My Christmas Vacation, Nutshell-Style

So on Christmas Day, Grandma Mavis makes a particularly humorous comment, as is her wont. In response, Ian, who has decided to drape his elongated frame across the entirety of the living room couch, declares, "Grandma is sharp as a tack."

I, in turn, offer, "You're sharp as a tack," because this is the sort of thing that has passed for funny all weekend with the fam.

Ian retorts, "You're a tack," because this is also the sort of thing that has passed for funny all weekend with the fam.

At this, I holler, "ATTACK!" and promptly attempt to force the air out of Ian's lungs by leaping kneecap-first onto his ribcage.

Ian, using his limited oxygen supply for laughter, states, "You crushed my sternum with your knees!" Ah, yes, the holiday hijinks that go on in Sleepy Eye...

Most Unsatisfactory

Well, my children, in lieu of putting up an actual post, I'm off to the frozen further North for a few days of family bonding. There shall be healthy competition and unhealthy consumption and probably a fair amount of thievery. New content, including another tale of breaking and entering, should arrive just after Thursday. Pins and needles, I know...

Happy Christmas to All...

and to all:

-a good morning, filled with carols and chatter and last-minute cleaning.

-a good afternoon, spent with family and friends and copious amounts of food.

-and yes, a good night.

(That's how things are shaping up around here, anyway...)

Academic Satisfaction

At the police station tonight, I borrowed an officer's clip-on necktie and handled a taser.

This is the best class ever.

An Evening of Slapstick at Casa vonLowther

Characters (personaggi*):

J, getting into bed in first floor bedroom
E, pausing at foot of stairs directly across from J's room
A, standing around two corners in kitchen

E: [singing melodiously] Goodnight, ladies!
J: [muffled] Goodnight!
A: Goodnight!
[From upstairs comes a piercing ring.]
E: Ali, your phone's ringing.
A: Oh, my phone is on your charger. Will you put it in my room?
E: It's ringing.
A: Will you put it on my bed?
E: But it's ringing.
A: My phone?
E: It's ringing.
A: Ooooooh.
J: [muffled laughter]

*The Italian is for Meg, who once greatly amused a hostel desk clerk in Siena by requesting a reservation for six personaggi/characters(/personages) instead of six persone/people(/persons). Of course, the group traveling was made up of me, Meg, Brooke, Abi, Kemp, and Jonah; personaggi is perhaps the more apt of the two options.

This One's For Fabi, Too

¡Feliz cumpleaños a ti!
¡Feliz cumpleaños a ti!
¡Que los cumplas, que los cumplas,
que los cumplas feliz!

(¡y muchos más!)

This One's For Fabi

I waded through a fluffy bog of white in black suede ballet flats on my way out the back door this morning. At some point last week, buoyed by a dearth of snowfall, I decided to store my boots in my car for the sake of convenience: “That way, if I decide I need them, they’ll be right at hand.” Bad move, Emily; you clearly neglected to think about the fact that you live in Minnesota. As I trudged across the yard, socks soaked, I decided that perhaps convenience is all relative.

I skidded down side streets in between lanes of traffic on my way to work. Making my normal left turn into heavy traffic from my residential street was out of the question, since the thick wedges of snow that had accumulated in the crosswalk virtually guaranteed slow acceleration and ineffectually-spinning wheels. I let out a relieved sigh when I finally reached I-94; at least the four-lane had been visited by a snowplow. As I sped down the salted-and-sanded road, I decided that perhaps commuting on the freeway isn’t quite so bad.

I floored it on my way out of an Uptown parking lot, audibly encouraging my car not to roll backward down the seemingly-vertical paved slope it had to ascend to reach street level. The asphalt was obscured under pale brown powder, compressed by tires until it resembled so much flaky pastry dough. Apparently the lot isn’t being plowed until tonight; this bodes ill for those cars still trapped in their sedate, yellow-lined rows by the ever-accumulating drifts. As I narrowly avoided sliding tail-first into my place of employment, I decided that perhaps a nearly-free-of-charge parking lot that is located down a steep hill is overrated.

Fabi, you’d love it around here.

A Wee Bit Crowded

On Friday night, I ran into a classmate from St. Thomas while out on the town with my boss.

On Saturday night, I hung out with a coworker from my morning job at the house of a coworker from my afternoon job.

And this morning, I may possibly have spied my police class professor in the uppermost row of the balcony at Gloria Dei Lutheran Church.

So I suppose that the tinny rendition of "It's A Small World After All" playing on repeat in my head is perfectly natural, then?

Threefold Anticlimax

1) On Friday, I made quite the connection at work - with the linoleum, that is. While rounding a corner, I stepped squarely into a puddle of melting ice and tumbled, limbs flailing, upon the unforgiving tile. Fortunately for me, no one was around, so I clambered gingerly to my feet and limped toward my classroom, gauging the slowly-receding throbbing in my, er, let's call it the region of the very low back. I thought the level of pain virtually guaranteed a spectacular bruise. I mean, I bruise easily - there's a thumbprint-sized yellowing grey-brown speckle on my left bicep at the moment for which I cannot recall a source - and I've had two outstanding falling-down bruise experiences in the past three years, so I figured my prediction of a reddish-purple splotch was pretty accurate.

It's been three days, and all I have to show for my effort is an infinitesimal pale blue polka dot and the hint of an ache.

2) On Sunday, I planned to meet someone new - the housemate, you know. I didn't ever have a chance to talk to J before she decided to rent a room in our house; Ali showed her around one day when I was at work, and did all the corresponding after that because J knew who she was. She moved in on Friday, but I needed to go out of town for the weekend and left for SE directly from work. I thought I would get a chance to say hello on Sunday night; it only seemed fitting that I speak to my new roommate within a couple days of her moving in. By the time I got back to the house, though, J was asleep. We also missed each other this morning; I heard her close the front door while I was washing my face in the bathroom across the hall from her bedroom.

Despite living in the same house for seventy-two hours, I have yet to see the person who sleeps downstairs.

3) On Monday, I decided things were moving a bit too quickly - in the car, of course. Bessie is in the shop again, so I drove Michal's Prius to class this evening. Heading home, I entered the freeway and immediately merged across three (completely vacant) lanes. This task successfully completed, I turned my attention back to the road ahead and noticed something strange about the huge blue numbers that comprise the digital speedometer readout: three digits were present, instead of the typical two. 1. 0. 4. "Holy catfish!" I exclaimed, promptly hitting the brake. Mrs. Periwinkle obliged, descending to ninety, then eighty... but something felt amiss. "Surely this is not what it feels like to go eighty miles an hour," I thought oh-so-intelligently.

As I scoured the car for clues, the problem became clear: I had somehow pushed the button that changed my gauge readouts from standard to metric.

Half a Candle

"It's five already?" A second-grader asked me this today in the gym after I told her it was time to line up to return to our classroom. She'd been dashing madly across the thickly-varnished floor for an hour and a half, but still wasn't ready to settle into the regular routine of listening to stories and engaging in quiet activities.

In response, I offered an old adage, since I am much too lazy to come up with my own sentences: "Time flies when you're having fun." It really does, you know; the past six months - the length of time I have spent as a post-college Minnesota resident - have disappeared more swiftly than I would have thought possible.

Happy half-birthday, little bloggenzie! May the second six-month stretch of your existence be as fraught with adventure as the first.