part of quality television... )

In short, I didn't know what to think, or how to prepare, so I dove into minutia with wild abandon, and then asked friends and family to pray that I not make a complete fool of myself. We won't know until the piece airs, but I think their prayers were heard.

The three members of the crew--a producer and two videographers--were fun and full of creative ideas. They filmed me riding the subway, walking down the street in the rain, reading on my bed. But every shot was set up with so much thought about angle, lighting, background. It was very cool to watch, and kept me from freaking out (too much) about the fact that I was the one being filmed.

Some shots didn't work so well...they tried one of Steve and I "cooking" in the kitchen. I was supposed to chop lettuce while Steve chopped an onion, and we'd pretend to chat about our day. What neither of us realized until that moment was that we lack the ability to talk--even pretend talk--and chop at the same time. It was pitiful. Steve's onion looked like it had been massacred, while I looked like a first grader trying to cut that big head of lettuce. The crew was laughing so hard at that footage that I suspect we'll be featured in a bloopers segment at some point in the future. My dream of being the Next Food Network Star died, right there in our kitchen.

Overall though, it was an amazing day. I suspect I'm one of the few writers in the world who gets to chat with the books editor for Cosmo magazine one week and the 700 Club the next. It can feel a little precarious sometimes, bridging these different worlds. But it sure keeps life interesting, and it's a great reminder that in terms of our greatest hopes and dreams in life, we have more in common than we might realize just by looking at the surface. Good stuff :)

Back from Backspace

New York was amazing. I'm sorry for the lack of blogging; my hotel room had a few difficulties, and lack of internet service was one of them. The others included a wad of gum stuck under the desk between the beds (right at eye level, just inches from my face when I woke up), a giant puddle swooshing out of the air conditioner, and a sadistic room fan that kept going on even after I turned it off. The fan was on some sort of sensor...if I laid down for more than four minutes (I timed it), the fan would come back on, as if it thought I'd left the room. When I sat up to turn it off, it would switch off right before I got to it. This wasn't frustrating at all, really. Just delightful.

On a happier note, the conference was great. John Searles, novelist and books editor for Cosmo magazine, gave a funny, inspiring keynote address on Friday. He shared the first (& worst) rejection letter he ever received for his writing. The editor accidentally included a note that said something to the effect of, "I could barely get to page 60...I feel REALLY bad for anyone who has to read all the way to the end..."

Ouch.

And yet, now he has two novels published, a fabu job at Cosmo, and even recommends books
for the Today Show. Not too shabby, right? It was inspiring stuff.

I'm watching the Olympics right now...realizing that swimming is WAY more fun to watch than I remembered, and that the only thing more boring than civil litigation is Dressage. Being one with the horse??? That's just a little strange, no?

Go Michael Phelps!

If I can make it there, part III

THAT DOG seems to be feeling better...at the very least, she's empty! Steve will be taking over on doggie care tomorrow, as I'm catching the earliest train imaginable to NYC for the Backspace Writer's Conference. I am SO excited about this event. I'll be on a memoir panel with two amazing authors, John Elder Robison and Gail Konop Baker, and my spectacular agent, Elisabeth Weed

Elisabeth is moderating the panel and has promised me easy, straightforward questions (unlike the last panel I was on, where the moderator kicked things off with a question about my, um...intimate life choices. There were children in the front row. I floundered, trying to come up with some sort of cogent yet subtle answer, then threw myself under the table in shame. I emerged from that experience a little gun-shy.)

If you're in the city, come say hello! If you don't see me right away, it means Elisabeth faked me out. Look under the table...

Reasons to redecorate

Poor THAT DOG. She went to the groomer today. She looks adorable, all fluffy and clean. But her huggability is significantly diminished by the vile liquid that keeps bursting forth from her hindquarters.

We've had this problem before. THAT DOG is cute, and she knows how to work you if you're not familiar with her tricks. A few minutes of wags and rolling over on command is usually all it takes to have her literally eating out of people's hands. So I can only imagine her looking forlornly at the groomer as he trimmed her nails, pretending to suffer so he'd double the rewards. Let's give her the good stuff, he probably thought, handing her piles of gourmet puppy treats, blissfully unaware he was packing her full of TNT. Unfortunately, THAT DOG doesn't do well if she veers too far from her basic diet of Purina One and Milk Bones. She's just not built for fancy food.

Oh well. I've been looking for an excuse to replace that rug in the hall...

I'm off to make some rice!

Down with robots

Wow, what a weekend.

The low point was the email I received on Friday, informing me that Blogger had locked down Trish's Dishes because a robot identified my blog as a possible spam site. When I clicked on the link to try to understand what made the robot think this, the news was ugly: apparently, the robot targeted me because it reviewed my blog posts and found them repetitive and nonsensical. Thanks.

I wasn't sure what to do with this little nugget of information, other than be SO glad I put the kibosh on Steve's suggestion that we get one of those robot vacuum cleaners that buzzes around the house on it's own. Back then, it was simply a matter of not wanting to terrorize THAT DOG. But know I know the truth: robots are not my friends.

Fortunately, some live person reviewed my blog and decided that however repetitive and nonsensical my posts might be, they're not spam. So here I am, free to blog another day!

The weekend got considerably better after that. We went to the Red Sox game on Friday and saw Jason Bay, the new left fielder the Sox took on to get rid of the drama queen that is Manny Ramierez. At Bay's first at-bat, the entire ballpark rose to give him a standing ovation, welcoming him to Boston. That was fun. (Of course, the local press will eat him alive if he doesn't play well, but I think that goes with his job...) It was nice to bring him in with a vote of confidence.

On Saturday, our friends Gavin & Emily were in town. Oh, how I love them...let me count the ways. We had an amazing Japanese/Korean dinner at a favorite restaurant, and then stayed up until 1am drinking coffee and wine and talking, talking, talking. Evenings like that are such a nice reminder to me that times like that can still happen, even once you're a grown-up.

And today, I'm vacuuming everything in site. I just learned that the television interview we'd scheduled for next week will be taking place...at my house. ACK! If the camera adds ten pounds, what will our Kylie-fur dust bunnies look like on film??? It's just to frightening to contemplate.

Reality?

I'm afraid to admit how happy I am about the top four they've chosen for the finale of So You Think You Can Dance, lest I wake up tomorrow to learn that there was some sort of clerical error and my favorites will be auditioning for Burger King commercials next week instead of entertaining us on FoxTV.

Which almost makes up for the fact that I finally caught an episode of Project Runway, only to learn that the cast is comprised of rather scary people. Granted, I only saw the ones they focused on, but still...they seem an especially strange lot, even for creative types.

Is it just me? Is there someone I missed who is quirky rather than frightening?

Dust to dust

I may be the first person to get rid of her spice rack and replace it with a vacuum cleaner, but that's how yesterday went.

We knew our old vac was on it's way out--THAT DOG sheds her weight in fur on a weekly basis, and for the past few months, our forays into housekeeping have involved shoving abandoned dog hair into new piles, while the machine emitted a high-pitched squeal of protest like a car left to long in second gear. Our vacuum cleaner had no gears (that we knew of) so we just shoved the piles around dutifully and hoped for the best.

Then came the burning smell, and that was all she wrote.

Last night we went out and bought a new vacuum cleaner (which was rather ironic, given that I'd spent the afternoon reading the rantings of an irate feminist who hates, hates, hates the idea that any woman would ever be excited about a new household appliance...) We got home and immediately tested it out on the small runner we installed so THAT DOG could get some traction (hardwood floors seem like a great idea until you watch your pet slide into the wall with a thud for the 47th time...) The new machine has one of those clear canisters on the front, so we could see what it was picking up.

Oh. My. Gosh. Horrifying.

"You should take a picture of this for your blog!" Steve said, staring incredulously at the contents of our new vacuum.

"No way!" I responded. "I'm not telling the whole world we've been living in a giant pile of dirt..."

Salt is a spice, right?

Today, at 11:19am, I realized that my spice rack is superfluous. I was cleaning the kitchen, talking to my friend Kristen on the phone and pulling out each of the 22 little vials of spices, trying to dust them into some semblance of shiny kitchen decor. Because honestly? That's all they are.

Steve and I registered for the spice rack before our wedding, and I was THRILLED when someone sent it to us as a gift; thrilled, I say. I envisioned fun evenings whipping up culinary masterpieces and sipping chardonnay, Steve and I chatting while THAT DOG lounged nearby being appropriately quaint and adorable. Really, it was a great picture, there in my head. And some of it has come true. Most evenings around here, wine is sipped, chat is exchanged, and a dog is adored. But to whatever extent food preparation is involved, the spice rack rarely comes into play (unless I prop it up in front of a steak or a roasted chicken to keep THAT DOG from forgetting how much less quaint and adorable she is when she's wolfing down our dinner).

As Kristen and I pondered what happens to spices when they simply twirl on a rack for four years, I looked closely at some of my spice options for the first time. What I saw there wasn't pretty.

Sage? It looks like ground up moths. Fennel? Rodent droppings. The last time I tried Rosemary, all those long little pieces CAUGHT FIRE in our gas stove, burning my pork roast to a crisp. Fun memories there. And what...on earth...is Marjoram???

Never mind. A non-profit in town is having a giant yard sale in two weeks, and I've placed my spinning rack of spices in the pile to be donated. Which means I've got room on my counter for some other kitchen gadget! Any suggestions? And PLEASE don't say the Kitchen Aid Mixer...if Oregano is too complicated for me, it's a safe bet that I'm not yet woman enough for the KAM...

Groovin down at the RMV

I spent two hours today at the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles, trying to renew my license. Due to some computer snafu, I got to have my case reviewed by a manager, a supervisor and two different people at the phone-in help desk. It was super-duper fun.

To pass the time, I adopted the habit of my four-year-old niece, who sings about everything she does. Putting on her bathing suit, going to the bathroom...you name it, she sings about it. Today, my song went something like this:

I'm sitting at the RMV...
(bump, bump, bump, bump)
Gonna move my family back to Maine with me...

My new license expires in five years, at which point I'll have to go back to that wonderful office to renew it. Or I can leave the state, and never go back there again. Guess which option I'm planning on? Steve and I have always talked about wanting to move north someday, to the town in Maine where I grew up (which has the nicest RMV you can imagine) Now that talk has a time frame!

The Creative Habit

I'd planned on reading the final Harry Potter installation while on vacation, but I found myself rereading this amazing book on creativity by choreographer Twyla Tharp instead. Her words were exactly what I needed. They hit me like the firm, strong reassurance of a wise mentor, one who understands how creative gifts can be squandered when we spend too much time agonizing over how and where to start.

Twyla doesn't over romanticize the creative life, which I appreciate. But she acknowledges that sometimes you have to take some winding roads to get to where you're going. Reading her techniques, and what goes into her choreography--much of which has nothing at all to do with dance--makes me feel normal about all the weird things that capture my attention. She suggests that I'm not nuts to believe that my artistic obsessions (Michelle Branch's song lyrics; the episode of Project Runway where they go to the finalists' homes to see how they're coming on their collections for Fashion Week; every piece Mia Michaels choreographs for So You Think You Can Dance...) are all tied in somehow with how and what I write. Sometimes I feel like a bird collecting odd bits and scraps, not knowing quite how they'll all fit together in the end but trusting that somehow I'll make a nest out of it. Twyla seems to think this is a normal way to approach life (and yes, I know, artists are not always the best place to go when looking to define your "normal"...)

She even offers some new random things to add to my collection. If you're at all creative, or would like to be, this is a great place to start--a trip to a foreign land, where a day's work involves rolling around on the floor and waiting to see what comes of it.

I'm off to try "egg." (Check out page 112 if you're wondering what this is)

What's the strangest place you find creative inspiration?

Not to say that I'm an old dog, but...

It was quite a week in the woods of Maine. I'll admit up front that I saw no moose other than the ones stitched into my favorite flip flops (indeed, the dead porcupine we saw by the side of the highway on the drive home doubled my total wildlife encounters for the week) but the adventures of THAT DOG more than made up for it.

You see, after twelve and a half years of absolute refusal to have anything to do with the water, THAT DOG learned to swim! Or, to put it more precisely, to boogie-board. I'm not entirely sure how it happened. One minute, I was bobbing along happily in the lake in my noodle chair, THAT DOG crying pitiously from the shore like always. The next thing I know, she's scrambled onto my niece's boogie board, and is being pulled through the waves to me by my sister. It was hysterical. I pulled her off into my arms, and she wiggled furiously and swam back to shore. But she swam! Like an Olympian! It was truly a sight to behold. The lesson of this vacation: you CAN teach an old dog new tricks :)

Which is good to know, given that I'm trying to mix things up a bit now that I'm back at home. A week with no TV, internet, or phone made me realize how much time I "fill" with little things--checking my email for the 97th time, running a Google search for the names of the all the Backstreet Boys, watching snippets of reruns of The Biggest Loser to see if it will push me out the door to the gym (it hasn't yet, and some of the food segments make me hungry)... You know, mindless time-fillers between one thing I have to do and another.

Now, I may never get to the place where I'm "mindful" every moment (perhaps because that word gets tossed around so much that it's become annoying). But being less mindless than I was before seems like a worthy goal.

So today, I instituted a new approach to time management: No internet until 3pm. No looking up the name of an author on Amazon, or checking the NYTimes Magazine for my friend's article. No pulling up the track titles for the CD I downloaded, or checking to make sure there wasn't an email emergency circling my in-box waiting for me to save the day.

My choices today, before 3pm, were good ones: writing, which I love (and which is, technically, my job and therefore what I should be doing with my daytime hours) and reading, which compliments the whole writing thing well when I give it space to do so. I'm finally at the stage of life I dreamed about in Algebra class, where I can focus on these two things and leave arithmetic out entirely. In it's own way, it made for the perfect day.

And yet... it was WAY harder than I expected. I'm astonished by how much my little dashes to the computer (which usually take at least a half-hour once I'm hooked in) are programmed into my psyche. It took everything I had not to invent some excuse to sign on, but somehow I didn't. And I had my most productive writing day in weeks.

Today's message? Here's to dogs on boogie boards inspiring us to try new things!

How was your week? What did I miss?

Vacation!

We're heading out this morning for a week in the woods of Maine. We have bathing suits, bug spray, and mint for mojitos. (I've even learned that they're made from rum and not vodka, which seems like good information to have...) What more could we possibly need? I'll be back next week with new tales of moose sightings, lake floating, and THAT DOG's escapades in the great outdoors. See you then!

Those Men Can Dance

I just watched my DVR recording of last night's So You Think You Can Dance. The guest performance by Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre amazed me. It also brought back one of the most embarrassing moments of my entire college experience (and trust me, there's stiff competition for that title).

In college, I was part of my school's Dance Company (I've learned to phrase this carefully, ever since the time I told a someone, "I danced in college..." and her response was, "Cool--did it pay well?" I stared at her blankly, not comprehending that she thought I'd spent the hours between my Chinese Foreign Policy and Crafting the Long-Form Essay classes spinning around a pole in my underwear, rather than standing at a ballet barre...) Anyway...

One of our guest choreographers was from Alvin Ailey. I was terrified, and it showed. At one point, I did one too many pirouettes, lost my spot, and came terribly close to throwing up on said guest choreographer. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking at me with thinly-veiled horror. "I'm fine," I gasped. And then, without thinking: "It's just your sweater...it's so orange...it's making me dizzy..."

Needless to say, I was in the back row for the rest of that piece.
And for the record, the money was terrible :)

One other thought about last night's show (aside from my LOVE for the top ten dancers): is it just me, or did Katy Perry look like the evil sister Lisa from Dirty Dancing? You know, in the talent show scene where she dressed Hawaiian and sang "You can wackle all you wanna, while I hula all the day away"? Just a thought.

KG on the O

We caught Kathy Griffin's "I'm not Nicole Kidman" special the other night. Ohmigosh, that woman is funny. Do not try to consume beverages while watching this show; hydration will have to wait.

Rather than grasping at straws as so many creative people do when they finally make it and now have to produce new material on a tight deadline (I'm thinking of the sophomore slump we always read about with books and music--the one I'm hoping to avoid myself) this stuff is even better than what she did before.

My favorite part? The bit about Oprah, and how absurd our worship of her one-woman enterprise has gotten. Honestly, if there were a way for me to thank Kathy personally for this, I'd fly to wherever she is to do so.

Because honestly? The O thing is out of hand. Have you noticed? Last month's magazine contained a long feature on this spiritual book she has the whole country reading, and how the take home point is that the key to happiness is getting over our self-involvement and our ego. Not terrible advice, right? But then on the next page is a segment about how the roses featured in some picture are "Oprah roses" that she designed for some gala. That stopped me in my tracks. Why would anyone, other than someone with a PhD in plant biology who lives for this kind of thing, design their own rose? Because there no other pretty roses anywhere on the planet that would look nice in a vase in the center of the table? It just struck me as a strange combination, this "let's all ditch our ego" thing and the "here's where you can order my super-special roses..."

What inspires me about Kathy, though, is she doesn't say, "Oh, this is HORRIBLE!" Instead, she sees life through a different lens, and says, "Oh people, this is FUNNY!" I think that is a spectacular quality, one I'm hoping to cultivate. Because really, these opportunities are all around us; it's up to us what we do with them.

I don't think my Dad would go to Beijing, even if I were in the Olympics

When I was a chunky little gymnast ("sturdy" was a word I frequently heard used to describe my nine-year old build), I remember teasing my Dad about his reluctance to come see me do my tumbles and spins. "Don't be silly," he replied one day with a big smile. "Of course I'll come and see you...when you're in the Olympics, and the Olympics are in Maine..."

Assuming this would happen in my lifetime (and why not? Just because the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders don't hold auditions in my home state, that's no reason to believe that the Olympic Committee would overlook us), I set about practicing with renewed vigor.

I think about this now, as I imagine the parents of this summer's Olympians. Are any of them asking, "Seriously--Beijing? You couldn't have waited four more years so we could all go to London???" Now don't get me wrong--I imagine a visit to China would be life-altering in more ways that I have space to mention here. But to combine that with the single biggest athletic competition of your child's life? Sounds kind of stressful to me.

But back to my Dad, who is retired now and thus has time to travel:

If you were in the Olympics, and they were held in YOUR home state, where would my Dad need to go? What would your event be?

Outward Bound, Retail Edition

Steve and I were shopping on Saturday, looking for mundane but necessary items for our upcoming vacation--basic bathing suits, flip flops to wear into the water to protect my toes from the rocky bottom, sunscreen with SPF 940. Unbelievably, we went in and out of SEVEN different stores without buying a thing. Seven! Everywhere we looked were hoochie-mama bathing suits that were not exactly what one wears while floating on a noodle with one's five-year old niece, flip flops with high heels (???), and sunscreen made of baby oil. Everything we'd need to vacation on the Onassis yacht, but rather inappropriate for the woods of Maine.

I'll admit, the whole experience made me grumpy. Steve cast it in a new light, though:

"I like shopping without buying anything," he said, taking a glug of his giant (heavily caffeinated) ice coffee. "It's kind of like going on a hike..."

There you have it. When people ask what we did this weekend, "We went hiking," is my new answer.

I'm glad we didn't have to camp...

Things I love, part 2

I have an irrational attraction to things that come in kits. A few years ago, I almost bought a set of forty two wrenches at Sears, simply because they all looked so shiny and wonderful, there in the plastic carrying case with all the special little places for them to line up. It made me happy, just looking at them. The highlight of every childhood birthday was the matching plastic necklace/bracelet/ring set with my birthstone my Mom always got for me, and OH THE JOY when I got my first little manicure kit, with it's little scissors, trimmer, and file. Never mind that the file was useless, and the scissors dull--they LOOKED SO PRETTY, there in their little black felt envelope.

My most recent kit discovery is far more useful. Makeup, with magnets, that you can mix & match in a pretty little compact. (I know--this has been available for decades. I'm just late to the party...) Last week, I put this together--isn't it gorgeous?

The Sugarberry lipgloss is a longtime favorite--if I didn't mention it in the "things I'd grab if there was a fire" post, I'm adding it to the list now. But all in all, I'm just excited for interchangeable sparkle power. Makeup application is the only artistic talent I have, in terms of the visual arts (one wonders what I might have accomplished had I spent as much time in my teen years perfecting acrylics and watercolors as I did studying the latest thoughts on eyeshadow application in Seventeen...)

Anyway, there you have it: part two of my Unpaid Product Endorsement series. If stuff makes us happy, we should pass the word along.

Speaking of happy: here's a picture of Steve test driving pillows in the store the other day. We didn't find what we were looking for, but I think this shot made the whole trip worthwhile :)

A strange thing to hug, but whatever

It doesn't happen often. Usually, as I stroll through our local BB&B or L&T store, pricing towels or bathmats or some sort of device to sharpen knives, I breeze on by the tv/vcr's playing infomercials on a three-minute loop. I just don't get all that excited about "AS SEEN ON TV!"

But then I heard, "Have you ever been embarrassed by shoulder bumps in your clothing? Do you wish you had more room in your closet?" It stopped me cold. Yes, and yes. My closet was a train wreck, and the shoulders of my tops all looked like they were waiting for the giant linebacker pads from the 80s to come back and fill them out. Four minutes later, I was walking out to my car with thirty dollars worth of closet enhancements.

I love these hangers. They make me bizarrely happy. My shoulders are smooth, and a sense of peace and order permeates my closet (I was going to say "has been restored," but that would imply it ever existed...)

I guess everyone needs something about them that's huggable. I'm perplexed to say that for me, it's my hangers...

(And tomorrow on Trish's Unpaid Product Testimonials, I'll tell you about the lip gloss that changed my life!)

College mini-reunion!!!

I spent this weekend with my college friends Kristen, Francesca, and Tracy--aren't they gorgeous? We hadn't been all together in the same place since graduation, so we had just a bit of catching up to do.

If you've read He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, THESE are the girls who introduced me to the technicolor holiday light show that is La Sallette. And now that you have this picture, you can envision Tracy, Fresca and me sitting outside Kristen's dorm room, cutting pictures out of the J. Crew catalogue to cheer her up after some idiot broke her heart. We'd do the same for her today :)

Fresca & Tracy brought some serious paraphernalia to the party: the pile of CDs included everything from The Escape Club to Yaz, and the pictures in Fresca's giant plastic storage bin may be the funniest thing any of us have seen in the past decade. There was even a quote book, revealing deep thoughts that could be bound and sold in the self-help aisle in any bookstore today. Fortunately, we'd each had one of Tracy's stellar mojitos to ease the embarrassment of this trip down memory lane...let's just say that the 90s are not a decade that should be repeated, in terms of fashion, music, or anything else.

First of all, OH MY GOSH...the hair was simply breathtaking.
Fresca came to college sporting a mullet.
Tracy had hippie hair, long and flowing, like the breeze.
Kristen rocked a Hillary Clinton-esque bob w/bangs (from the stand by your man years).
And I had a hunk of bangs bursting forth from my forehead the size of a slice of pizza. (It was permed, teased, and sprayed to ensure architectural soundness; seriously, I should have had a building permit).

And OUR CLOTHES!
If the 90s had a signature shape, clearly it was the triangle. Three-point, asymmetrical hair styles, gigantic shoulder pads tapered down to pegged jeans (which were high-waisted, to draw maximum attention to the differential between one's waist and butt), t-shirts tucked into our pants and billowed out, giving us the shape of a Christmas tree...where were we getting these ideas? Where were Stacy & Clinton when we needed them?

And yet, if I was going to face such clear evidence of my fashion mis-steps, there's no one else I'd rather be with. It was amazing reconnecting with these friends, all together--it reminded me that a chapter of my life I'd sort of brushed off as "way back then," was actually a pretty important time for each of us, and totally worth remembering. I'd forgotten how good it feels to hang out with people who share your memories, who add bits you'd forgotten or never even known about, filling out the pictures.

And it also made me realize why we can't see the future. Because while each of the four of us are in pretty good places in our lives now, we've all been through some major $%#@ along the way that, had we seen it coming, would have made us utterly panic.

I had to leave our reunion early Sunday morning to get back to Cambridge to give a talk at church on how God guides us. I left Kristen's house at 5am, driving along thinking happy thoughts of awe and nostalgia, only to run into seventeen Massachusetts State Troopers when I crossed the border. Honestly, I thought, how much can be going down at dawn on a Sunday morning??? I was a little peevy about it, complaining to God that it would be REALLY uncool if I got a ticket on the way to speak at church... His response? Well, you could slow down...

As usual, he had a point.

Here's the link to the talk if you want to check it out.

And Kristen, Fresca, and Tracy, if you're reading this: I'm glad you guys have the other pieces of my college memories :)

(Not so) deep thoughts

I saw singer-songwriter Brooke Fraser in concert last night. Two observations:

1. She's an amazing lyricist. If you like Sheryl Crow, Indigo Girls, or that sort of sound (you know, musings about life and love) she's worth checking out.

2. The return of the skinny jean is an unfortunate thing for the males of our species. Really, it's just painful...

Further Exploration, part 2

So Carrie's second comment/question (scroll down to yesterday's post if you're wondering what I'm talking about) is equally provocative: "After reading HLMHLMN, I found myself wanting Trish to explore her own individual passions and purpose apart from her quest for landing a man."

Fair enough! I actually laughed a bit when I read this, because I'm not sure how to explain what my deepest passions were in my twenties without sounding like a bit of a loon. So I'll ease into it slowly with a slight digression on the craft of memoir:

When you turn in your first draft of a memoir, the first thing an editor does is go through and cross out all the sections that don't connect with your narrative arc. Funny stories, poignant moments--if they don't move the reader forward in the story you're telling (and oddly enough, every memoir is the story of only a small portion of the author's life), out it goes. It has to, otherwise who could tell their story in under 972 pages?

So one of the many things that never made it into my pages is the fact that my BIG dream in life back then was.... To own and run a private, maximum security prison. Yep. Seriously. This was my plan. I was fascinated by the utter failure of our national correctional system (really, there aren't many places where we get less bang for our buck as taxpayers), and I was certain that a kinder, gentler approach to rehabilitation was the key. And clearly I was the perfect candidate to turn this ship around: my political science major meant I had stored up four years of strong opinions. Pair that with my minors in philosophy and dance, and who wouldn't think "Prison Management" when looking at my resume?

The best part of this, though, was that at the same time I was plotting to revamp our country's approach to corrections, I was also vehemently anti-gun. My boyfriend at the time was the grandson of one of the big names in gun manufacturing, and the things I read in the magazines he subscribed to (about the rate at which various bullets rip through flesh and such) so upset me that I all but put a "No Way NRA" sticker on my car (I didn't have a car; I suspect that's what stopped me...) I have no idea how I planned to maintain order in my gun-free prison: was I going to club bad guys with my baton? Nag them until they agreed to behave?

So as you can see, I had big dreams. They didn't always make much sense, but mine has never been a life without gigantic hopes that could only happen through some sort of miracle. The writing dream kicked in right around the same time I realized I didn't want to be a lawyer anymore. If God had to pick one to make happen, I'm rather glad it was this one, and not my prison plan!

Further Exploration, part 1

Carrie just sent me her fun response to HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT. In it, she mentions two areas she wishes I'd explored further in the book, and she's not the first to ask. So I thought, "Well, I have a blog...I could explore them there!" So here you have it, part one. If I'm organized, I'll post part 2 tomorrow :)

Her first question is why I had such a deep sense of insecurity, given that my family was (is) happy and intact? She rightly points out that in our society, we're pretty quick to associate longing to be married with some sort of dysfunction, rather than a natural desire.

For me, the quest for romance started out normally enough (after all, 90% of our music, movies, books, and tv shows wouldn't be based on romantic relationships if that wasn't an interest most of us share), but I took it to some dysfunctional levels. As near as I can tell, I lost my grasp on normalcy when I started doubting that my longing to be half of a fabulous marriage was okay. I absorbed the message that somehow, I was supposed to be fine on my own, but I had no idea how to pull this off. The truth is, I didn't want to be fine on my own. I got all muddled trying to reconcile the impossibility of that image with who I was. So I became this weird chick who'd flirt with a guy madly, reassuring him that, "Of course, I don't just want to be married...I'm not one of THOSE girls," and then burst into tears when he gave me a gift certificate for a spa day rather than a diamond on our one-year anniversary. My fundamental problem was that I was too scared to be honest.

I think the "deep abyss" Carrie refers to IS filled by my relationship with God, but not entirely. I think he wants the rest of it to be filled by real, 3D relationships with other people. I don't buy that we're supposed to do life alone; I just don't see much evidence that it works all that well.

The key, for me at least, is that I can't maintain any of these relationships without God's help. On my own, I'm just not all that great a friend, a sister, a daughter, or a wife. At best, I'm a mediocre dog owner. But with God, I've built relationships that are stronger than my mistakes, bouyed by a love that is far bigger than what comes out of my little heart. That is a fun place to live, and I'm glad I wrestled with faith and love and life for long enough to get here.

(I still wrestle with all of these things, mind you, but the nature of the scuffle is different)

So I guess the take home point for today's post is some combination of "Don't blame Trish's parents--it's not their fault!" and "What if feeling like half of something bigger that's yet to come isn't such a bad thing?"

Tomorrow, I'll try to remember if I had any passions or hobbies OTHER than my quest for Mr. Right (besides baton twirling--I don't think Carrie was asking about my Jr. High School years :))

Dreaming of vacation...and great conversation

37,478 minutes until vacation...

That's what I'm thinking about this morning as the thunderstorms roll through. I'm almost irrationally excited by the prospect of driving five hours north into the Maine mountains, where bears and moose roam, but my cell phone doesn't.

My sister and I were chatting earlier, laying out plans of what to bring. My brother-in-law is our house chef on vacation, so Steve and I try to earn our keep through creative drinks: last year we introduced the "Trish-tini"; this year will feature the "Steve-jito." Our shopping list? 1. Vodka. 2. Mint.

But the other vital packing question that must be addressed is what to READ on vacation. Can we trade suggestions? I'll list three books I've read recently and loved, and if you have any to recommend, drop them in the comments. (I'm just waiting for my next Borders Rewards coupon to come and I'll head off to the store).

Okay, here are my three:

1. The Divorce Party by Laura Dave.
I ADORED this book. I don't know how she captures the subtle nuances of love from so many stages of life, but this book is beautiful and true...and both heart-wrenching and hopeful at the same time, which is tough to pull off. It's worth a space on your bookshelf.

2. House Lust: America's Obsession with Our Homes by Daniel McGinn
Why do we suddenly crave granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, when 100 years ago, the kitchen was the part of the house everyone wanted to hide? This book is hysterical, insightful, and non-judgmental (the author fesses up to his own house lust right from the start, which I appreciate). A fun read.

3. Not the Religous Type: Confessions of a Turncoat Atheist by Dave Schmelzer
My friend Dave (who you may recall as a character in my book) wrote this, and I was lucky enough to read it early on. I'm a big fan, and not just because it's the first book I ever blurbed :) This book is the stuff great cocktail party conversations are made of...

Which brings me full-circle to Trish-tinis and Steve-jitos!

And a question (in addition to my request for book recommendations--don't forget that!): If someone threw a cocktail party in July in Cambridge (in a 900 square foot condo with limited air-conditioning and a small-ish dog) but promised compelling conversation of the sort one imagines in the "salons" of Renaissance times, would you show up?

I Love A Parade

There's a big parade today in Boston! Ostensibly, it's to celebrate the Celtics winning the NBA championship, but I think that's just a cover. Why? Because the REAL reason to celebrate is that Steve and I were married four years ago today!!! Now I realize that four years isn't all that big a deal in the history of long marriages. But if you know a bit about me and my relationship history, you understand that this qualifies as an official miracle. (I'm expecting a certificate verifying this miraculous status to be Fed-Exed from heaven later this afternoon :) )

In lieu of a newsy post, here's a link to a fun interview I did yesterday with Debbie Chavez. It gives a bit of background on how I went from a will-try-anything spiritual searcher attempting to connect with my inner woman through interpretive dance workshops (um, embarrassing!) to finding real happily ever after.

(And the wacky news she shares right before the interview is PRICELESS. You'll love the piece about "EMMA.")

Happy Thursday!

Total Turn Around

I'm pretty fired up about the Celtic's win last night. Not so much because of the championship, but because it represents such a total turn-around from where they were last year. Last June, the Celtics were reeling from a season so disastrous that everyone was calling for these two guys (Coach Doc Rivers and team captain Paul Pierce) to be shipped off to some remote island to wrestle lions. The team simply stunk. And now? Complete turn around.

When we make changes, the results change. I find that encouraging :)
(I've blogged more about this over at 40 Days of Faith, if you want to check it out.)

In other news:

Author Holly Kennedy has some BRILLIANT advice for writers.

Legally Heidi is engaged! Pop on over to congratulate her :)

And here's a link to a talk I gave on Sunday about wrestling with questions of faith and prayer.

The Making of a Superhero

I'm reading a book about being heroic right now. It's totally provocative and interesting (as some of you might know, I've wanted to be a superhero since I was a little girl), and yet at the same time, in the middle of all this inspiration, I keep falling asleep.

Steve and I were talking about this last night--how there are different seasons in each of our lives. Right now, I'm in a season of needing some extra sleep, after two months of planes, trains, automobiles and hotel rooms. Fortunately, though, these seasons change on a regular basis, so it's okay to doze off in the middle of hero training. (Actually, having seen the previews of Will Smith's new movie, I think catching up on my sleep before learning to fly or leap tall buildings might be a VERY good idea. It seems like depth perception and sound judgment are valuable skills in the superhero world...)

That said, here's how I began my superhero training yesterday (in between naps): I drove around the suburbs searching for a good cry. I played Patty Griffin songs. I wondered about a dead squirrel on the side of the road, and where he was going when the car came along. I watched the rain hit my windshield and searched for hidden meaning in the clouds. You know, helpful tear-producing activity, because I needed to cry.

Nothing is wrong in my life. I'm not sad. Just the opposite, actually: I'm a bit overwhelmed by everything that has happened over the past year or so, and how wonderful it all is, and a good cry is an oddly helpful way for me to process that. Have you ever felt this way? If so, you understand that when you feel this urge coming, it's best to figure out a way to do something about it, lest it burst forth like a shaken soda in the middle of some public gathering. Sometimes, it's smart to ease the pressure ahead of time.

So I'm driving through the rain, tears welling up, and I'm already starting to feel better. And that's when it hits me: I'm in a new car, and there are NO TISSUES of any form anywhere in the vehicle! Now, I'm a rather liquidy crier; no small polite sniffles for me. So if I continue on my present course, I'll have nothing but the floor mats and/or my t-shirt (which is cute and new and NOT something I want to use as a hanky) to sop up my emotional purge.

So I stop. I turn Patty Griffin off, and switch to the sports channel. I push the squirrel from my mind, and notice how well the windshield wipers work. I put the cap back on that bottle, and hope that it won't blow.

My first lesson in superhero preparedness? BRING TISSUES.

THAT FROG is home!

It's true! The suitcases are stowed in the closet, my moisturizer has been restored to its rightful place in the bathroom cabinet, and Oscar (the latest dashing addition to the fabulous frog collection) is resting happily on the bookshelf in the living room. We are HOME for the next month.

It's been an amazing book tour. Truly more than I could have imagined, in so many ways. And I'm happy to say, it ended on as great a note as it started:

On Thursday night, I was in Princeton NJ with an amazing group of women. I was there because of the fun invitation of my friend A.J. She and I met at the Festival of Faith & Writing in April, and she became my hero almost immediately. I can't tell you how much I admire her approach to life; whether the subject is writing, marriage, faith, pregnancy, or the care & maintenance of a toddler, she takes it all in stride. (Not to mention the fact that she's not AT ALL shiny in pictures!)





And many thanks to Mary, the director of Women's Ministry at Westerly Road Church where we gathered that night. She and her spectacular team threw a great, fun event and it was a honor to be part of it. I'm so glad I have Oscar as a fun memento!









On Saturday night, I was back here in Cambridge for the final night of the tour. Unfortunately, however, blogger won't let me download anymore pictures, so I'll have to tell you all about it in my next post. Let's just say it was the ONLY event to feature sushi, Korean BBQ, funny Chinese immigration tales and a chef with 1,000 names...

Now, I'm off to clean the accumulated crud out of the toothbrush holder. It's the glamorous life, for me!

:)

Off to New Jersey

I'm about to head out to South Station to catch a train to New Jersey. I never thought to pray for a lack of natural disasters while traveling in the North East before, but after last week's adventures...

If you're in the greater Princeton area, I'll be at Westerly Road Church tonight at 7:30pm--come on by! It's been great to meet so many blog friends in my travels for the book, and I'd love to add to the list. (And if we meet, please remind me to take a picture! I'm in the very bad habit of forgetting to USE the camera I bring with me, which makes the results rather disappointing!)

Happy almost weekend!

Where to begin?

It was an EVENTFUL weekend!

I went to Chicago for the Printers Row Book Fair, and met up with two of my favorite blog friends that I've "known" (you know, in the online sense of the word) since I started blogging a couple of years ago: Swishygirl and Manic Mommy! (Here we are with Ina, the lovely volunteer who hooked us up with special Author Superfriend Badges so we could get into different events).

Back when we realized we'd all be at Printers Row, Manic and Swishy invited me to go on a road trip to join in the launch party for fellow blogger Jess Riley's awesome book, Driving Sideways. Of course, I jumped at the chance...what could be more fun than to drive to Wisconsin? (We had many opportunities to answer this question in our unexpectedly crazy journey, but more about that in a bit...)


First, we saw Jen Lancaster and Stephanie Klein. (I got this picture by following Manic and Swish into the room where the authors were signing their books. We jumped ahead of an ENTIRE line of people, because Manic said, "We know the authors!" And they do: JL & SK greeted them like long-lost friends. Me, on the other hand, they quickly identified as a Swishy/Manic minion, but I was fine with that. I'll roll in their entourage any day of the week!)

Jen and Stephanie engaged in a VERY interesting conversation about how to write about certain delicate (and not-so-delicate) subjects, knowing that various family and friends will someday read what they've written. They've reached rather different conclusions on how to handle this, which gave Swishy, Manic, and me lots to talk about once we got into the car and pointed our headlights north.

Then it started to rain. And rain some more. Sheets, buckets, cats and dogs...like nothing I've ever seen. Lighting all around us, no other cars on the road. Little did we know we were in the middle of a tornado. We wouldn't find THAT out until the next day; we just thought, "Wow-Wisconsin has some intense weather!"

Here is the eye of the storm, which lasted approximately eight minutes of our ten hour round trip:

Undeterred, we drove on (and on and on), largely due to the fact that there was really no reasonable place to stop. We passed dozens of billboards offering adult entertainment, but somehow three girls pulling off the road in a storm to seek solace in a porn shop seemed too much like the beginning of a horror movie...so Swishy gripped the wheel and got us to Oshkosh.


It was totally worth it. Here is the gorgeous Jess Riley:

We got to meet her husband, her best friend who inspired one of the main characters in the book, her adorable nephew, even her Mom & Dad...it was great! People kept bringing PILES of books for her to sign, but we tried to be gracious and share her with her adoring fans. It helped that there were yummy meatballs and other culinary concoctions to tide us over.





My computer battery is running low, so I'll have to save part two of this post--where we try to find our way back from Wisconsin without using any highways--for tomorrow. (I think I'll call it: "Fond du Lac: I'm not Fond du the Lack of highway signs..." ) But before I hit post, let me share two things you might not know about Manic and Swishy that they'd never tell you. It's amazing how their superhero powers work together:

First, EVERYONE loves Manic. No matter where we went, she won people over--waiters, McDonalds workers, NYT bestselling authors. If you meet her, you'll be overcome with an urge to fetch her a drink and/or rotate the tires on her car. She's that fabulous.

And second, Swishy is a man magnet. I sort of guessed this from meeting her before (you may recall my Charlize Theron references), but we were only hanging out with girls then, so I had yet to appreciate the full impact of Swishy on the males of our species...and the females. I actually witnessed firsthand when we walked into one place: a girl saw Swishy and instantly grabbed her boyfriend and started making out with him. Later, when she had to go to the bathroom, the girl actually made him HOLD HER PURSE, lest there be any doubt that he was taken. Hysterical.

But the best thing about Manic & Swishy? They're girls' girls. They wouldn't take your man, or make you rotate their tires... that's just not how they roll. Love them!

More tomorrow :)

There was an old man in a yurt....

This astounds, baffles, and exasperates me. A girl agrees to tie herself to a man two decades older than she is with a 15 foot rope, live a celibate life with him forever (in a YURT no less) and people are flocking to her for relationship advice?

Shouldn't there be some point at which we look at the people we're seeking counsel from and think, "Do I really want to end up where s/he is?" How many of us want to end up tied to an old guy in a yurt???

I wonder if this is where my parents thought I was headed, all those times I came home and explained how they needed to spread salt around their house to absorb any negative energy, lest they suffer harm when Mercury came into retrograde?

At the very least, spiritual exploration gives you funny stories to share at cocktail parties. You know, once you've left the yurt and vaccummed up all the loose salt from your parents' living room...

:)

Animal Planet

THAT FROG has a Facebook page.

THAT DOG won't eat potatoes, even when it's mandated by the United Nations. She's holding out for the International Year of the Hot Dog.

THAT SQUIRREL left a partially eaten corncob on the railing of our front porch. Apparently, he's enjoying seasonal produce, although I'm not above shipping him to New Jersey with promises of sweet corn to get him and his leftovers out of my yard.

And, best of all...THAT SISTER found a one-eyed Pomeranian by the side of the road. (I can't even say "One-eyed Pomeranian" without laughing.) What makes this doubly funny is that she was on her way to the vet anyway, with a stray cat that has made it's home on HER porch. My niece has named the stray Sophie, giving all of us the impression that we now have a THAT CAT in the family. Try it: "One-eyed Pomeranian" Admit it, you're starting to giggle...

Potato Party

The United Nations has declared 2008 the International Year of the Potato. Apparently, potato awareness is at an all-time low worldwide, and the people we trust to facilitate world peace have chosen this as a key action item for this year's agenda.

Always ready to help, the lovely Wikipedians have prepared an entire page on how to celebrate IYOP. This page includes inspiring photos of a heart-shaped potato and some purple spuds, along with a handy, two-item list of "Things You'll Need" (1. Potatoes. 2. Information about potatoes.)

It also shares the puzzling news that the potato--an important potential source of nutrition, according to the U.N.-- loses most of it's vitamins when baked, boiled, or fried...but should not be eaten raw because our bodies can't digest the starch. I know I'm no expert at this cooking thing, but what exactly is left in terms of preparation techniques if you take the big three out of the mix-- Toasted? Flame broiled like a Whopper? Smoked?

I plan to celebrate with a bag of Ruffles. You know, just to do my part.

Mugged

I collect mugs.

There, I said it. Out loud, to other people (which we all know is the first step to admitting you have a problem...)

It started with the leaking mug debacle earlier this year. As I cast about frantically for new ceramic to contain my morning beverage, it occurred to me, "Wait--mugs don't have to match, do they? Why can't I have all sorts of different mugs, for different things???" I went to the Pfalzgraff outlet and picked out a couple (okay, four) assorted mugs to replace the ones that leaked. No big deal, right?

Then I went out on the road. Have you noticed that hotels don't give you coffee mugs anymore, but rather those icky styrofoam cups that hold approximately three ounces of liquid? I don't despise much, but those cups are on the list; I can almost FEEL the chemicals attacking my mouth as I drink. And that's before the cup bends in some weird way and slips out of my hands, showing me just how much of my stuff three ounces of liquid can cover. ARGH.

My solution? I decided to BUY a mug in each city I visited! It would be the most practical of souvenirs, something I'd really use, and then could take home to remember the visit, all for under $10. This worked well at first. I found a white mug with a starfish pattern in Chicago, a gorgeous blue and white mug in Grand Rapids. When I was in Atlanta for a TV show they GAVE me a mug (okay, it was on the set for me to sip from while taping and I wandered off with it by accident/on purpose...)

It was all good until I saw the giant city mugs in Starbucks. Then, in a flash, I became that sucker who needs a 27 gallon mug to show that I've ordered a latte in five different cities. (And don't even get me started about the special Boston mug featuring the Public Garden...that's where Steve proposed! Don't we HAVE to have that mug???)

But yesterday, it happened: the unavoidable sign that I've crossed the line from enthusiast to person with a problem: I found myself in Bed, Bath & Beyond, asking three different sales associates if they could help me find a MUG TREE, because I'm out of cupboard space to support my mug habit and need a stylish way to leave them out on the counter.

A MUG TREE?!?

My friend Peter says that the time to draw the line on material acquisitions is when your stuff needs stuff--in this case, when my mugs send me out with a shopping list. He has a point. But I'm heading out to a reading in Connecticut on Thursday. And then Chicago on Saturday. I'll need new mugs for memories, won't I?

I wonder if Ebay has mug trees?

I guess I have more faith than I thought...

A little while ago, I spilled an entire glass of Cabernet Sauvignon in the living room. All over our living room, actually: I doused the couch, the rug, the coffee table, the wall...I even caught THAT DOG square in the face, sending her into a fit of alcohol-induced sneezing.

As I rushed to the hallway to grab some towels, I blurted: "Jesus, you turned water into wine...any chance you could reverse the process???"

I'm not sure if it's miraculous intervention or scotchgard, but I'm happy to report that our couch and rug are clean. THAT DOG looks like she's just back from her first frat party, but other than that, things are pretty much back to normal :)

(Addendum, 52 minutes later):

Okay, things just got a WHOLE lot better! Check out this very cool piece in Sunday's Chicago Sun-Times by columnist Cathleen Falsani (you gotta love a girl who entitles her blog, "The Dude Abides"). It mentions a certain book, with a certain frog...and the story of how my best friend Kristen saved my life with a check, a key, and a discreet Fed Ex delivery. Good stuff!

40 Days of Faith (and mixed metaphors)

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about raising my expectations: of life, work, romance...even God. I guess it's all these hours on trains and planes, which has given me WAY too much exposure to things that chip away at my hopes.

For example, the last magazine I read included several cheery articles reminding me of things I've neglected to worry about. Apparently, I'm way behind. It told me (in graphic detail) how I need to worry about catching something grotesque if THAT DOG licks my face...becoming something grotesque if I don't slather myself with SPF 4000 from February until late November...and making the whole world grotesque if I buy jeans that are anything less than 100% organic cotton. And if my 401k isn't fully funded? I should probably quit life now, because I'm taking up too much room on the planet.

By the end, I was pretty fed up. I mean, this is what I'm supposed to be focusing on to get from where I am to where I want to be? Really???

And don't even get me started about the relationship advice, which was varying takes on the same theme: "Marriage is disappointing; make sure you have good girlfriends to see you through..." ARGH.

Rather than simmering in my frustration, though, it made me want to push back, to swim against the tide of all this worry and doubt. And the basic rule of swimming is: Don't swim alone; use the buddy system. So I thought I'd invite you to swim with me.

In my book, I describe a time when the pastor of my church asked us all to ponder the question: "What do you want Jesus to do for you?" He based this on passages from the Bible that suggest that God enjoys interacting with us over specific prayers; that God is okay if we have specific desires for our lives, and maybe even put them inside us because he wants to help us get there. I was quite sure everyone else in our church was praying for world peace; I snuck off to a corner and asked Jesus to bring me a husband.

We spent the next 40 Days praying for our deepest desires, and the results were rather astounding. So I thought that doing something similar--asking God together for the deepest desires of our hearts, the pieces of life that we're missing--might be a fun way for us to swim against the tide of low expectations together. Or raise the bar. Or some combination of the two.

I've created a new blog: www.fortydaysoffaith.blogspot.com. Starting on June 1st, I'll post there every day for 40 Days: thoughts about asking God for big things, words of encouragement, inspirational stories. And you can jump in as you want, commenting on your hopes and dreams; we can cheer each other on. Whether you're a person of high faith, low faith, or no faith at all, you may have noticed that it's easier to believe that something wonderful (like a husband, or a book deal, or a happier outlook on life) will happen for someone else rather than for you. I'm hoping we can capitalize on that, toss whatever faith we bring into one collective pool, and each end up someplace better than where we started.

So if you're game, come on by. I suspect it will be a fun place to hang out this summer!

A bad idea, no matter how you look at it...

We went out for dinner Friday night. A romantic "welcome home" dinner was what we had in mind. What we got instead was me running to the bathroom over and over again for the next five hours, while Steve quoted NBA star Charles Barkley's T-Mobile commercial: "That's why I DON'T eat shrimp!"

ACK.

The worst part of this story, though, is that two nights later, when faced with dinnertime AGAIN and no food thawed, I actually said, "Hey--we still have some money left on that gift card--we could go back to _______! I mean, what are the odds of getting food poisoning twice?"

If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere...

Omigosh, I love New York! AMEX can schedule my commercial anytime, and I'll be ready for my close up. The reading with A.J. Jacobs last night was super-fun (although I can't believe how many pictures I forgot to take), and I'm excited to be hanging out with the book club from Redeemer Presbyterian Church tonight. In between, I'm guessing there might be shopping :)

Right now, I'm sitting in the lobby of the hotel (that's where they keep the free internet access), watching hoards of high school students on their way to visit the Statue of Liberty. Bless the parents brave enough to chaperone THAT trip...I can't even imagine! And someone's baby is VERY unhappy to be checking out.

Time for me to get some coffee :)