Dear 28.
Dear 28,
I'll only be writing you this one last time. Tomorrow I start dedicating my letters and my new list to a new year: 29. This practice, the list making, has pushed me to learn all kinds of new things. Back when I made my list for year 23 (the first birthday I celebrated here in Des Moines), I had far different goals.
There are many things on this list I've since accomplished ("Learn the streets of downtown Des Moines" makes me laugh) and there are things on this list I wouldn't dream of doing these days (Tonic? Really 23-year-old LP? Tonic?) In year 28 I might not have scratched off each number on the list, but I sure enjoyed these last twelve months. Like in year 27, this blog (and all of you) pushed me to do some things I didn't think I could, to celebrate some things that might have gone unnoticed and to ask so many questions about everything. I learned a lot-- more about myself than anything else.
I made pasta with a real Italian chef and snuck wine into the Meredith test gardens. I went to prom again. I performed in a band (and then spoke of my tambourine prowess for many months after). I worked out with MMA fighters. I had all three of my beautiful sisters in Des Moines. I moved to a new and improved home where I can use a dishwasher, run central air and stoop. I met Ron, the Red Velvet girls and shared fried chicken with my dear friend. I learned a truly invaluable skill: the Lidgett pose.
I slow danced in a townie bar. I joined a cover band that has since performed thrice-ish. I learned the definition of magic from a bartender. I slept on a riverboat after being rocked by the Head and the Heart. Good golly I got a new car. I fell in love with September and cursed March. I had an art show. I wore a crown more than once. I met four artists who showed their work at the Des Moines Art Center. I rewrote an Adele song while wearing a pizza beret. I made Coq Au Vin. I saw Chicago from the Hancock Building.
I went on a hike. I watched Nebraska beat my Hawks. I ran two races without being chased. I drew naked people. I was on the front page of the Des Moines Register. I met a bunch of new and incredible people. I danced. I danced a lot. I cooked my first turkey (that I won in my first euchre tournament). I was introduced to the Bertha Butt Boogie. I took a lot of B12. I sold over 650 postcards.
This list would have shocked my 23-year-old self... or exhausted me. But today it makes me proud.
Thanks for being part of what turned out to be a pretty spectacular year. 28 was really great.
xo-LP
I'll only be writing you this one last time. Tomorrow I start dedicating my letters and my new list to a new year: 29. This practice, the list making, has pushed me to learn all kinds of new things. Back when I made my list for year 23 (the first birthday I celebrated here in Des Moines), I had far different goals.
This list would have shocked my 23-year-old self... or exhausted me. But today it makes me proud.
Thanks for being part of what turned out to be a pretty spectacular year. 28 was really great.
xo-LP
7.5 hours left.
Dear 28,
I started my seven-day-birthday-weekend with 9 list items still left uncrossed. (Left uncrossed? Is that right?) But with only 7.5 hours left in 28 I've made the most of today. I did not read 7 additional books, but I did hit the Bell Center with Emily to shoot 4 free throws. (Pause for baby Jack)
I've always been a mediocre free throw shooter. Once though, at a summer basketball camp back in 1990something I did win the free throw shooting competition. Jeff Tank asked the other girls (as they watched me sink shot after shot--this is how I remember it. And I was undoubtedly wearing tall socks) "what do you notice about Laura's form?" Kate White (I hope you read this Kate- I still laugh about this day and the fact that of all the things I could remember about 5 years of playing basketball, this stands out) responded "she sticks out her tongue a lot."
I watched "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" to finally cross off #3. There will be no camping, at least not this year, unless I sleep outside Hoyt Sherman tonight. There won't be a skating party unless Anthony loans me his rollerblades and six other people meet me somewhere that has a rink (7 people constitutes a party). But there might still be time to Slip n Slide...
xo-LP
I started my seven-day-birthday-weekend with 9 list items still left uncrossed. (Left uncrossed? Is that right?) But with only 7.5 hours left in 28 I've made the most of today. I did not read 7 additional books, but I did hit the Bell Center with Emily to shoot 4 free throws. (Pause for baby Jack)
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| (Seriously. So cute.) |
I've always been a mediocre free throw shooter. Once though, at a summer basketball camp back in 1990something I did win the free throw shooting competition. Jeff Tank asked the other girls (as they watched me sink shot after shot--this is how I remember it. And I was undoubtedly wearing tall socks) "what do you notice about Laura's form?" Kate White (I hope you read this Kate- I still laugh about this day and the fact that of all the things I could remember about 5 years of playing basketball, this stands out) responded "she sticks out her tongue a lot."
xo-LP
Dear 28,
- Learned how to blow glass at Art Noir's holiday studio (12/2011)
- Artist Workshop with Tony Feher (05/2012)
5. Slip n slide
6. See 8 live shows (In at least 4 different states)
1. Iron and Wine + The Head and The Heart -- June (DSM, IA)
2. 80/35 (Girl Talk + Of Montreal + more) -- July (DSM, IA)
3. Janet Jackson -- July (DSM, IA)
4. Mayer Hawthorne -- October (Iowa City, IA)
5. The Head and The Heart -- October (Omaha, NE)
6. Mates of State -- November (Iowa City, IA)
7. The National + Local Natives -- December (Chicago, IL)
8. Elizabeth Arynn -- April (DSM, IA)
9. BBU -- April (DSM, IA)
1. Iron and Wine + The Head and The Heart -- June (DSM, IA)
2. 80/35 (Girl Talk + Of Montreal + more) -- July (DSM, IA)
3. Janet Jackson -- July (DSM, IA)
4. Mayer Hawthorne -- October (Iowa City, IA)
5. The Head and The Heart -- October (Omaha, NE)
6. Mates of State -- November (Iowa City, IA)
7. The National + Local Natives -- December (Chicago, IL)
8. Elizabeth Arynn -- April (DSM, IA)
9. BBU -- April (DSM, IA)
9. Try 8 new bourbons
1. Cedar Ridge Iowa Bourbon Whiskey
2. Makers 46
3. Angel's Envy Bourbon
1. Cedar Ridge Iowa Bourbon Whiskey
2. Makers 46
3. Angel's Envy Bourbon
10. Camp
14. Get an email from the Rob Sheffield
17. Throw that Skating Party
18. Read the other 15 books
1. Attachments
2. The Hunger Games
3. Catching Fire
4. Mockingjay
5. Housekeeping
6. The History of Love
7. Bossypants
8. The Accidental Masterpiece
1. Attachments
2. The Hunger Games
3. Catching Fire
4. Mockingjay
5. Housekeeping
6. The History of Love
7. Bossypants
8. The Accidental Masterpiece
1. Des Moines Arts Festival Preview Party (05.26.11)
2. Des Moines Metro Opera Cabaret Night Live (06.10.11)
3. Des Moines Metro Opera Performances (That's right. I went to 2 Operas. 07.2011)
4. Des Moines Art Center Gala (09.24.11)
5. Garrison Keillor Bucksbaum Lecture at Drake University (10.25.2011)
6. Art Noir Holiday Studio - where I learned to blow glass, with class (12.08.11)
7. DMMO (the Opera got lots of love this year) Food and Wine Expo (02.17.12)
8. Des Moines Music Coalition's Backstage Ball (02.23.12)
Making my case.
Dear 28,
As we close in on 29, I am being realistic about what can and will be done about the list. 10 items are left unfinished (Which means I've currently completed 64% of the list. Sometimes I do math.)
In the next 6 days I'll be able to cross off a few more, but let me first make my case.
12. Build something
When I made this list I left a couple items just vague enough for interpretation. You may have noticed "conquer a fear" has been crossed out and yet I haven't written about it, but trust me, I've been conquering. But with "Build Something" I feel like I need to fully explain myself. No I didn't saw off a branch from a fallen tree in Sherman Hill after the big storm in April and piece together a glider for the stoop with this reclaimed wood. No I didn't refinish my cabinet doors (seriously people-who-I-rent-from, I didn't) and make them all cool with chalkboard paint so I can display the menu at cafeteria themed dinner parties (recently I bought old lunchroom trays so a cafeteria themed dinner party is in my near future). I might not have physically built anything (not even the drawer pictured below) but what I have built-- a business.
Initially I was reluctant to call it this word: business. I mean, I make postcards, have an etsy site, all that crafty stuff, but this year I nearly went #allin. I now have cards at 3 retail locations in the Metro (Cache Bake Shoppe, Francy Pants and Ephemera-- all businesses owned by terrific women. Go shop at all of them.)
I've done about ten custom jobs, held a holiday card party, and sold at the East Village Bazaar, twice. I even had a postcard art show in January. I'm in the process of trying to "diversify my product" which is business talk for "make some other stuff." That's nearly #allin. I'd say all this constitutes a business. So would my accountant. So I'm crossing it off. This year I built something.
22. Visit a monument
When I googled "Monuments in Iowa," lots of places that create tombstones popped up but also lists of landmarks in Iowa. According to my google search, a monument and a landmark are basically the same thing. I declare that I have visited a monument this year. Google knows everything. (Congratulations on the big graduation Kate! Not only am I so proud of you, but I was also able to cross off a list item while visiting you in our city for the weekend. Thanks for the bonus.)
Now I'm up to 71% complete.
(If these percentages are totally wrong, I blame the Theory and Practice of Argument- the college class I took to get out of a math class. Terrible mistake.)
xo-LP
As we close in on 29, I am being realistic about what can and will be done about the list. 10 items are left unfinished (Which means I've currently completed 64% of the list. Sometimes I do math.)
In the next 6 days I'll be able to cross off a few more, but let me first make my case.
12. Build something
When I made this list I left a couple items just vague enough for interpretation. You may have noticed "conquer a fear" has been crossed out and yet I haven't written about it, but trust me, I've been conquering. But with "Build Something" I feel like I need to fully explain myself. No I didn't saw off a branch from a fallen tree in Sherman Hill after the big storm in April and piece together a glider for the stoop with this reclaimed wood. No I didn't refinish my cabinet doors (seriously people-who-I-rent-from, I didn't) and make them all cool with chalkboard paint so I can display the menu at cafeteria themed dinner parties (recently I bought old lunchroom trays so a cafeteria themed dinner party is in my near future). I might not have physically built anything (not even the drawer pictured below) but what I have built-- a business.
22. Visit a monument
When I googled "Monuments in Iowa," lots of places that create tombstones popped up but also lists of landmarks in Iowa. According to my google search, a monument and a landmark are basically the same thing. I declare that I have visited a monument this year. Google knows everything. (Congratulations on the big graduation Kate! Not only am I so proud of you, but I was also able to cross off a list item while visiting you in our city for the weekend. Thanks for the bonus.)
(If these percentages are totally wrong, I blame the Theory and Practice of Argument- the college class I took to get out of a math class. Terrible mistake.)
xo-LP
Let's get serious about this now.
Dear 28,
Days away from 29 and I'm doing the usual pre-birthday-overly-reflective bit that simultaneously depresses and excites me. So I'm not going to get an email from Rob Sheffield (if you are reading this Mr. Rob Sheffield, please know I totally want you to send me a note. You're the best of writers. I'm even reading your book again. The one you signed for me. Thanks again for that.), I did do a whole lot of awesome things this year. Sure there were disappointments and some bummers, but I survived, hell I succeeded in this 28th year.
Around this time last year I asked some weirdly personal questions on this blog. When I started to write this post I figured it would be another sappy one-- you know, too personal, too "my life is so average" and too many embarrassing photos of myself. Now that I've scoured the photo archives (and my facebook timeline, obviously) I realize this year hasn't been average at all and that all those questions from last year have answers. And there are far less ridiculous photos of me...well maybe a few less.
With about a week left in 28 I have some work to do. So Mr. Rob Sheffield now is the time.
xo-LP
Days away from 29 and I'm doing the usual pre-birthday-overly-reflective bit that simultaneously depresses and excites me. So I'm not going to get an email from Rob Sheffield (if you are reading this Mr. Rob Sheffield, please know I totally want you to send me a note. You're the best of writers. I'm even reading your book again. The one you signed for me. Thanks again for that.), I did do a whole lot of awesome things this year. Sure there were disappointments and some bummers, but I survived, hell I succeeded in this 28th year.
xo-LP
The hydrologic system right here in a plastic bottle.
Dear 28,
Tony Feher is full of wisdom. In the class he "taught" last night (it was more of a conversation about art that ended with Tony sticking tiny sword picks into the top of a Starbucks cup and giving me this piece of art) I learned all kinds of things including: Art making takes a whole lot of hard work and that Tony Feher kept a note I wrote to him (sigh).
Thanks Des Moines Art Center for giving me yet another opportunity to meet and mingle with an incredible artist.
xo-LP
Sidenotes:
1- Yes that is a "gods eye" made of easter basket grass tied together and straws. And yes I did make it for Tony Feher.
2- Yes that is a gin and tonic that Tony Feher mixed up for me.
3- Why yes, that is a photo taken with my new iphone and yes you can expect photos to be better now that I own it. You are welcome.
Tony Feher is full of wisdom. In the class he "taught" last night (it was more of a conversation about art that ended with Tony sticking tiny sword picks into the top of a Starbucks cup and giving me this piece of art) I learned all kinds of things including: Art making takes a whole lot of hard work and that Tony Feher kept a note I wrote to him (sigh).
xo-LP
Sidenotes:
1- Yes that is a "gods eye" made of easter basket grass tied together and straws. And yes I did make it for Tony Feher.
2- Yes that is a gin and tonic that Tony Feher mixed up for me.
3- Why yes, that is a photo taken with my new iphone and yes you can expect photos to be better now that I own it. You are welcome.
4:02.99 vs 10:27.00
Dear 28,
Remember when Jenni and I trained to run a 5k way back in year 27? We had the best of intentions, even ran miles in the pre-dawn mornings. But the race never happened.
We learned a lot. For example:
- 9 year old boys and 62 year old women run faster than you.
- You and Jenni will always dress alike even at 7am.
- Hand holding, fist pumping and pointing to the sky will get the crowd revved up as you cross the finish line.
The goal was to finish in time for happy hour. And 10:27.00 later we crossed that finish line. We did have kids and old ladies finish ahead of us. We did indeed dress alike. We danced across the finish line, watched people fist pump and the fastest man in Des Moines (at least in Des Moines for the day) finished in 4:02.99. But we finished. I had a side ache and watched a small boy finish stronger than I did, but we did it. Jenni's first race and my second race in a month- done. Now for another one.
xo-LP
Remember when Jenni and I trained to run a 5k way back in year 27? We had the best of intentions, even ran miles in the pre-dawn mornings. But the race never happened.
We learned a lot. For example:
- 9 year old boys and 62 year old women run faster than you.
- You and Jenni will always dress alike even at 7am.
- Hand holding, fist pumping and pointing to the sky will get the crowd revved up as you cross the finish line.
So when I sent Jenni a note about registering for the Grand Blue Mile and she agreed to sign up and we agreed to pick up packets (on time) and showed up wearing the same color shorts, I knew this time, we'd run the race.
We lined up in a sea of runners on Locust full of jitters, the gun went off and we giggled for that first 1/2 mile, laughing at the children, man in a lion costume and other real runners passing us along the route. The laughs faded mid-mile (yes. A mile makes me tired. Guess I should run more.)
xo-LP
There's a Norman Rockwell book surplus.
Dear 28,
The new moon came and went. According to the astrologyzone people, this new moon was to be sweet, oh and will set off a "whole change of mood to the month." That new moon will be "bringing it from serious to sensational." I can't wait to have April get all sensational.
Over the course of last week and the passing weekend I drew a nude with crayons, adventured to the east to buy used books, and saw Congressman Leonard Boswell pump his own gas like an everyday Iowan (This is not an endorsement, although Leonard does clearly endorse himself. He has his own campaign sticker on his truck or maybe he uses it as a label, who knows).
I made several keen, yet not-well-researched observations throughout the newly mooned weekend. ("Newly mooned" is not a phrase I'd use without referencing something lunar.) I wouldn't say many of these are worth sharing, but I find them interesting, so let's do this.
1. Leonard Boswell buys the Des Moines Register on Saturdays. FYI.
2. At the Planned Parenthood book sale you can find anything. You want to read a biography of Hillary Clinton pre-Secretary of State stardom? They have it. You lost your copy of The Giver back in 1998 and need a new one? They have it. You want a book called An Important List of Words? They have it. Seriously. You want 8 different Andy Williams records. THEY HAVE IT.
3. Norman Rockwell books used to be in every home in America. Judging by the number of Norman Rockwell books at the book sale, they only used to be in people's homes. (Googling "the decreasing popularity of Norman Rockwell" doesn't get you much information on just why there seem to be a surplus of the man's books that people do not want anymore. So don't start there if you want to get to the bottom of this.) I'll get back to you when I draw my own intelligent conclusions.
4. Someone would rather be kissing Laura.
5. There are lots of German speaking talented artists in Des Moines. (I'm really sorry if it wasn't German they were speaking. It felt like German, even though I personally don't speak German.) Also- you should definitely go to Drink and Draw.
The new moon came and went. According to the astrologyzone people, this new moon was to be sweet, oh and will set off a "whole change of mood to the month." That new moon will be "bringing it from serious to sensational." I can't wait to have April get all sensational.
Over the course of last week and the passing weekend I drew a nude with crayons, adventured to the east to buy used books, and saw Congressman Leonard Boswell pump his own gas like an everyday Iowan (This is not an endorsement, although Leonard does clearly endorse himself. He has his own campaign sticker on his truck or maybe he uses it as a label, who knows).
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| Photo credit to Sara, part time paparazzi. |
I made several keen, yet not-well-researched observations throughout the newly mooned weekend. ("Newly mooned" is not a phrase I'd use without referencing something lunar.) I wouldn't say many of these are worth sharing, but I find them interesting, so let's do this.
1. Leonard Boswell buys the Des Moines Register on Saturdays. FYI.
2. At the Planned Parenthood book sale you can find anything. You want to read a biography of Hillary Clinton pre-Secretary of State stardom? They have it. You lost your copy of The Giver back in 1998 and need a new one? They have it. You want a book called An Important List of Words? They have it. Seriously. You want 8 different Andy Williams records. THEY HAVE IT.
4. Someone would rather be kissing Laura.
6. Michael Kimmelman told me Germans love the Wild West. This is the most I have ever referenced the Germans on this blog.
So much knowledge for just one week.
I'm running another race this week. This time it's one mile. I think two races in three weeks makes me almost seem like a runner, but please don't get that impression.
Now, off to further research this Norman Rockwell thing.
xo-LP
The day I ran a 5k.
Dear 28,
I found myself willing it to thunderstorm at about 6am. I hadn't trained for 3.1 miles. I hadn't even picked out what I was going to wear to run the race. I hadn't thought about goal mile times. I hadn't really done anything but sign up. And now the day was upon me, so I took the first step: I got out of bed.
At one point in life I was a runner of the serious kind. It should be mentioned that I was in high school, but still, I was a runner. In the 8th grade Mr. Brown (my Muskie friends will cringe at the mention of this man's name) convinced me I should join the track team, so I put on the polyester green shorts and a CMS t-shirt and practiced on the cinder track behind my parents' house. The first race I ever ran, I anchored the 4x200 meter relay. We were on pace to beat the record and about 10 meters from the finish line, I fell face first on the track. I can still hear the collective gasp the crowd let out (it was terrible). Surprisingly I continued to run track after that. We even went to the Junior High Championships. (Be impressed.) By the time 1998 rolled around, I celebrated my 15th birthday in Drake Stadium at the Iowa High School Girl's State Track Meet- I liked to run. In the years that followed I hyperventilated after running my one and only 400 meter dash, which meant I had a supply of brown paper bags with me at every meet and I managed to never fall in a race again.
Even back in 1990. (This photo should embarrass me. In case you weren't sure, the kid that looks like a young man, that's me.) I threw on some serious jorts and my best glasses and hit the pavement for the Watermelon Stampede. Here we are 22 years later (whoa. that's absurd) and I'm worried about what to wear to the race...
Chelsea was in far better spirits than I- she even made me some oatmeal and loaned me a pair of shorts. Eventually we checked in, so this race was officially happening. We stretched out with the rest of the runners, listened to the man with the orange microphone make announcements and, the best part, had the girl in front of us inform me that "some of my friends are real runners and they say this is, like, the hardest 5k they've ever done." Shortly after that the gun went off and we slogged forward. It was clear at the 1 mile mark that my training regiment had failed me (not drinking for a week and eating additional carbs is apparently not all you have to do to be race ready) and by the 1.5 mark, after passing someone else's unfortunate breakfast upchuck, I felt like I could do the same.
Good thing my terrific race partner kept me motivated. (I'm skipping over the parts where I said "is it over yet" or "why did I sign up for this?" or "running. ew.") The last leg of the race Chels unplugged the headphones and we ran to the beats of David Guetta. As we got close to the finish line we were welcomed by the Isiserettes, which gave me just the motivation I needed to dance-run my way to completing the 5k. There's no way I could have done it without you Chels.
So I didn't run the entire thing (feels good to tell the truth) but I finished and, oddly, am ready to do it again. Maybe I'm still a runner after all these years of couch sitting. The next race I'll be ready for.
And, unlike in 1990, I got to celebrate post-race with a margarita and a nap.
xo- LP
I found myself willing it to thunderstorm at about 6am. I hadn't trained for 3.1 miles. I hadn't even picked out what I was going to wear to run the race. I hadn't thought about goal mile times. I hadn't really done anything but sign up. And now the day was upon me, so I took the first step: I got out of bed.
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| (Chase documented our race. Thanks Chase.) |
And, unlike in 1990, I got to celebrate post-race with a margarita and a nap.
xo- LP
Take a hike.
Dear 28,
I went on a hike. Who knew I could walk a dirt path up a hill. Like outside. We saw people riding bikes along the trail with impossible ease. (There are lots of rocks. Most of the time I wobbled while walking and very nearly fell, and these people were flinging their wheels down the paths.) We came face to face with a deer (and as you know, I really don't like deer- rats with long legs.) We ate sandwiches at the top of a ridge admiring the views. I complained very little (shocking) while wearing the least appropriate hiking clothes (okay it wasn't a pencil skirt, so it's wasn't the "least appropriate" outfit I could have worn.) Sitting at the top of a hill it felt like someone muted life for a minute and slowed my brain down as I took deep breaths (mostly because I was out of breath) and felt present. Oddly, I'd probably do it again. Jen pointed out I could have done my hair a little nicer for photos, but it was a hike, no one is supposed to have good hair on a hike.
We did something a little more fancy the following day. DAM it was fun. I got swept away by Claes, posed with a Totem and on a runway, and we spent a lot of time wandering through a red dining room filled with flying foxes (this was a real highlight and super bizarre).
Thanks Becca. Such a perfect trip. Now if only I could count a "ridge" as a monument...
xo-LP
I went on a hike. Who knew I could walk a dirt path up a hill. Like outside. We saw people riding bikes along the trail with impossible ease. (There are lots of rocks. Most of the time I wobbled while walking and very nearly fell, and these people were flinging their wheels down the paths.) We came face to face with a deer (and as you know, I really don't like deer- rats with long legs.) We ate sandwiches at the top of a ridge admiring the views. I complained very little (shocking) while wearing the least appropriate hiking clothes (okay it wasn't a pencil skirt, so it's wasn't the "least appropriate" outfit I could have worn.) Sitting at the top of a hill it felt like someone muted life for a minute and slowed my brain down as I took deep breaths (mostly because I was out of breath) and felt present. Oddly, I'd probably do it again. Jen pointed out I could have done my hair a little nicer for photos, but it was a hike, no one is supposed to have good hair on a hike.
xo-LP
Still in 1999.
Dear 28,
It's been over 40 hours since my last text message (which was sent to John wishing him the happiest of birthdays). Didn't that feel very much like reconciliation?
In that time I've read a book, enjoyed a 2 hour lunch by myself, curled up some seriously voluminous hair, danced to Otis Redding, had a super terrific conversation (without any text intrusions), found a scandalous $20, and sampled Japanese scotch. But I did not run a mile.
Apparently 1999 was a good ole day, one with many uninterrupted thoughts and conversations. We all know we're on the phone too much. I know I'm a bit over-sensitive when it comes to text messages lately, but a couple days without them hasn't been as tough as I'd thought. I mean it's been sort of awful and I feel out of touch, but I've also been much less distracted. We ate soup dumplings at Cholon. We danced (ok so I danced) to the Temptations at the Horseshoe Lounge (where I chose, literally, 22 songs). We slipped into the Cruise Room and skipped out of the Jet Hotel bar as fast as possible. And the whole time- no phone.
It's been over 40 hours since my last text message (which was sent to John wishing him the happiest of birthdays). Didn't that feel very much like reconciliation?
In that time I've read a book, enjoyed a 2 hour lunch by myself, curled up some seriously voluminous hair, danced to Otis Redding, had a super terrific conversation (without any text intrusions), found a scandalous $20, and sampled Japanese scotch. But I did not run a mile.
Apparently 1999 was a good ole day, one with many uninterrupted thoughts and conversations. We all know we're on the phone too much. I know I'm a bit over-sensitive when it comes to text messages lately, but a couple days without them hasn't been as tough as I'd thought. I mean it's been sort of awful and I feel out of touch, but I've also been much less distracted. We ate soup dumplings at Cholon. We danced (ok so I danced) to the Temptations at the Horseshoe Lounge (where I chose, literally, 22 songs). We slipped into the Cruise Room and skipped out of the Jet Hotel bar as fast as possible. And the whole time- no phone.
I drew a bunch, wrote down funny things I overheard (including the woman next to me saying that her ringtone is Randy Travis' "I'll love you forever" because she loves country and cowboy art. "It's part of our culture."), and fully enjoyed the real cherries served in my manhattan. Apparently cellphone free life means you're extra good at eavesdropping and able to spot money on the floor with ease.
The cell phone is back. I had enough overdue text messages to make me feel a little bit cool (more than 2! Wahoo!) and enough emails from work to make me feel a little guilty for vacationing. After the nearly two days without the blackberry, I think I might enjoy phone free time a little more often. What a good vacation.
xo-LP
Back in 1999.
Dear 28,
I'm sitting here at Steuben's sipping a bacon bloody mary (don't worry I'm on vacation so a lunchtime drink is ok) and I don't have a functioning cell phone. I realized late last night that while I remembered to pack two library books, a curling iron (which will likely go unused) and my running shoes (which I have to use, a 5k is less than 10 days away), I failed to pack a blackberry charger.
In 1999 I didn't have a cell phone. Actually in 2001 I didn't have a cell phone. We would leave the movies in middle school and when it was time for a ride home we'd stand outside Whitey's Ice Cream, where we spent all of our extra money on Mississippi Mud, and use the pay phone to call collect home. And then, when it would ask you to state your name, Becca would say "Mom it's Becca come pick us up." Much like this commercial. Now I can call you anytime I want. I'm not sure I know anyone's number by heart, unless I learned it pre-2001 (I can call my parents, Becca's parents, the Eagles, and the greatest pizza place in Iowa- Salvatores.) So here I am, in Denver, without a way to contact the outside world (other than to email on the Macbook I'm currently typing on. So that's really not true. I'm blogging for anyone to read. I just can't call anyone.) I'm sort of embarrassed to say it's frustrating. I can't send Emily a picture of myself in front of the graffiti I just walked by that said "Smarty!" with stars around it. I can't text Becca asking what time she'll be home. And I can't LIVE TWEET my vacation. (be disappointed. so far I've had lots of hilarious things to say)
Instead I'm listening to the dude next to me, a guy from Chicago wearing a Vikings tshirt, tell his lunch date he has met the keyboardist from the Steve Miller Band, that he appreciated the use of giardiniera on his "weird" cheesesteak, and ask lots of questions about what Guy Fieri ate while he was at Stueben's. His favorite movie is Good Will Hunting. The waiter, also from Chicago, and I had a long conversation about brine and why pickles and olives taste so gross. Without a cell phone to distract me, I can notice so much more about what's happening. So this is how aware of my surroundings I used to be? (I just heard a man in the kitchen use a Julia Child voice to announce an order.)
While being phoneless is frustrating, it's oddly freeing. No one knows where I am or what I am doing. And this nap I'm about to take will go uninterrupted. I think I'll enjoy watching cable television for awhile. (Phoneless vacation is kind of wonderful.)
xo-LP
I'm sitting here at Steuben's sipping a bacon bloody mary (don't worry I'm on vacation so a lunchtime drink is ok) and I don't have a functioning cell phone. I realized late last night that while I remembered to pack two library books, a curling iron (which will likely go unused) and my running shoes (which I have to use, a 5k is less than 10 days away), I failed to pack a blackberry charger.
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| This photo could have been taken anywhere. but I'm at Steubens. I promise. |
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| Without a cell phone pictures get weird. |
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| After all that overhearing, I'm tired. |
xo-LP
Palmer Reading.
Dear 28,
I don't believe in magic. Bold statement, maybe, but I just don't.
In fact I wouldn't say I believe in horoscopes or psychics or auras. I added "Get my palm read" to the list as an experiment. (I should admit I do read my astrology zone horoscope thanks to Liz...so maybe I'm telling a half truth. A psychic would know.) After a March of unexpected outcomes, I thought it might be time to see what my palms tell a psychic about my future. Then at least I'll be prepared.
I found Sister Star (I know. Awesome.) through google and called a few days ahead to make a couple appointments for Tone and me. She's offering a special package deal right now that includes a palm reading, a tarot card reading AND a psychic reading, but I stuck with the simple palm reading. (Tone, known to go big, went for the super sized reading, of course.) Sister Star's office (do you call it an office?) exists in a little room to the side of her home. We were greeted by the faint smell of smoke and incense as Sister Star, dressing simply in black pants, a dusty black fleece and her hair wound up in a clip, gestured for us to sit on a bitty love seat. In front of us, a glass table with crystals and what appeared to be a wand lay ceremoniously beside a deck of tarot cards. Beside me there was a money tree (seriously) and pictures of the Pope sat atop glass cases and presided over us from the wall. (That surprised me. Didn't know the Catholics were down with psychics. Seems like they'd prefer Jesus.)
Sister Star allowed me to ask her questions, both about the reading and about her life as a psychic (which I loved). She was born with her gift and believes that some training on the science of palm reading and understanding auras helps, she relies heavily on her psychic ability. She, regrettably, can't predict her personal future, but has visited a psychic once in Vegas. "She was very, very good, but I can't recall her name." Sister Star grew up in here in Des Moines and has been doing readings for over 25 years.
Sister Star spoke calmly as I held out my hands and she surveyed the damage. While sharing specifics of the reading is "not encouraged," Sister Star provided some interesting insights, talked about my chakra and told me that I need "focus" about 6-8 times. That was a given- I've needed focus since 1983. (And I got rid of the focus just this year. Not funny. I know.) She spoke of future predictions, auras and again, said I need focus. In case you need a visual to read along with Sister Star, I've included my palms. Should you be a palm reader and reading this- let me know if you see anything Sister Star might have missed. I guess you don't really know if a psychic is good for a few months, or even years, but if you're looking for an interesting adventure and willing to hear a couple things you may or may not want to hear, go see Sister Star. If only to see the money tree.
xo
LP
I don't believe in magic. Bold statement, maybe, but I just don't.
In fact I wouldn't say I believe in horoscopes or psychics or auras. I added "Get my palm read" to the list as an experiment. (I should admit I do read my astrology zone horoscope thanks to Liz...so maybe I'm telling a half truth. A psychic would know.) After a March of unexpected outcomes, I thought it might be time to see what my palms tell a psychic about my future. Then at least I'll be prepared.
xo
LP
Pete Peterson and the night we boxed to Adele.
Dear 28,
On Monday Jenni and I trained with UFC fighters.Seriously.
I'm not much of a fighter. I do like to argue, but I can't say I've thought much about hitting something or someone when I'm angry. (I'm not even that great at being angry... I'd say I'm better a crying or whining. Or singing angry fighter songs.) After a couple weeks of pent up frustration though, boxing it out sounded oddly appealing. Jenni googled "boxing class Des Moines" (a far less complicated sentence than I would have used) and landed on RoundKick Gym. In his email, Pete Peterson told us we get a free trial class, to wear shorts/tshirts and that the class was barefoot. That's pretty much all we knew before tonight- other than the address of the Urbandale Gym (we actually had to print out directions to get there.)
We walked in after a short sit-in-the-car-and-give-each-other-a-pep talk moment to find a real gym
filled with vein-popping-muscly dudes. The floor was covered in blue mats, a boxing ring sat in the back and it smelled like a middle school gym. Had we done our research and actually poked
around on the RoundKick Gym website, we would have learned that fighters (like real MMA and UFC ones)
often train in Muay Thai Boxing, that Pete Peterson is a serious badass
and that "Thai training methods develop devastating power, speed and superior cardiovascular endurance."
Pete greeted us asking "did you girls bring clothes?" and then pointed us to the women's "locker room" where we broke down into a fit of giggles. Only two other ladies were in the room when we arrived, one an obvious fighter with her hand wraps and toned arms, the other a high school girl who sat in the corner hiding behind her bangs until class started (when class did start, the fighter woman thaiboxed with a man who will be in a fight in April, keeping up with his kicks and shuffles and the other girl boxed with cheetah print gloves). At promptly 7:15pm we bowed with the group of nearly 25 (mumbled "Sawadee" with the pleasant muscle man next to us- a sign of respect and a traditional Thai greeting- although I believe we used the masculine version of the word instead of the lady one) and jump-roped using these fake jump-ropey cord things for three whole minutes, and then, well then we punched each other.
We were clearly the least trained thaiboxers in the room-- certainly not a class for beginners-- but Pete kindly gave us several combos to try out, including a few that included kicks. We slipped our hands into seriously sweaty gloves and pads-that-you-punch and began to jab and hook and bob and weave. Around us dudes were doing foot grabs, spinning elbow jabs and sweating, a lot. Pete demonstrated how much more a kick using your shin hurts than a kick with a foot (I have the bruises to prove it) nearly knocking me into the man dummy (an actual plastic man thing). Near the end of the class we'd finally mastered the punching sequence and even Pete said "if I had three hands I'd give you three thumbs up" in reference to our kicking form.
I'm pretty sure I have some battle wounds (Pete said dudes think that is cool) and Jenni and I certainly experienced something we'd never have seen before. It might be the most badass I've ever felt- must be the gloves. Sawadee.
xo- LP
On Monday Jenni and I trained with UFC fighters.Seriously.
I'm not much of a fighter. I do like to argue, but I can't say I've thought much about hitting something or someone when I'm angry. (I'm not even that great at being angry... I'd say I'm better a crying or whining. Or singing angry fighter songs.) After a couple weeks of pent up frustration though, boxing it out sounded oddly appealing. Jenni googled "boxing class Des Moines" (a far less complicated sentence than I would have used) and landed on RoundKick Gym. In his email, Pete Peterson told us we get a free trial class, to wear shorts/tshirts and that the class was barefoot. That's pretty much all we knew before tonight- other than the address of the Urbandale Gym (we actually had to print out directions to get there.)
We were clearly the least trained thaiboxers in the room-- certainly not a class for beginners-- but Pete kindly gave us several combos to try out, including a few that included kicks. We slipped our hands into seriously sweaty gloves and pads-that-you-punch and began to jab and hook and bob and weave. Around us dudes were doing foot grabs, spinning elbow jabs and sweating, a lot. Pete demonstrated how much more a kick using your shin hurts than a kick with a foot (I have the bruises to prove it) nearly knocking me into the man dummy (an actual plastic man thing). Near the end of the class we'd finally mastered the punching sequence and even Pete said "if I had three hands I'd give you three thumbs up" in reference to our kicking form.
xo- LP
In like a lion.
Dear 28,
That last week in February it snowed big heavy flakes. You know the ones that coat the trees in thick sheets of white. Many early to bed evenings buried in blankets, falling asleep during Boardwalk Empire and a whole lot of leggings. (Don't judge. Leggings are amazing. Maybe they aren't "pants" exactly, but leggings, leggings are the best) It seemed I was driving a lot in the mornings when the plows had yet to clear the streets (Bill Stowe I don't blame you for waiting until 730 to clear the way, it's still and quiet and a pretty kind of chilly in the early hours). That cozy winter cocoon didn't stick around long though.
Thus far March has been much like the eve of Spring should always be: volatile. The grass appears to get greener by the hour, the skies are flooded with sunlight and suddenly dyed gray with rain clouds, and each of us gets a little anxious. They say March always clamors in like a lion.
Those first couple bits of the month slipped calmly past while I was studying basketball teams in an effort to compose an infallible bracket and eagerly learning horse race betting jargon, realizing I'm very unlucky in the casino, but felt like one charmed lady outside the walls of Prairie Meadows.
But then, preoccupied by decadent views and simply addictive consumption of The Hunger Games series, early March became mid-March, outta nowhere. That week I soaked up salty breaths of ocean air and cozied up to the bar (and the scallops) at my favorite spot in San Diego, daydreaming of (finally) dragging travel companions to the coast. My apologies to the many of you who were begged to accompany me on my next venture west that night-- as a Pearl Preferred Member I got two bobbers this time. (and 2 bobbers means 2 bourbons) But to be clear, you are definitely still invited.
As they say, beware the ides of March. (I'm all about what they say. They know everything.) I journeyed to the east coast of Iowa for a few days, hosted a festive Irish brunch and wore a summer sun dress in month three of 2012. I watched hours of the Kentucky Derby of Basketball, sampled mint infused bourbon, laughed until it hurt at some fun answers to a great question game and nursed an over-analyzing-brain-pain. And that was just four days. On the mend following those fateful Ides, I'm craving an outlet. I want to run, draw and write all at the same time just to feel that flood of emotion turn from awkwardness to something neat and clearly defined- so it'll be done (see- I'm blogging now.) With less than two months left (GASP) in my 28th year, I've got a lot of work to do.
They say March is in like a lion and then out like a lamb. Here's to a gentle end to one wicked month.
xo-LP
I'm not tryin to be rouxde.
Dear 28,
R. Kelly shows up a lot on this blog. (Here. Here. and here again.) Today is Mardi Gras- the fattest of Tuesdays. And to properly celebrate, I made a gumbo. (and pimento cheese. and a very pilsbury version of a kings cake.) I also decided tonight I'd like to illustrate an R. Kelly themed cookbook. Our Kelly can perform at the book release.
I searched the interwebs for a just-right gumbo recipe, even browsing the comments of several recipes (seriously- read the comments. so helpful). Most of the comments from actual New Orleanians (1. is that what the people of NOLA are called? 2. I am only assuming the anonymous comments are from true New Orleaners) point out that "real gumbo is tomato-less" or that "this would never be served in my Louisiana kitchen" and other such criticisms. So I googled "authentic gumbo recipe." That lead me to an ultra-informative gumbo hub. I chose to make the Chicken and Sausage Gumbo and prayed to the MardiGods that I could master the roux (after reading this incredibly helpful how-roux)
Several things were learned in this gumbo making process. Now I shall list them.
1. I need a heavy bottomed pot. (which immediately makes me think of this song and giggle) I have an old pasta pot that Mar and Den gave me that is in great shape, but is intended to boil pasta and steam veggies, not hold a swirly roux for 35 minutes. The roux is simply flour and oil that's stirred for a looooong time until it magically gets smooth and dark like a deeply brown peanut butter.
Maybe I'll purge the pasta pot and invest in a dutch oven. I think most people get those from wedding registries or something because whew they are pricey.
2. Roux is the perfect word for wordplay.
3. Tony Chachere's Original Creole Seasoning is the only way to go (thanks Nick) and also tastes delicious sprinkled on cottage cheese if you get hungry while making gumbo.
4. I tend to get flour on my face and cannot avoid crying while cutting onions. Oh and I really dislike the smell of Tabasco sauce.
5. A wooden spatula type utensil is really your best bet when stirring the roux. It covers a lot of surface in the pot (whether fat bottomed or otherwise) and helps the roux not to burn.
6. Celery + Green Peppers + Onions are called the Trinity.
7. Making your own chicken stock is so easy. Not only do you control the salt content (see I'm sticking to your diet too Mr.), but that pasta pot with the colander in it works perfectly for chickenbone+celery+onion+carrot+wholepeppercorn boiling. A sense of accomplishment follows submerging a chicken carcass with aromatic and flavorful veggies. (that is sick)
So much was learned in a 3 hour gumbo makin' adventure!
Tonight I'll actually eat the gumbo, now referred to as "I'm not tryin to be rouxde Gumbo," so a full flavor report will have to come later. A few bites last night were pretty tasty, but the real test is this evening when it's served over rice while Cajun tunes fill the stoop.
I can't decide if I'm more excited about the completed gumbo or the hand drawn recipe card with a clever R. Kelly title...
xo-LP
R. Kelly shows up a lot on this blog. (Here. Here. and here again.) Today is Mardi Gras- the fattest of Tuesdays. And to properly celebrate, I made a gumbo. (and pimento cheese. and a very pilsbury version of a kings cake.) I also decided tonight I'd like to illustrate an R. Kelly themed cookbook. Our Kelly can perform at the book release.
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| The many stages of the roux. |
1. I need a heavy bottomed pot. (which immediately makes me think of this song and giggle) I have an old pasta pot that Mar and Den gave me that is in great shape, but is intended to boil pasta and steam veggies, not hold a swirly roux for 35 minutes. The roux is simply flour and oil that's stirred for a looooong time until it magically gets smooth and dark like a deeply brown peanut butter.
Maybe I'll purge the pasta pot and invest in a dutch oven. I think most people get those from wedding registries or something because whew they are pricey.
2. Roux is the perfect word for wordplay.
3. Tony Chachere's Original Creole Seasoning is the only way to go (thanks Nick) and also tastes delicious sprinkled on cottage cheese if you get hungry while making gumbo.
4. I tend to get flour on my face and cannot avoid crying while cutting onions. Oh and I really dislike the smell of Tabasco sauce.
5. A wooden spatula type utensil is really your best bet when stirring the roux. It covers a lot of surface in the pot (whether fat bottomed or otherwise) and helps the roux not to burn.
 |
| The Trinity. Amen. |
7. Making your own chicken stock is so easy. Not only do you control the salt content (see I'm sticking to your diet too Mr.), but that pasta pot with the colander in it works perfectly for chickenbone+celery+onion+carrot+wholepeppercorn boiling. A sense of accomplishment follows submerging a chicken carcass with aromatic and flavorful veggies. (that is sick)
So much was learned in a 3 hour gumbo makin' adventure!
Tonight I'll actually eat the gumbo, now referred to as "I'm not tryin to be rouxde Gumbo," so a full flavor report will have to come later. A few bites last night were pretty tasty, but the real test is this evening when it's served over rice while Cajun tunes fill the stoop.
I can't decide if I'm more excited about the completed gumbo or the hand drawn recipe card with a clever R. Kelly title...
xo-LP
A hot mess.
Dear 28,
I'm a collector, but not much of a nester.
At least that's what I like to think of it as. Really I just have a whole bunch of stuff. In 28 years I've amassed so much stuff, too much stuff. I mean really-- Look at all this stuff? It's everywhere. Piles of stuff. I'm beginning to feel weighed down by the stuff.
I have a dresser full of craft- a dresser that sat in my sister Kate's baby room back in 1989. I have a closet filled (over filled honestly) with just winter clothes. There are things I haven't touched in months (a sewing machine specially designed for paper, you know, that I just had to have), heaps of belts and scarves, bins loaded with clutches (one to match each dress if I tried), and a sweater I wore in 2006 (or about 5 sweaters).
I considered doing this Whole Living cleanse back in January to kick off 2012 in a new and refreshed way. But I couldn't get past step one: Set Goals. I love lists, but "setting goals" for a cleanse seemed silly. Obviously I want to feel healthier or lighter or have smaller thighs or something like that... but "life goals" to motivate me through a cleanse? Psh.
I'm a collector, but not much of a nester.
At least that's what I like to think of it as. Really I just have a whole bunch of stuff. In 28 years I've amassed so much stuff, too much stuff. I mean really-- Look at all this stuff? It's everywhere. Piles of stuff. I'm beginning to feel weighed down by the stuff.
I can't avoid caffeine, alcohol and sweets for 21 days... (I'm sorry Caeli if you're reading this)... but I CAN cleanse the stoop of junk. Same premise. Different space. Organizing is surely not my strength and I'm a sentimental hoarder (oh a ticket stub from a movie in 2001? oh I remember that horrible movie I went to see when I still wore tall socks and sneakers and smiled at the football kicker. must. keep. that.), so purging my home of stuff won't been easy.
But let the spacial cleanse commence.
Any tips on keeping a small space decluttered?
xo-LP
ps- since initially writing this post I've cleared out the dresser of craft. I can't dump all this great stuff into the trash-- so you want a bag of craft? let me know.
If I'm being honest about the whole thing.
Dear 28,
The blog and I are going through some issues. At first it was a love affair founded in adventure, and words, and fulfillment, and lists. We documented funny stories and saw new places. We took photos and posted them, even if no one really cared to see what I did on a Thursday afternoon. The blog and I- we had an unbreakable bond.
But now, we just can't seem to connect.
I'm living a rather "domestic" life currently (not my word of choice, but it has been described this way by others.) I get up at 7am on Saturdays and make jam. I spend time browsing cookbooks (like way too much time) and get home from work excited to tie on the red-polka-dotted waist apron and dance about the kitchen with my IKEA microplane while Brian Williams serenades me with today's news. I have recently gone to bed at 8pm on a Friday. (Please don't repeat that) The last photo I took was (gasp) on my blackberry and of a Electromyography machine. (The nerves appear to be better. So all is good under the skull hood.) I get pumped up about manicures and winning scratch tickets.
There's still hope for the blog. I still live a semi-interesting life and, as my friend Adrienne does so well, I could go on an adventure everyday. I've got a whole list to conquer. I could be training for a 5k (for real this time). I have several books to read (ok it's time I become a reader again. Watching One Tree Hill has taught me nothing. Reading is a good alternative to Dan Scott.) I could tell you all about the food I'm obsessed with cooking. There's lots ways to reconnect.
So if I'm being honest about the whole thing, the blog and I are going through some stuff-- trying to redefine our relationship and all. But we'll work it out. We've gone through too much together to give it up now.
xo-LP
The blog and I are going through some issues. At first it was a love affair founded in adventure, and words, and fulfillment, and lists. We documented funny stories and saw new places. We took photos and posted them, even if no one really cared to see what I did on a Thursday afternoon. The blog and I- we had an unbreakable bond.
But now, we just can't seem to connect.
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| Remember how much fun we used to have? Sigh. |
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| Look. Look what we've become. |
So if I'm being honest about the whole thing, the blog and I are going through some stuff-- trying to redefine our relationship and all. But we'll work it out. We've gone through too much together to give it up now.
xo-LP
For the Lovers.
Dear 28,
A holiday based around hearts and love notes and secret admirers and flowers...sigh. Valentine's Day is one of my favorites. Last year I spent it on the couch with gatorade and medication, this year I'll spend it aw-ing over hearts and love notes and secret admirers and flowers. Sigh.
Sending love. And singing this. All day.
xo-LP
A holiday based around hearts and love notes and secret admirers and flowers...sigh. Valentine's Day is one of my favorites. Last year I spent it on the couch with gatorade and medication, this year I'll spend it aw-ing over hearts and love notes and secret admirers and flowers. Sigh.
xo-LP