Food, folks, fun, fall

Oh, where to begin?

We had an amazing weekend, and my love of all things autumnal (including the word autumnal) was more than confirmed.

First, I drove to Maine to deposit THAT DOG for a visit with the niece, the nephew...and their new cat. This was THAT DOG'S first experience with a non-canine creature that's supposed to be indoors, and suffice to say she didn't warm to the concept. Upon seeing said creature, she responded in what was (in her eyes at least) the only appropriate fashion, howling in stunned alarm and chasing the cat up the stairs, down the hall, and cornering her under the bed. It was not one of those cuddly family moments you hope for, but at least no one got eaten. Sometimes you have to be grateful for small things.

After dropping THAT DOG off for her feline acclimatization, Steve and I drove to Ithaca, NY for the weekend, to spend some quality time with friends I met at the beginning of the book tour. Our running joke all weekend was that Ithaca is JUST like Cambridge...only without the stress, the crazy drivers, or the parking tickets.

If I had to sum up my weekend in three bits of life wisdom, here's what comes to mind:

1. When touring wine country (who knew Ithaca had wine country?) avoid the places with the giant Hummer Limos in the parking lot, especially if you see dozens of 20 somethings pouring out, shouting, "Bring on the VINO!" There are other, lovelier vineyards to explore.

2. It doesn't mention this on the label, but Tylenol is super-helpful when you're at a dinner party and your friends make you laugh so hard, for so long, that your face aches.

3. Don't eat at the Ponderosa off the side of the highway. Never, ever, ever. (But if you do, there's a Wal-Mart 35 miles east that carries a full selection of Tums).

But that all pales in comparison to what Steve and I really learned, which was that long drives are worth it when you get to spend time with great people and expand the scope of your world. (Of course, I'm not sure THAT DOG would agree, given that her world expanded to include an indoor cat...but I took her for a run on the beach on the way home yesterday, and I think that was her version of Tums, making everything better!)

A Golden Retriever at the Aquarium...and hurds of turdles

My sister and niece came to visit this weekend. My niece is five, and very sparkly. She's a girl who loves adventure. She's also a girl who knows what she wants. We went to the Boston Aquarium, where after 30 minutes of fighting her little way through the crowds to see Myrtle the Turtle and Sebastian the Shark, she looked up at us and said, "Can we go home and put on jammies now?" It was 3:30.

What's even funnier is that when asked which creature she liked the best at the Aquarium, she raved about Clancy... the Golden Retriever we met out on the sidewalk as we made our way home.

In grown up highlights, we found a FABULOUS new game called Bananagrams. We didn't find it, actually--it was a gift from our favorite Midwesterners who were in town on Friday. It's amazingly fun, but also (for me at least) mortifying. While playing with Steve and my sister, I had these brilliant moments:

"I could add LE to TURD and make...TURDLE!"

Then later:

"I can win this game! I've got all the letters I need to spell HURDS!"

Yep. Hurds of Turdles.

My sister's response? "Wow--your editor has her work cut out for her..."

Bingo!

No matter what your voting plans are for this November, this will keep you entertained tonight.

And for those of you who'd like to compete against your spouse/significant other/roommate, here's a link to a card for the other side (Biden doesn't have his own card yet, but tonight could change all that...)

Let's get those bingo skills in shape for our golden years :)

2008: Year of the Frog

Does this mean 2009 will be the year of the Prince?

Blog from the fog

I'm having one of those "too foggy to blog" days, so I thought I'd just post a basic update, and invite you to do the same. Here are two tidbits about life in Trishville:

I spoke at a meeting of Moms today. It was amazing, and fun, and totally daunting. I mean...I'm not yet a Mom, and I don't play one on TV. I'm an AUNT, which means I know all about creating fun and havoc, then handing children back to the people who made them when diapers need to be changed, but not so much about actual parenting. The good news, though: I made it through the whole session without suggesting: "If crate training works for dogs, should we consider it for children???" I think the Moms appreciated this.

Saturday, we bought a new bed. To replace the trillion-dollar catastrophe we purchased right after our wedding. We've long thought the older one must be defective, given that it has giant craters on either side where we sleep, and a huge lump in the middle. (When THAT DOG jumps up on the bed to hang out with us, she looks like the Queen of Sheba, surveying us from on high...) But when we mentioned this to the not-at-all-helpful guy at the furniture-store-we-don't-ever-want-to-revisit, he said, "Oh! That's burrowing. People LOVE to burrow when they sleep!" I was like, "I'm not a ferret...I don't burrow."

New bed comes Friday. There will be rejoicing.

Seriously?

I ordered 20 copies of my book from Amazon yesterday, for an event I'll be speaking at next week. As promised, they shipped them immediately...

One by one.

How is this possible?

I'm less of a loser if I help you win big!

So I had planned to blog about how I almost came to blows with the salesman at the mattress store yesterday after he said he wouldn't sell us a mattress without a box spring. (We already have a box spring; a new one can't possibly bring me $600 worth of enjoyment, no matter what he suggests to the contrary while standing on various box springs around the store trying to make some sort of convoluted point...)

But then I saw this post on Allison Winn Scotch's blog and thought, This is far more interesting then my mattress woes...why not love my blog readers enough to send them there?

So there you have it! Head over, enter to win a copy of Allison's new book, Time of My Life, and tell us: what is your "What if?" life moment?

Three hours? No problem!

I had the fun--and slightly terrifying--opportunity to teach a writing class at Grub Street last night. Grub Street is THE writing organization here in Greater Boston, offering classes, writing groups, conferences, galas--it's an amazing organization. So when they asked me to expand the short talk I gave at the Muse and the Marketplace conference in the Spring on Memoir: Behind the Scenes into a three-hour class, of course I said yes.

And then yesterday afternoon around 4pm, I thought, Oh--what have I done?

Three hours is rather a long time. I tried to remember the last time I sat through a three hour class--if ever? All I came up with was the soul-sucking tedium of Bar Review, in that long summer of my life between law school and taking the bar exam, where android lawyers from distant cities lectured us via video hookup on the never-ending intricacies of Civil Procedure. I remember sitting there in that classroom, staring at the video monitor, thinking "I hate you. I simply hate you..." Good times.

Here's what I forgot, though, and was reminded of the minute last night's class began: I hated being a lawyer, even before I was one. But I love being a writer. I think that makes a difference. The class was filled with fun, interesting people. They inspired me, reminding me what a cool thing it is to write, to wrestle our personal experiences into stories that might entertain or inspire others. It was a great experience--almost enough to push that whole "studying for the bar" debacle out of my mind :)

And I had a secret going into the class which gave me an extra shot of courage: our awesome blog friend Stacy (you probably know her as the girl with the minions) sent me a gorgeous necklace the other day. It was a thank-you for an interview we did together for her awesome online magazine, Halfway Down The Stairs. I was surprised, and touched beyond belief. I wore the necklace last night, as a little reminder that this writing life is filled with unexpected benefits (I'm even hokey enough to call them blessings). It connects us to cool people we wouldn't meet any other way. And last night's class continued to prove this true.

If you're a blogger, you're a writer, and therefore part of this. So let me say now: Thank you :)

Pretty cool, huh?

Here's a link to my interview with Stacy. (That it's in the magazine's "Bon Appetit!" edition strikes me as rather ironic, given my culinary ineptitude, but maybe it's a sign of things to come???)

Wanted: Sheep, Numbered 1-1,000

What do you do when you're plenty tired, but your brain is so full you can't sleep?

Reading and Writing (Absolutely no Arithmetic)

I read two great books this weekend. (It was raining, and I'm not much for college football.) First, Don't You Forget About Me, a first novel by Jancee Dunn. If any part of your adolescence coincided with the bizarre decade that was the 1980s, you will love this book. My favorite thing about Jancee's writing is that she doesn't just talk about all the funny fashion and music choices we made back then, she captures the feelings in a way that is spot-on. Reading this story was like being transported back to my own high school experience, and then snapping back to the present quickly enough to appreciate that while that was a wild ride, it's not something I'd ever want to go through again!

The second was the final Harry Potter book. This series might be the best take on the supernatural battle between good and evil I've seen in recent fiction, and book #7 is the most intense. I won't give anything away, except to say this: It's possible (even preferable) to get through the entire book without giving a whit about Dumbledore's romantic preferences.

I've been thinking a lot about writing lately, specifically the question of what keeps us motivated. I look at authors with two, three (seven, twelve...) books on the shelf and wonder, what does it take to sustain that kind of inspiration/persperation over the long haul? So I emailed some of them, and I'll be sharing their thoughts here this week.

But I'd love your thoughts, too, because we're all so different.
So if you're inclined, tell me:
What was something you did recently that was really hard that you didn't HAVE to do?
What kept you going?
Was it worth it?

Thanks, but no

Has anyone else seen the new body lotion commercial with the tag line, "Shouldn't YOUR skin be soft like yogurt?" Or did I fall asleep on the couch and dream it?

I hope it's the latter. Because really, it's hard for me to imagine what kind of exhausted minds would base a marketing campaign for skin care around a dairy product produced by bacterial fermentation? Not to mention that, when I dream of what my skin will feel like at it's optimal best, goopy and runny are not the words that come to mind...

Is it just me?

(Thanks to the fine folks at Wikipedia for helping me get my yogurt facts straight, and providing the lovely picture.)

Big Plans...

We were up laaaaate last night, watching the Red Sox. I won't talk about how the game turned out, because it's too grim to recount. Instead, this will be a rose-colored glasses/lemon from my lemonade kinda post about the rest of the night, where my friend Francesca and I cooked up big plans to save (a teeny, tiny portion of) the world.

It started at 9:49am with an email that said, "Rob and I have extra Red Sox tickets, wanna come to the game tonight?" (For those of you who live outside New England, this is the rough equivalent to asking, "I just found all this extra cash we can't use, wanna go shopping at Mercedes?")

Naturally, I said yes. I had a secret motive, you see.

In this picture, we look all happy and innocent, just two girls enjoying America's favorite pastime with our husbands (wait, that sounds entirely different than what I meant...and REALLY different that what's in the picture...) But the t-shirts and cheering were just a cover for our REAL mission: We're planning to stage a coup (and I'm not too proud to admit that if I hadn't found that word in my Webster's Misspeller's Dictionary, I would have anounced we were staging a coo...taking on the powers that be by attacking them with soft, soothing noises...)

We're not plotting to take over the whole world...just a very small corner of it. Specifically, the corner occupied by members of our college class. You see, the most recent edition of our college alumni magazine just came out. It offers page after page of facinating descriptions of the things members of other classes are doing: feeding the poor, solving illiteracy, discovering a cure for the common cold.... And then there's the news of our class: No one sent anything in, so the poor girl saddled with our class notes had to tell us about how her recently adopted cat got spayed.

The biggest accomplishment of our class is that one of our members is a responsible pet owner???

Pitiful. So much so Fresca and I have decided to TAKE ACTION. Members of our college class: Be ready! (Because seriously, unless you spay your cat yourself, you shouldn't have to put the news in the Quarterly.)

Write Now

I'm thinking about writing for a class I'll be teaching next week.

Do you like writing? I mean writing in the general, everyday sense, rather than WRITING (which is what we do when we think people--rather than friends or loved ones--will be reviewing our efforts).

Tell me: What's something you've written in the past day or so: a grocery list, labels for file folders, descriptions for the pics in your online photo album???

This is your brain...described in food

I just read this great post on The Dude Abides. I liked it so much that I even copied Cathleen's illustration, because it's simply too awesome not to have on my blog. (I'm justifying this thievery with the axiom imitation = flattery.) The post describes Cathleen's experience with how our our brains--specifically the differences between the left and right sides--can affect our experience of the world around us. Interesting stuff.

And if you're squeamish (like me), kinda gross.

Here's why: The post includes a video of a winsome neurologist/stroke survivor...holding a human brain. Suffice to say that I may never again able to chop up a head of cauliflower...

(It could be worse, though: I just read an essay by a father who complains that since seeing one of those "This is Your Brain On Drugs" commercials when she was six, his youngest daughter still won't eat eggs.)

Follow the leader

I have to admit, it's taking everything I have not to blog about the twists, turns, and dramatic revelations of our ongoing Presidential election. The past month has been like a reality TV show, where each new episode features a character doing something that astonishes and/or horrifies me. But because so many awesome writers are already filling pages with articles, op-ed pieces, and blogs about the bizarre state of our Union, I'll back away from the keyboard...

Except to ask this (because I'm curious how other people sort out all the information coming at us): Do you think it's fair to write someone off because you just don't like them as a person? Or because what you see in their personal lives (rather than their political record) indicates that their priorities are vastly different from yours, and that they seem to lack the character you'd want to be led by?

Here's why I'm asking: I've had some interesting experiences with following different types of leaders (if you've read my book, you know about one bestselling New age author in particular, not to mention a disaster of a first husband) whose personal lives turned out to different than what you'd expect based on their shiny public appearance. Ever since then, I've looked at potential leaders with two very specific questions:

1. Do I want to go where they're going?
2. Do I want to end up where they are?

And when I ask this, it's not based entirely on their position regarding potential amendments to the Constitution, or which decisions are best left to local government, but also their personal life: the interrelationships between the people and situations and circumstances closest to them.

Does this play a role for you as you're picking leaders to follow?

Secret swimmer man

I drove up to Maine today to take my Mom out for a birthday breakfast and my sister out for a "Your cold isn't that bad, is it?" lunch. Fun stuff.

On my way home, I grabbed a cup of coffee and went to the beach to ponder deep things about the meaning of life, etc. That's when I saw this guy down in the water:

I don't know if you can see from this distance (I was trying to be stealth like Swishy with my camera) but he had on swim trunks, goggles, and...a scuba hood?!? He kept staring up at the beach, then diving into the waves over and over again. Clearly, it was a happy moment for him. I felt kind of bad watching, but he was RIGHT in front of where I was sitting; there was only so much staring out over the horizon I could do.

If you have any idea what this might mean about the meaning of life, let me know, cause I'm stumped...

The Beleaguered Chef

I'm cooking. A casserole. It calls for a cup of Miracle Whip (don't judge!)
The fancy measuring gadget someone gave us as a gift is reversible--one end measures liquid, the other solid.

Is Miracle Whip a liquid or a solid?
Does it matter?
It doesn't look like it matters.

(This is why I'm not a foodie. I can't handle the technicalities of a 1970s casserole...)

Tennis anyone?

I love the U.S. Open.
I love that I used to think John McEnroe was a complete idiot, and now he's one of the best commentators in television.
I love that you can be ranked 132 in the world, have the match of your life, and send the top seed home early.
I love that rowdy fans cheer for their favorite players, creating fan clubs like "The J Block" and "The Fish Tank."
I love Payton and Eli Manning threatening to take out the Williams sisters in that Oreo Cookie commercial.
Really, I love it all.

I went to the U.S. Open once, back when I was a lawyer. Pete Sampras beat Andre Agassi, and I saw Arnold Schwarzenegger, Brooke Shields, Kristi Yamaguchi, and Billy Joel in the stands. I felt pretty fancy. I took approximately 1,000 pictures, wanting to remember everything forever. Unfortunately, the film development place did something funky, and superimposed my Christmas pictures from earlier on the roll over the top of my U.S. Open pictures. Which means I now have dozens of shots that look like my 1-year old nephew opening gifts in the middle of Louis Armstrong Stadium....

Sigh.

I dream of being organized enough to go back. It's not difficult, or even all that expensive in the early rounds. But it requires more thinking in advance than I've been able to pull off so far. I think the problem is that the U.S. Open is my gateway into this new season: until I see it on TV, I'm in complete denial that summer is ending. These two weeks of tennis ease my transition, so that by the time the champions are declared next weekend, I'll be ready to move on to the first great activity of autumn: back to school shopping :)

My picks this year? Andy Roddick and Venus Williams.
(If my record with the Olympics offers any indication of my predictive abilities, they'll both be out by the end of the next round...)

Boston Globe Interview

I'm in the Boston Globe today!

It's always interesting to see what comes out of an hour-long conversation/interview. As you'll see, I was rather caught up in the world of Sex And The City: The Movie when Rich Barlow and I spoke...

Stuff & Things

1. We have winners of yesterday's Froggy Goodness Giveaway: Aimee! Liza! Melanie!
...Email me at trishryan AT gmail DOT com and let me know where to send your prizes :)

2. We have the link to a fun interview I did with Carrie at Words to Mouth. It includes some embarrassing revelations about how my writing career began back in high school, when I realized I'd need A's in English to balance out my C's and D's in math...

3. We have one of the funniest posts ever from Manic Mom, about her husband's creative attempts at garbage disposal. Priceless.

4. And finally, we have a picture of THAT DOG's attempt at performance art. Can you believe how proud she looks? Unbelievable. She hasn't done anything quite like this since she was a puppy.

I'm not sure what the vet did when he removed those two weird growths from her head a few weeks back, but I think I might want them reattached...

7/7: Winners! We Have Winners!

I was up late into the night, reading your funny comments and feeling great about this wild crazy blog world we inhabit. Thank you for playing along with me...this has been a fun seven days :)

And now, without further ado, the winners!




Congratulations, Grits!






Congratulations Kristen Dedeyn Kirk!







Congratulations Susie!











Congratulations Liz!









Congratulations Joy!






Congratulations Nicole!

(this is Allison Winn Scotch's second novel, TIME OF MY LIFE , our mystery pick)






Congratulations Ruby (Mouth)!






If you see your name on this list, please send me your mailing address: trishryanonline AT gmail DOT com.

After I'd picked all the winners, I felt this Rosie O'Donnell-esque urge to give more (Rosie and I don't have all that much in common, but our love of giving away free stuff bonds us like sisters). I dreamed (dreamt?) up three fun, froggy care packages, each of which will contain a copy of HE LOVES ME HE LOVES ME NOT, a decorative lip glossed mug, and this very funny "Grow a Prince" kit, where you drop a frog in water and watch what happens (I'll admit that I've not tried this, so I make no promises about the outcome...)

If you didn't win but still want to, drop me a comment...tell me about your favorite lip gloss or lipstick (or if you're a Chapstick girl...that's okay too) I'll pick three tomorrow :)

7/7 Day Seven: Dave Schmelzer's NOT THE RELIGIOUS TYPE

I saved a fun book for last in our Seven Books in Seven Days giveaway. It's by a genuine friend of mine (as opposed to an author I stalked and/or offered my teeth to meet), and it's the very first book I ever "blurbed" as an author myself, which was (as you can probably imagine) both terrifying and thrilling.

If you've read my memoir, you'll remember Dave. He's the exceedingly tall pastor who took the stage the day I wandered into his church. I sat towards the back, scanning the room for cute guys, ready to bolt the minute anyone said anything judgmental or horrifying. But instead, Dave suggested an oddly hopeful approach to God and faith and life, as if he honestly believed we're created to experience things beyond what we might even think to ask for. For obvious reasons, I was captivated. If you've ever read Anne Lamott and wondered where one might find the open-armed, low-pressure/low-rhetoric, Jesus-ey brand of spirituality she describes, NOT THE RELIGIOUS TYPE is a great place to start.

What I love about this book is that Dave does a great job of combining his unique story with wise and thoughtful musings on various topics. I think he's the only pastor out there celebrating the vital contribution of the New Atheists to American society, or admitting in a chapter title that he wants lots and lots of sex. As the jacket copy says, "Dave suggests a new, unexpected way of seeing the world and our place in it." I've know Dave and his wife long enough to know that this isn't just some show he's putting on--it's the real deal. If you're a spiritual seeker, this will be a fun addition to your collection.

(Plus, my blurb on the back will make it worth millions someday!)

If you'd like to win, leave a comment....tell us something you love and appreciate about one of your friends.

Happy Monday :)

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 :)