Disjointed Christmas Post

I am officially enjoying the Christmas season, as of today really.

I have come out of the funk I've been in for a couple of weeks.
I enjoy taking off my glasses and gazing at our beautifully lit, blurry Christmas tree.
My kitchen is clean...and therefore ready to be destroyed by the upcoming candy-making extravaganza.
(I have made peace with the only-baking, no-other-sort-of-presents fact of life that is this Christmas.)
With class being over (TOMORROW!), I am no longer forced to think of my daughter's naptime as gold (and today enjoyed her awake time much more than her sleepy time; this could, and maybe should, be a post in and of itself).

Speaking of the daughter, I went ahead and broke down and took her to the doc today for MORE antibiotics; I gave her one dose, and she is already acting more her normal, cheerful self. I spent a bit of time looking up "tubes in ears" surgery, etc., this evening and am feeling better about it (since I know the ENT that we're seeing next week is going to tell me she needs them). I still don't like the idea of the forced unconsciousness of my 18-month-old, but I LOVE the idea of her not being sick and hurting anymore.

This evening I spent a good half hour reading the Williams-Sonoma Christmas cataglog. WHOA. I want everything, please. Thank you. (Everything except the $495 5-ounce jar of select caviar. Has anyone ever eaten caviar? Is it really so good?)

Another thing I'm enjoying: the fact that Collin's office hours stop after TOMORROW(!), and we will see him before 6 o'clock every weeknight.

I am not enjoying the fact that we loaned out our Christmas Vacation video. HOWEVER, I am enjoying the fact that friends who'd never seen this treasured movie are enjoying it perhaps as I write. So that cancels that out, doesn't it?

Yes, I am excited about Christmas, and Christmases to come...with our growing family. Our "girls." That sounds so strange still. I am thankful for today and for God's many blessings. I am sad for loved ones who are hurting and praying for them this Christmas. I am sad for the many people who are not joyful this Christmas, who do not find hope in its meaning, for any number of reasons. I fall short in service to my neighbor and in reaching out where love is desperately needed. That is sad. But there is light. And thankfully, my falling short doesn't keep God from doing his business of shedding that light and offering hope and working miracles.

Cards

Thanksgiving was good. It started off a bit rough, with a rough conversation, but the conversation turned out to be a blessing to all involved, and we had a marvelous holiday: me in the kitchen mostly, and Collin working on his car with his dad. (I'm so glad he has a hobby other than reading stats and psych books/articles.)

I have some pictures I will post below of Thanksgiving, but now it's Christmastime, seeing as Advent has begun and the Christmas tree is erected and decorated in true family form, and I want to post a couple of thoughts smooshing my brain. (These thoughts were already smooshing my brain, but thanks to awesome friend's blog post, they're at the forefront right at this moment.)

To send or not to send a Christmas card this year?

Every time I think about sending a Christmas card, I get tense, and I stress out...but I also really want to do it. Why? I'm not sure my motivations are sound. The stressers usually include: Do we even have money for this? But I love getting Christmas cards, and what if no one sends me one? (Note: poor motivation.) But I don't have time for that. I'll have to gather all those addresses (because I will NEVER have them in one place), and what if I miss someone, which I'll surely do, and do I send them to church friends, because there are so many, but they're my best friends, and do I find a picture we've already taken (is there one?!), or do I stress about getting a new one? Oh...WHEN am I going to get this done?!

Time. Out.

Do I even have to send a Christmas card? And if I do, does it HAVE to have a picture? The thought of not sending a Christmas card simultaneously makes me sad and relaxed. I just don't know. I DO want to send one, because it seems fun, and I haven't done it since the baby was born, but apparently it isn't fun for me? I do want to receive them from friends, but is that my motivation? And is that okay?

All to say, I would love your thoughts on the Christmas-card-sending experience.

Second: I am considering only giving candies as presents this year. (I would make them, of course. Every year we received these particular candies from our neighbors the Sights, and every year I couldn't wait until they arrived. They were and remain my favorite Chrismtas candy...and they're not really even a "Christmas" candy.) But as I sat and made my list of whom I would send them to, I couldn't help but worry that most people receiving them will be displeased not to have received a "real" present this year.

I'm certain this isn't the case...because that even looks ugly. There is no way my family, or Collin's, with maybe the exception of teenagers, will be upset receiving candies from us. But I keep worrying that they will.

JESUS SAYS NOT TO WORRY, MEGHAN. I know, I know. And I tell my husband this very truth often. I guess the tides have turned.

Oooooooh, side note...the bread in my bread machine is starting to smell gooooood.

Okay, that's enough for now. Here are the Thanksgiving pics. I was in charge of two types of potatoes, cranberry relish (which I forgot to add pecans to, oops!) and a pie. My first homemade pie crust. A semi-success. It needed lard.


Sweet girl with runny nose.


Candied "yams." (What is a yam?)


Nom nom nom...


Pie crust. (Collin every so kindly remarked, "Meghan, I believe this particular crimped area doesn't look as well crimped as the rest," then smirked when I gasped. I was a woman on the edge. Good thing he was kidding.)

Frozen Meals: Homemade Version

I've been doing what I can to save money in the food department - since we're rebudgeting and cutting everywhere. Fun!

Actually, it is. It's like a game. My dear friend Jessie loaned me a book called Miserly Moms that has given me a lot of great ideas (as has Jessie), and I've gleaned what I can from a number of other friends as well. What I've learned so far? I can save a LOT more money than I thought.

For example, after my first round of grocery shopping to get started with this new "system," I've spent around $60 per week on groceries for a family of four (including house items like laundry deterrgent, diapers for baby, etc.). Incredible. I shudder to think of the money I've wasted over the years. I could have invested and been rich!

So, what am I doing (for starters)? Buying meat in bulk and making my own chicken broth and bread (Collin eats a LOT of bread), and eating vegetarian at least twice a week, and using less meat in meals in general (most of the time). It's amazing how simple it is.

First, I sat down and made a list of all the meals that I like to cook and that I can cook fairly easily (with "normal" ingredients). I came up with just under 40. Then I posted the list (organized into groups like beef, chicken, soup, vegetarian, etc.) on the fridge.

Second, I created a menu for the week to come. This was a Sunday night. It really didn't take long, and I can't believe I've not done this before. I posted this list on the fridge too.

The first thing I did was cook a whole chicken - the meat of which I'm still using (two weeks later) - then made broth out of the carcass and saved it in 2-cup portions in the freezer. By making meals that I can freeze half of, we practically cut our weekly budget in half. And I don't have to cook as much! Though I do love to cook, I also love the idea of only having to slice an avocado and some tomato from our dwindling garden while I throw my frozen pan of enchiladas in the oven. They're still homeade, and I don't have to spend an extra 45 minutes in the kitchen.

As far as non-dinner things go, Drue eats meat and cheese and fruit. I keep at least a box of some type of cracker around for snacks. She also loves my egg salad, which I've been making a huge batch of each week and eating on bread for lunch. Collin's lunches are fairly simple as well: a turkey sandwich and an apple with a bag of peanuts and Cheerios for a snack.

Breakfasts are PB toast for me and Drue and Grape Nuts and yogurt for Collin (Drue loves yogurt to). I've found a recipe for homeade Grape Nuts, which should save us some dough. And I'm really enjoying baking bread each week. Buy one cheap bag of flour and a jar of yeast, and you've got bread for weeks!

Fun times in the Barnes Kitchen.

Awkward Moment

The bear and I went to the mall today with some of my girlfriends and their kiddos. We got to the mall early because sunshine was having the most clingy, whiney morning of the century. She followed me around whining for over an hour, so we left an hour earlier than we usually do for our mall play date.

We pulled up just before 10:00, and we took a tour with the Mall Walkers before settling into the play area. My friends weren't there yet, but there were a couple other moms there, so I chatted it up with one of them whose four-year-old couldn't get enough of Drue. The mom was concerned that I was annoyed, but I tried to assure her I wasn't. (I was a little. A very little.)

Another mom came into the play area and sort of joined our conversation. Then when the first mom left, the other sat with me and continued talking. I'm fine with that. I've always loved talking to strangers. She was kind. She gave Drue a ball to play with, and Drue was having a blast. Where it got awkward was when this mom started disciplining all the children in the play area.

OK, let me not exaggerate. This mom was simply concerned for good behavior. But when another little girl smacked Drue, this mom started talking very loudly so that the other mother could hear: "That little girl just hit your daughter. Did you see that? She just hit her in the face? Why would she do that?"

OK. This made me nervous. In my head I'm thinking, Shut up! Don't you know the othe mom can hear you? How embarrassing. This isn't that big a deal. They're tiny little people. Drue's not even that upset.

But I went back and kept smiling and let her talk and acted like everything was good, because generally it was. Then out of the blue (and I mean out of the blue; we were talking about something else entirely, and she just changed the subject with this), the woman started, in her own way, trying to witness to me. At this point she'd already praised my daughter and asked me, "Do you take her to church? Is she around other children?" to which I'd responded, "Why yes." But now she tells me a story of answered prayer and I feel like she is just wanting to make sure I'm a Christian, because if I'm not, she's going to share the gospel with me right this second.

OK. This makes me feel a number of emotions, two of which are guilt and annoyance.

A little time passes, and I get ready to leave because my friends aren't there yet, and Drue is hungry and getting tired, but then my friends show up, so I come back and give Drue a banana in the play area (against the rules!), and this mom is so happy I've come back, or so it seems by her smile and the way she greets me.

But uh oh. The same little girl who hit Drue the first time (she had actually done it twice at this point) hit Drue again. And again, I didn't see it. And again, when I did look over, Drue wasn't that upset. But the only reason I did look over was because when it happened, the lady got up, rushed to the scene of the crime and started scolding the mom whose daughter hit mine. I am not kidding: scolding. Loudly.

The poor other mom tried to keep this mom from disciplining her daughter and rushed her over to me and Drue to apologize. The whole time I'm hoping she doesn't think I'm with the mom who just yelled at her. We told the little girl we forgave her, and I told the mom she was sweet to do that. That it wasn't the end of the world. (She was upset.)

I didn't say anything to the scolding mom, but when she started telling other children they needed to say please and, specifically, telling my friends that they needed to discipline their children for playing too rough or taking the ball that Drue was supposed to be playing with, I was out of there. In fact, two out of the four of us were out of there. We'd been there long enough, so it was all good. But I'm writing all of this because I'm curious: how would you have handled the situation?

My Life

Blah. Too busy to post. Every day I think of something I want to write about on this here blog, and every day I'm too busy or tired of the computer to write it.

Gotta go clean a poopie diaper.

P.S. This doesn't mean I'm quitting writing. By no means.

I Should Blog; I Haven't Blogged In Days

Tomorrow is my ONE shot at talking PW with my students (that's "professional writing" to all you ignoramuses). I have been laboring over what to talk about. How does one boil an entire major into one barely-introductory lecture?

I've been talking on basic story forms and formats. How to write a basic news story, a feature story, a piece for broadcast, a blog, a piece for the web. How to write a lead/lede, a headline, a summary. How to think like a "backpack journalist" (i.e., a journalist with lots of tricks up her sleeve; i.e., a journalist who can look at a body of information, including words, video, photos, etc., and decide how best to communicate the story). So I thought: I'll boil it down to the five modes of discourse.

From fastest to slowest they are: narrative summary, dramatic action, dialogue, description and exposition.

So tomorrow morning at 8:30 I'll be talking about these, albeit briefly, and my students will probably (all but three of them) be snoozing. Actually, no, I won't stand for that. This is PW Day. The ONE PW Day. I will walk around the room and pound desks with my fists if there are heads dropped.

Still, with such a great major that encompasses so much, talking about the five modes of discourse does sound kind of lame, doesn't it?

P.S. Nobody does exposition better than Arrested Development narrator, Ron Howard.

Me Versus Chocolate: Me Wins

The cupcakes were a hit, and I hope so because they take a lot of prep. A lot of prep for me, that is. Here are a few photos along my journey. And by the way, these are Martha Stewart cupcakes, so you can expect the best.

First, the cupcakes, which are Devil's Food made with a cocoa solution (I like to call it that), butter, white sugar, eggs, sour cream, flour, the usual powder and soda, vanilla, salt and love.

I started making a mess early...

...but found time to clean between majors. For example, I made the cocoa solution first (hot water whisked with cocoa powder), got the butter and sugar melting...

...then cleaned up what I'd messed up to that point.

Once the butter-sugar mix is melted (yum)...

...you drink it all. Just kidding. You dump it in a mixing bowl and beat on medium-low speed until cooled (4-6 minutes). Oooooh, the smell. Reminds me of the movies, all that butter.

While that's mixing, put together your dry mix and measure out a cup of room-temperature sour cream. Oh, your 4 eggs should be sitting out too. Room temperature, people. Aaaand the oven is pre-heating to something. ;)

Once the mixture is cooled, mix in 1 heaping Tbsp vanilla and one egg at a time, each until combined. Then the cocoa solution. Mmm... Love watching it swirl together. Wish I had a pic.

Turn the beating speed to low and mix in half the dry mix, the sour cream, and the rest of the dry mix, each until combined. Then pour that yummy mixture into 32 lined muffin tins and eat at least a quarter cup yourself before washing out the mixing bowl. (Fill each cup 3/4 full.)


They'll turn out like this. (Can you tell I had too much fun taking pictures?)


I was lucky enough to be gifted with three wire cooling racks when we married. I love them and use them often. Once the cupcakes have entirely cooled, you can start thinking about making the ganache frosting. Then you can start making it.

Pour a pound or so of yummy chocolate into a heat-proof bowl.


Heat lots of heavy whipping cream and a quarter cup ligh corn syrup over med-high heat until just simmering and poor the mixture over the chocolate (whilst singing, "There is no life I know that compares with pure imagination...")...

...and stir...

...(you're walking into the candy room, the chimes are chiming)...

...(you're walking the steps with Willy Wonka and just about to crunch into a lemon flower cup)...

...(aaaaaand, chocolate river).

"Do not over stir."

Unfortunately, I tried frosting the cakes too early. This was was a bit runny. But still delicious.


A couple more runs of cooling and stirring, and we were ready.


Pure deliciousness.


I had a lot of fun dipping the cakes into a bowl of chocolate, colored sprinkles. They didn't cover entirely but with the swirls of frosting. Delightful.

Now if only I'd taken them to a party of youths instead of a party of adults. They would have been eaten. (I think we brought at least a dozen back home, AFTER leaving at least a dozen at the party.) Ah well. More for me!

Oh, Pork Tenderloin, How You Frustrate Me

I have never met a pork tenderloin that I could cook. I can marinate the heck out of a pork tenderloin. I can season a pork tenderloin with my fabulous, secret peppery rub. I can eat April Spencer's pork tenderloin awesomeness until I'm ill (seriously, I would eat the entire thing if there weren't other people present, wanting to experience her culinary genius as well). But I cannot cook a pork tenderloin until it's done all the way through!

I thought tonight was going to be different. I thought tonight, I had it. But I didn't. And do you know what I think it was? I didn't let it sit out a full hour and bring it entirely to room temperature before I put it in the oven. This is my Grammie's secret. Set the meat out in the roasting pan for an hour; bring it to room temperature. Pre-heat your oven to 500 degrees. Then, once it's ready, throw the meat in, turn the temperature down to 400 degrees and DO NOT OPEN THE OVEN FOR 30 MINUTES.

I open the oven 30 minutes later; the meat is not done. Depression sets in. (Not really.) No problem. I turn the oven down to 350 and bake it 10 more minutes. Now it's a little overdone but still OK. Except for one small problem: I did NOT marinate the heck out of this particular pork tenderloin. I marinated it in something that did NOT work.

Collin says it did. He liked it. He also slathered about a pound of dijon mustard on it. It was bad. I am a pork tenderloin failure. But I will keep trying! And next time I will go with the never-fail pepper rub and the ONE HOUR ON THE COUNTER approach. And it will be glorious.

The Drive

I drove to Denton, Texas, today...then turned around and drove home. Why? Because it was in Denton that I realized (thanks to a Tweet and a follow-up from a friend): I am not required in Dallas until next Tuesday.

How disorganized a life does one have to lead before they find themselves two hours from home and realize, Oh! My appointment is on the 29th, not the 22nd!???

I felt foolish. In fact, I cried. But only because I'd already been crying: all the way to Texas.

Why? I'd been thinking about some things that a trusted friend recently encouraged me to write about. Well, I haven't had time to sit and write about these things (or am I just putting it off?), so since I had three hours in the car alone...what a perfect time to think about the things I am supposed to write about! Same thing, right? And the thinking, coupled with listening to a CD I used to listen to in high school, drew tears.

Good tears. Melancholy. Realization. Breakthrough! (all but that last one)

I think I was due a good cry. I haven't cried in a while. It reminded me of when I was pregnant and such a blubberbutt. Poor Collin. I hope next time I'm pregant my hormones treat us both a little better. But I digress.

I would write more about what I was crying about, but who wants to read that? Instead, I will recount a story (that has nothing to do with today)...

There once was a girl named Meggo who didn't know how to tell whether her dreams were real life things that had happened or just dreams, and so one night when she had a dream that her grandparents took her to an outdoor circus that provided all-you-can-eat fried shrimp, which she had never eaten before, and this other little girl, who was also with Meggo's grandparents, ate all the shrimp so that Meggo could have none, Meggo wondered whether this other little girl indeed existed and was a friend of the family.

"Don't you remember?" Meggo asked her Grammie. "The little girl with the short brown hair?"

Of course Grammie didn't remember. Because the little girl with the short brown hair only existed in dreamland, as did the all-you-can-eat shrimp circus. Though that is a tasty idea.

::shudder::

Gray Day in Three

1. Today I found my first, honest to goodness, no doubt about it, long, fat, wirey gray hair...right in the middle of my head and swooping across my bangs. I am officially in my 30s, people.

2. I need a new blog title and summary. I'm thinking this through but would love to know if any of you have read my blog and thought, She should really call it THIS. Man, "Remarks from the Couch" is so LAME. (But please be kind in telling me this.) I'm also considering changing up the format. It's rather trendy to have "focused" days, like She's a Maniac Mondays, Frumpy Friday, etc. Do I want to join this trend, or attempt to, or do I want to stick with my haphazard approach? As I write I'm leaning toward the latter. But I still feel like every good blog has a theme, a greater purpose than mine. Do I even have a theme? What do I want my blog to be? Why am I posting these questions going through my head that are directed at myself?

3. My students blogged today about the education history that has or has not prepared them for my news writing course. The blogs were in a way eye opening and in a way expected. Nobody feels prepared. Everyone feels overwhelmed. But even their simple, 250-word blog entries felt lazy. They were writing the first thing that came to mind; the expected thing; and not putting very much thought into it. Only maybe two of them had an original thought or story to tell. Only maybe three of them did I enjoy reading. I only hope that if they will truly focus for six and a half more weeks they will notice a great change in their knowledge and ability. And as far as grammar rules: you just learn them and move on. They become old hat. It's difficult to believe when you're a 20-year-old making 30s on quizzes and feeling utterly discouraged (becuase it's not as easy as you thought...boohoo). But if they would just look, they would see the light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, I think most of them are too lazy to lift their heads.

Personally Spiced Vegetables over Potatoes

What you need to know and what I just realized: I have not watched television in almost two weeks. This was not a planned thing. And yes, I've watched Mary Poppins, but that's a standard in our house. I don't usually watch television during the day, so that's normal, and lately our evenings have been so busy that we just haven't turned on the tube.

Oh. I did watch a Quentin Tarantino film in two sittings. I forgot about that. Well, then I guess I'm lying. I have watched TV. Dang.

Tonight for dinner we had: everything left in the fridge, which means I chopped up some potatoes and threw them in the steamer. Boiled some carrots, boiled some brocolli (however you spell that blasted word), sauteed an onion and threw every spice we have, along with three kinds of cheese, out on the kitchen table and said, "Go for it." (We had some fun talking about the title of the dish.)

I had too many potatoes with as many onions as I could dish on top of them without feeling embarrassed (plus broc & roots) and added salt, pepper, fresh oregano, curry and garam marsala (I put these last two on just about everything). Collin dumped all the hot (temperature) spices on his, as usual. I think he likes having a runny nose at dinner. He had cottage cheese; I had cheddar. It was delish.

And now: it's time to buy some groceries, as all that's left in my kitchen is a box of spaghetti, a frozen pizza, a little bit of food for baby and milk.

Well, and coffee. Always lots of coffee.

Public Speaking

Tomorrow is day three of Writing for the Mass Media summer edition. Before I get started, let me say: my cat just threw up on the windowsill, and I cleaned it up, and now I feel nauseated. So I am writing this while trying not to throw up, in case you were wondering.

Day 1: I plugged the wrong cord into my computer and couldn't get Power Point to come up on the screen. Had to call an IT kid to come over, and he was nice enough when he said, "You need to plug this cord into your computer," pointing to the big white piece of tape over the chord that reads "Computer." I laughed and said something self-denigrating (but funny). And I moved on. But I couldn't stop "being funny." It's like when I go to a party or some other social function with friends or acquaintances and "turn on." I was definitely "on" in front of the class, and unfortunately, part of that "on" involves cracking jokes. Not jokes like, "Did you ever hear the one about the..." But just being funny, or trying to. And I got some tired laughs, and I tried for the rest of the day not to think about everything I said.

Day 2: Today. I talked about the writing process and how every good writer has an approach to writing whatever it is she is writing. I made a bit of an example at one point of my work at Tate and how for eight or nine months I used checklists religiously. I had a checklist for each month and always, always made sure I had hit everything on my checklist. After that, it just came naturally. The tenth month came, and I realized that I didn't need the lists anymore. And I never missed a beat. I honestly can count on one hand the number of times I missed something I was supposed to do, probably because of my checklist legalism. Likewise, I told my students today that if they are hyper-conscious of their strategy (how they organize their material once they're through with the pre-writing phase and into the writing phase) for a time, they'll eventually just do it naturally.

Every writer has a different strategy, but every writer has, or has had, one. I once read that Stephen King gets up every morning and writes until 11:00 or 12:00...363 days a year. I've heard of another writer who writes five "good" pages a day minimum. He must hit the five or he's not finished. I know another writer who locks the door and turns off her phone when she writes, so she can focus.

These are, of course, all fiction writers and no so much strategies as they are disciplines. Media practioners, especially print journalists, whether actual print or web, have different-looking systems. They're on tighter deadlines. They have a lot of research staring them in the face, and they have to do something with it: now.

Some journalists color code their transcriptions. Some cut their notes up and put like material in envelopes. Some make bubble maps (this relates to this relates to this...).

I would argue, and did today, that no beginning writer should just write intuitively. A beginning writer does need a strategy. And that strategy should not be to get it perfect the first time. Something I struggle with.

As I told my students, let your creative self have the freedom to write crappy stuff. Then go back and fix it. And again, I have to tell myself this constantly. (Though it's different when you're writing fiction because you kind of do need to get it right, or at least close to right, the first time or, I've found, you'll never move on.)

I hope each of my students will find a writing process that works well for his or her particular strengths.

And I hope I'll get more comfortable speaking in public. Sheesh. It's difficult to get up in front of a class and talk for 50 minutes. Half of the time I feel like they're looking at me, thinking, This lady is c-razy. But they're probably just thinking, Na-na-na-na-na-na-na (think Chevy Chase in Caddyshack) I can't hear anything, I'm so tired; OMG can I just go back to bed now? Na-na-na-na-na-na-na

Those Peepers

A year ago today, I met this little girl for the first time.


I just reread Drue's Birth Story for the first time since I wrote it. Seven pages single spaced, so I won't subject you to it. But the one thing that I wrote at the end that I said I never wanted to forget were her peepers.

We are one of those couples who sided with the the nurses, who said, "You'll want your sleep," and sent our baby to the nursery for the night. But they would wheel her back into our room every four hours to cuddle with me and eat, or try to (that took a few days to figure out), and when they did, I would shoot up in bed, pop out of my drug-induced haze, and just short of shout, with all my being, "The baby!" I was always so excited to see her; I could feel it in my toes. And when they would wheel her up, all wrapped up like a burrito and so tiny, the one thing I would notice first were her eyes. I could always tell that she had been crying, and my heart would break, but now she was still and silent, and her eyes were searching, searching, searching. She knew where she was going, and I ached to hold her. She was beautiful, perfect. A tiny, precious gift. And though I don't have the time to think of the best way to describe those peepers, know that the image is forever seered into my heart. My darling Drue, my little burrito with yearning eyes, you are loved.

And now she is one year old. We had a fantastic party today at Lions Park. I want to thank so many people...for helping, for being there, for loving our family and our dear Druebear. I was and remain humbled.

She is such a big girl now.




And after eating her Mary Poppins' hat cake, she wore her real birthday suit.

Favo(u)rites

First of all, ugh. Hulu is bad. I have spent the last half hour looking at final Biggest Loser interviews. What is wrong with me?

Now down to business. Yesterday was my last day working as an editor for Tate. An author sent me flowers, the editing dept's two team leaders bought donuts and milk in my honor, everyone told stories about me, two of which I didn't remember (???) and all of which I sweat while listening to. I'm an extrovert, but I still get nervous standing in front of a room of people talking about me. I said some cheesy parting words (why?) and went to Pizza Hut with the editors, or most of them, and ate three nasty pieces of thick-crust pepperoni pizza, which were, in the words of the mother-in-law in "About a Boy", de-LISH-us!

I drove home happy, carefree, but also I'll admit a little sad. It's difficult leaving a place that I've put so much time and effort into for the last three years. I'll miss my favorite authors and work colleagues. I'll miss editing on a regular basic. But I'm even more excited about what's to come...WRITING.

My old magazine has asked me to come back on as music editor in the fall, and I was thrilled to accept. I used to run the magazine (in a manner of speaking); now I'll write for it. Less pressure, fun content, I can't wait.

I've started plotting a new novel, am thinking up feature stories I want to write. I feel invigorated. Is that cheesy?

I'm putting this class together, and it is an incredible class. I only hope at least one of my students realizes how awesome it is. The new curriculum is fun, timely, focused on multimedia, not just print journalism, and diversity... The lectures are fun and packed with great info. The assignments are good and involve current events. I have a great lab instructor working with me. I'll only be working mornings till 9:30 four days a week. Oh, and my daughter is walking...and talking and more than ever, and her first birthday is MONDAY. Could I be any happier?

One of the main focuses of the class is getting these students in the news, which, guess what? Has me focused on the news. I've been searching out great news sites and blogs, and - the point of this blog post - this is what my favorites list is looking like these days:

Pub Weekly
Paper Cuts
Broadcasting & Cable
Duh
The Bistro
OJR
Poynter
PR Week
GOOD Blog
Writers Weekly
Diversity is News
AdAge
What is your radio set to?
I'll Huff and I'l Post...

Then of course there are the celeb sites, which I hate but feel like I need to be up on. These might also include "The Daily Show" and "The Onion". And last but not least, MUSIC:

Paste
Rolling Stone
Reverb
The Music Fix
Pitchfork
NME
OklahomaROCK

Now please excuse me while I go make some spaghetti sauce and play with a delicious muffin named Drue.

Taste the Rainbow

I just found out after 31 years of eating oranges that I eat them the "wrong way." How does one eat an orange? Well, this is how I do it:

I cut the orange in half.
I eat one half at a time...
First, eating around the half by pulling back the pulp with my front teeth and extracting what juice I can.
Second, squeezing the orange so that as much juice as possible comes out; and I drink it, of course, straight from the orange.
Then I change the direction of the squeeze (opposite the original squeeze) and repeat.
Lastly, I turn the ornage inside out and eat all the pulp that's left.

Done with half one.
Repeat with half two.

Collin wondered what I was doing when I handed him half an orange (we were going to share the last one). He watched me for a second and said, "What are you doing?"

"Eating an orange," I said.
He proceeded to laugh at me, and I walked him through how to eat an orange. He managed to wear most of the juice; don't ask me how. I've never made a mess like he did when eating an orange this way.

Is there any food that you eat the "wrong" or "weird" way, or am I the only weirdo out there. And has nobody else seriously ever eaten an orange this way but me?

I asked Collin the same question, and he said, "Says the girl who eats Skittles..." I'll stop there. Nobody needs to know how I eat Skittles.

New Style

What I am eating: steamed potatoes and salsa verde.

What I am thinking: Well, I put in my two weeks notice today. I was nervous about it, but it went better than expected. I don't know why I expected it to go poorly. I've been an asset to the company for some time and do great work. My boss has always recognized that, as have my authors. But I was still concerned. I mean, that's a nerve wracking conversation.

Still, all is said and done. I'm heading back to journalism and relearning AP Style and the tools it takes to write a good news story. I picked up the textbook for the class I'll be teaching through and have skimmed through most of it. A very good book that I'm mostly certain my students won't read, but I'm holding out hope that they will.

More to write but no time to write...for now. I have more to accomplish in the next two weeks than I've had to accomplish in a while, so I'll have my nose in the computer screen but mostly in Word files and work emails. In the future look forward to more posts about writing, as I plan to start doing much more of it as well as teaching others about it.

I would like to also say: I may be leaving a publishing house, but I remain an editor. My freelance career is in full swing, so if you know anyone who needs an editor or writer, send them my way at MeghanBarnesEditor@gmail.com.

Car Dreaming and Confessions

My commute to work three mornings a week is forty minutes long, both ways. That's an hour and twenty minutes of driving three days a week. Usually I preoccupy myself with music during this time. Sometimes with praying. Other times with talking on the phone (to my one friend who is awake that early in the morning). The last two days I have preoccupied my driving time with a new band of old (not in their twenties) dudes, who if you're really close to me you're probably tired of me talking about, called Them Crooked Vultures.

Well, I had to fess up today when I got home and saw my husband and felt guilty...

"Okay," I say out of the blue, to which he responds with a blank-faced, "Huh?" (but doesn't actually say anything).

"I've kind of been crushing on Joshua Homme," I say.

He laughs. "Yeah, well, he's a good looking dude. And he's funny."

But I don't feel any better.

"I've been, like, imagining that he falls in love with me." Realization strikes. "Oh! Not in a, you know, bad way; just in a 'I'm daydreaming that we go to a show and he sees me and falls head over heels and asks me to come up on stage and play a guitar solo with the band, super embarrassing' way."

"Oh." He's still laughing, but he's also getting something out of the refrigerator, so I can't tell if it's a "haha" laugh or a "I'm starting to feel bad" laugh, because I'm still feeling really guilty and feeling worse by the second.

"I still love you most," I say in a pathetic and pleading manner. "I've convenANted with you."


"Stop now," he says.

"But I wanted to say covnenANted," I say. "Really though, I'm sorry."

I'm not sure he liked that I'd been daydreaming about a super rockin' band, but I'm pretty sure he forgave me. Have you ever done this? When I was in the eighth grade, I had a short obsession with the band Metallica. I would be on a family vacation and have on my headphones and be listening to Master of Puppets, and I'd pretend that for some reason, Kirk Hammett (sp?) broke his arm and couldn't play in the Tulsa show, so they tried out guitarists, and I got the gig. And I'd be up on stage wailing with James Hetfield. I used to imagine I played lead guitar for The Rollins Band too. What is with me and pretending I can play guitar?

Well, it seems this blog is turning into a confessions forum. Should I be embarrassed by this?

Once upon a time, a seventh grader bought a tape entitled Nevermind.

I remember the day I bought Nirvana’s ultra-classic, hello '90s album, Nevermind. I was at the mall with my friend Valerie (who is now called Val), and we were at the record store. Does any mall anywhere still have one of these fabled things? It was the upstairs record store, not the downstairs one. I lived the go to the mall and visit these two stores, especially if I had enough allowance saved up.

I was still buying tapes at this point. But I was beginning to notice those bigger-boxed things that had something new in them...called CDs maybe? I wasn't sure.

I don’t remember what Val bought that day. I want to say we were playing this game where we picked up something we’d never heard of and bought it, though I think I must have at least heard of Nirvana at this point. So it wasn’t brand new to me.

Val’s sister picked us up from the mall that day. It was raining. Her sister smoked cigarettes, and I remember asking at some point, “How does she get away with it?” And Val, or her sister, told me that the excuse is always that “My friends were smoking,” and that it works every time. I filed that one away and used it at a later date.

I think we were listening to a classic rock radio station, and I think the song about “I heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who, heard it from another…” was playing, but I’m not positive. If not that song, some other classic rock song. To this day, when I hear “I heard it from a friend who…” I think of Valerie.

This was a Saturday (either that or it was summer), because that night I was headed to a sleepover at my friend Carrie’s house. What a fun day! Except for the rain. Rain deeply affected my angst-ridden teenage soul.

So, we headed home. I had an alarm radio with a tape deck on my night stand, and so when I got home, as I did, I went to my room. I unwrapped my new tape and took the tape out and smelled the packaging. I hated the smell then. I would grow to love it. But then, the smell made me feel a little depressed. Don’t ask me to explain that.

At this point, I had noticed a funny smell somewhere in my room but hadn’t thought much of it. I was mostly concerned about listening to this tape, and that if my parents heard what I was about to listen to they might not like it (a preoccupation of mine: my parents - and keeping them OUT of my business), so I put the tape in and turned down the volume and listened to…Nirvana. Oh, how it rocked. Oh, how I was nervous my parents might here. Oh, how I didn’t hear my dad approaching.

He knocked on the door.

I turned off the tape.

"Yeah?”

He opened the door and gave me a strange look. “What are you doing?”

Me, probably white faced: “Nothing.”

He stared at me. “Meghan…?”

What? Oh shit. “I was just listening to this new tape I got…”

“Meghan…what’s that smell? What are you doing in here?”

At that point I was totally thrown off. My heart was pounding harder than it had been when he entered the room. What? The smell? What?

He walked toward me. “Are you smoking something?”

I’m totally flabbergasted. Actually, I don’t even fully know what he means. Smoking something?

Needless to say, that was an awkward moment, and one I will not soon forget. My dad thought I was smoking marijuana. I thought he was about to ground me for listening to Nirvana. And all the while, the lamp on my nightstand was shorting. There was a small electrical fire going on in my room.

And you know what? It smelled a little bit like the inside of a new tape.

The Goings On in the Life of a Lazy "Blogger"

Things going on in my life right now:

Taking Drue to the zoo for the first time tomorrow. In the midst of planning her first birthday party. It's going to have a Mary Poppins theme, seeing as Drue's second word was "Mary Poppins" ("pop"). I went to Hobby Lobby today and bought...

1. A bright blue poster board on which I'm going to Sharpie "17 Cherry Tree Lane."
2. Pipe cleaners that will eventually be "chimney sweepers," which we'll put on the cupcakes covered in crushed Oreos.
3. A small cake tin, to help in making the Mary Poppins's HAT cake that I plan to make.
4. Dasies to go on top of that hat.
5. And I think that's all.

My mother-in-law will be making "spoons full of sugar" for the kids to eat their ice cream with and for the parents to take home. My mother is bringing plates and napikins, etc. I'm making appetizers, though one dear friend has offered to make something for me. I am probably too excited about this little girl's party.

Collin and I are watching Twin Peaks for the second time through with friends Jolly and Kyle Dixon. I'm watching episode 19 right now.

I'm working from a "new" computer (Collin's old computer), which is nice, though I typo on this keyboard more than my other keyboard.

Once again I have the urge to start writing something. Now why don't I just do it?!

There are other things, but I shouldn't write about them just yet...

Out of Town for Snow

Just realized that we've hit the road just before all three (am I remembering correctly?) snow storms hit Norman this winter. We missed all of them!

I'm not complaining. (Though I do like snow when not accompanied by ice.)