Cinnamon Toast

I do not remember a time when Mamaw didn’t live in this house. As a child, I remember sick days spent with Mamaw and Papaw while my parents worked. Papaw, a doctor, would check my temperature and give me orange juice. Mamaw would make me cinnamon toast and I would lie on the couch watching cartoons, feeling significantly less sickly with sugar and warm butter melting on my tongue.

The house is stuffed, every inch, with trinkets. Papers. Birth certificates. Birthday cards. National Geographic magazines. Cookbooks. Drawings and letters and pictures of 4 children, of 13 grandchildren. To dig through a drawer is to unearth a lifetime of memory.

My cousin, Lauren, gave me a hug in the kitchen the day of Papaw’s funeral, and she told me I was the “luckiest one” being the eldest, since I knew our Grandfather the longest. She was young, and completely correct.

My youngest cousin, Ian, bruised my left cheek when he repeatedly threw my pink bracelet at my head, a delightful game to a nearly-two-year-old.

I sang my sister, Caroline, to sleep on the couch in the living room with a medley of show tunes.

I read ancient love letters found in the drawers of the trundle room.

I ran to jump on my Papaw’s lap and my mom scolded me. He was fragile. I always forgot.

My great-aunt MaryAnne began to die in the den where I sleep tonight, her lungs tired.

I cried myself to sleep for months in the bedroom down the hall, wishing I could be back in New Orleans, wondering if that would be possible.

And now my Mamaw does not live here anymore. The house is still in the family, the trinkets still explode from beneath couches and secret closets.

But my Mamaw does not live here anymore. And that will always make me sad.

28 Things

So, in honor of the big 2-8 (a milestone birthday for everyone, right?), I will list 28 things I am proud of/happy about/thankful for as of this moment in time. In no particular order:

1. I am 72 lbs lighter than I was for my 25th birthday.

2. I make a mean chocolate cake.

3. I graduated from law school.

4. I passed the bar exam.

5. I finally get to see my kid sister and parents whenever I want, instead of just on holidays.

6. I love my church friends.

7. I have made all my student loan payments on time and I have overpaid (by a teeny, tiny amount) every single time.

8. I am no longer intimidated by butternut squash.

9. Running makes me really happy.

10. The scar on my leg is fading better than I expected.

11. I love my job.

12. I'm going to Dubai in February.

13. I'm proud of my brother and sister.

14. Minneapolis isn't homey, but it feels like it could be eventually.

15. My new mittens are perfect for driving.

16. It's peppermint mocha season at Starbucks.

17. Everyone in my family is healthy and strong and loves God.

18. I no longer have to dial numbers out of the state when I have a bad day. I do have good friends here.

19. I have a small, precious group of ladyfriends who live far away but who I always stay in touch with.

20. I made lasagna and it wasn't awful.

21. I have a dimple in my cheek I never knew about.

22. The Lyn-Lake area is always worth exploring.

23. There are great Ethiopian restaurants here.

24. I've forgiven myself for things.

25. Lake Harriet.

26. I'm heading home to Arkansas tomorrow.

27. Peanut butter on celery.

28. My life makes sense, even on the days it feels a bit wacky.

Christmas Lights

I have officially been bitten by the Christmas bug. I'm typically the sort that doesn't embrace Christmas until Thanksgiving is over, but the snow on the ground yesterday and the tree decorating today have made me anxious for carols, wrapping presents, baking cookies, and seeking mistletoe.

I do wish I had an apartment that was more amenable to Christmas decorations. It would be nice to tuck some lights around my bookcases or something. I'm debating a Christmas tree purchase, just a tiny one to wedge into a corner. I've always had a nerdy love for stringing popcorn.

Christmas tree or not, I will not apologize for humming O Holy Night a little too often.

My Blue Suede Shoes

Happiness is...blue suede stillettos and fishnets. A dress worn in November that's best worn in July. The company of ladyfriends. Duck confit, gruyere fondue, Cosmos, and chocolate cake.

The perfect celebration of the momentous 2-8 birthday, n'est-ce pas?

Favorite Spaces

I asked a friend a couple days ago to tell me his favorite place abroad and his response inspired me to think up my favorite spaces, stateside and in the whole wide world. And here they are, in no particular order, totally subjective and based purely on the company involved, the daydreams had, and the presence of sunny skies on the day(s) visited:

1. Favorite beach: Essaouira in Morocco. The blue and white of the boats sticks with me, as does my first and only camel ride, which occurred on the sand outside the city.

2. Favorite mountain: Roan Mountain, Tennessee. Family is everything.

3. Favorite mountain range: The Atlas in Morocco, specifically, the pass between Marrakech and Ourzazate.

4. Favorite large city: Marrakech, London

5: Favorite middle-sized city: New Orleans, Bath (England), Tours (France)

6: Favorite small town: Elizabethton, Tennessee

7: Favorite place to get lost: the souk in Marrakech

8: Favorite breakfast place: That one cafe in Bath with the crazy good eggs and sausage

9: Favorite lunch place: Reginellis in New Orleans, Hanout to the left of the second street in Youssoufia, Morocco with the hottest bread and freshest sardines, Imos in St. Louis, Sims in Little Rock, The Flying Fish in Little Rock

10: Favorite dinner place: Muriel's in New Orleans, Delachaise in New Orleans, Leila's kitchen in Morocco, Cunetto's in St. Louis

11: Favorite snack: sweet peanuts and fresh steamed chickpeas in Morocco

12: Best shopping: Magazine Street in New Orleans, the section of the souk in Marrakech with the crazy lanterns and yarn, the dye section of the Fes souk

13: Best nightlife (bars/pubs): Bath, New Orleans

14: Best theatre: Fox Theatre in St. Louis

15: Best place to swim: waterfall on the road to Hana, Hawaii

16: Best place to have a great time even though you have no knowledge of the language: Vienna

17: Best cheesey tourist location: Big Ben, Buckingham Palace

18: Best cheese: Tours, France, and the Porter's Cahill at the Delachaise in New Orleans

19: Best wine: Tokaj, Hungary

20: Most terrifying/exciting car ride: cab between Marrakech and Ourzazate

21: Prettiest scenery: Alaska, driving to Denali

22: Best place to breathe deep: Audobon Park in New Orleans in the spring, top of Pinnacle Mountain in Arkansas, square outside the theatre in Tver, Russia, with a bit of snow in the air

23: Most beautiful sounds: "Allah Akbar" prayer call during Ramadan in Marrakech ("God is great" translates for any faith), Caroline singing in the car, when my mom calls me "Honey", morning on the Roan, slap of running shoes on pavement, rain on my window in New Orleans, wind at Tintagel Castle in Cornwall, sound of a bat hitting the ball at Busch Stadium

And there are more favorites tucked away, I'm sure. But this is a good start.

Is This Lameness or Maturity?

When I ride the bus my day is very long. I'm up at 5, on the bus at 6, at work at 7:30, on the bus again at 4, home around 5:40. That's three hours of commuter time. When I get home I usually go running, then make dinner, then read, fall asleep around ten. A lot of my friends go out after work, they do happy hours or they go to a movie or they go out to dinner, etc. I socialize after work very infrequently.

I am not complaining. If anything, I love that pace, and prefer to be a bit secluded and quiet during the work week. Weekends are fun for shopping, movies, dinners, dates, parties, etc. But I feel a bit boring when I know much of 20something singledom is out galavanting, flirting, exploring, and I am at home debating the fate of the butternut squash in my fridge. Is that lame?

All I know is that at the end of the day, I value being by myself. I like the quiet of an empty apartment. I like cooking whatever I want for dinner (even if it's something incredibly boring like oatmeal with baked apples...it was all I could think of tonight). I like rearranging the songs on my iPod and googling weird questions that ran through my mind during the day. I like running. I like reading and rereading paragraphs in books that I've read a dozen times. I like making grand plans. I like testdriving my slow cooker. I like writing letters I know I'll never mail. And I can't do any of those things if I'm at happy hour.

Cozy

I complain about my poor, innocent apartment pretty frequently. It gets too chilly, and then too hot, the kitchen is smaller than my kid sister's bathroom, the patio door squeaks, and it's disastrously far from work.

But in the last month or so I've hosted a couple of different groups of friends for dinner and that makes me happier with the pad. In New Orleans, we always had little dinner soirees (okay, it was really just the three of us) at Katherine's, with her perfect tiny kitchen and warm, fluffy couch and the sound of the gerbils spinning happily on their wheel. And in Kansas City I tried not to ever let friends see where I lived, it was such a horrid place. I hosted a lot of friends in Peace Corps but I suppose when you're going on two weeks without a shower and you're eating sardine omelets you don't much worry about the cute factor of your abode.

My first apartment here in the Cities has begun to grow on me. Although I'm itching to leave and move closer to work, I am starting to love the quirk of the occassionally-working sink and the weird noise the bathroom vent makes (is that a heater? what is that thing in the ceiling? does it have a purpose other than making noises?). My friend and thesis advisor, Dabney, used to tease me for romanticizing everything. He told me I could romanticize a lump of coal. The older I get, the more I agree with him. But I think I just grow into certain things, places, experiences, and begin to love them for their flaws. There's an ownership in loving a place you have to "work" to love. I will not go so far as to say I love the Cities. I don't. The cold makes me so sad. But the "work" of loving what this place has to offer is becoming more enjoyable and that includes my crappy, cozy apartment.

Above are the kind souls that visited for dinner last night. Thank you for your company, friends. And Nate, thank you for helping me duct tape my chair.

Thank You

Grandfather Welch and Papaw,

Thank you for serving our country.

I miss and love you both very much.

Love,

Granddaughter Number One

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will cast my vote for Barack Obama. He was not my first choice, by any means. And I could still list the many worries and questions I have about this man and how he will run our country. Perhaps I will vote for him, partly, because I am a party loyalist, because his point of view and voting pattern is very closely mirrored by the woman I wish stood in his place. But I think the main reason I will vote for him is far simpler.

My dad tells this story about me when I was three, during the Reagan-Mondale battle. After seeing both men on TV, my dad asked me which I liked better. I said Reagan. When asked why, I said Reagan smiled more. It's a simple answer, of course, but I was three. And now, at nearly 28, I feel very much the same.

I'm not voting for Obama because he literally has a grin plastered on his face more often than McCain. But there is something to be said for a candidate who can inspire hope and passion the way he has. After so many years of a president who made Americans often feel embarrassed or foolish, it's very tempting to invision the possibility of a president, once again, who can communicate in a way that will make Americans proud. President Clinton, for all his own faults, had that gift. While he may have been a philanderer and a cheat in many ways, he was never stupid. He was always a brilliant mind trying to fix problems of his and others' creation. I miss having a president who spoke a language the world respected. I'm tired of the office of the President of the United States being deemed a joke in foreign circles.

With that being said, I am not an Obamaphile. I do not think McCain would be bad for this country. I actually think he's a highly competent, truly 'maverick' leader who could do great things for this nation. McCain, before this race, was the renegade Republican. He was the Republican respected by both parties in equal force. This race forced him to embrace a more conservative bent that is not natural to him and I think this discomfort showed. But races do that. McCain is a moderate and he would govern as such and I would be proud to call him my president. I respected McCain long before this election and I will continue to do so whether or not he is my president.

While I am impressed with the sheer magnitude of Obama's forces, I also feel that the Hillary-McCain battle would have been a fairer, better fight. It would have been a fight about issues instead of suits and pranks and plumbers. I don't think this fight was as tough on Obama as it needed to be, and that worries me. But in his last debate, for the first time, I felt that he was sincere. Young, yes. Self-important, yes. Inexperienced, yes. But great presidents have been made of that material before. I think Obama has the guts, I think he exudes a confidence that the country needs right now. His smile looks genuine. And although I'm sure Democrats shudder at the thought of comparing Reagan to Obama, from my 28-or-3 year old eyes, the similarities are worth noting.

Since I feel that both Obama and McCain would make good presidents, I am not an Obama voter who is chewing their fingernails tonite, losing sleep over whether or not Change-with-a-capital-C will arrive. I believe it already has. President Bush will leave office and new, exciting things are around the corner. So I am happy for our country, regardless of the outcome tomorrow. My vote is blue, but for the first time in my voting experience, I do not feel that I am voting for the lesser of evils. I feel lucky to get to choose between two vastly different men with, I believe, identically fervent loves for the country they wish to lead.

My Plant Can Kick Your Plant's Butt

It's time to introduce my friends to the greatest office plant in the world. He's feisty, he's sturdy, he's impossible to kill. He's...

Wait for it...

HERCULEAVES!

Do you get it?

HercuLEAVES.

Haha.

An Accent?

I went to a friend's party last night in celebration of her passing the bar exam. It was a happy, familial affair with champagne, toasts, a cheesily decorated cake, and lots of hugs. I didn't know anyone there besides the lady of the hour so I spent some of the evening talking with her friends, all of whom are from the Minnesota/Iowa/Wisconsin area.

I never think of myself as having a Southern accent. This is largely because I am from the South and so I know what an accent truly sounds like. My mom still has hers, and my extended family members have accents ranging from Texas to Arkansas to Tennessee to the Carolinas (yes, they're all different). I, having moved to Missouri at 10 (and Missouri is NOT a Southern state), lost my accent pretty rapidly and picked up only parts of it upon living in Virginia and Louisiana. I know that it comes out a bit more when I'm around my family and also when I'm sleepy or angry, but I really don't have a strong accent so it surprises me when people pick up on it.

Four times last night people asked where I was from. When I told them I was originally from Arkansas and had moved here from New Orleans, they all shook their heads and said, with varying degrees of self-congratulations, that they knew I was from the South. I am not offended by this in the slightest, mind you. I am, assuredly, a proud Southerner and will always happily recount how I managed to end up in this frozen tundra. And most people love to hear the "y'all" and the sing-song nature of an accent. But it still trips me up a bit, reminds me that I'm not from here, even though I really do not need a reminder.

But I do like having a story to tell, I always have. I like coming from somewhere different, knowing something different. It's hard for me to invision living in one place for all of my life, the way many people here have. In some ways I envy their comfort, the friends they've had since they were in utero, the knowledge and familiarity they have with a specific stretch of space. But I am also glad that I've lived in several states (and even a couple countries), have family in several more, have traveled extensively and called faraway places "home" and not thought it odd. But after years of wandering about with no true desire to be in one place for too long, I can grasp the merit in roots. And I think Minneapolis is a good place for roots.

But I'm still going to say y'all.