I'm basically the new NPR correspondent

Today I achieved a lifetime goal. Whilst gobbling down my Happy Meal and Diet Coke in the privacy of my car (sounds like the beginning of an episode of Intervention), I listened to Ross Reynolds on The Conversation as he invited listeners to share stories of their most beloved teachers.

So I called! And the screener person liked me story, so they put me on! And I told Ross all about my first grade teacher Mrs. Kloster, and I told him how her creativity has sparked all kinds of appreciation for creativity for me in the 20 years since I walked in her door.

Then I told the listeners that we panned for gold in the pool at Camp Side-by-Side this summer, which we actually did NOT do, since we decided that would be a major safety hazard. But we had talked about it and I was under major pressure to be clever on live radio. IT WAS LIVE, folks. But it sounded so great on the air. At least that's what my mom said.

http://kuow.org/program.php?id=24470

Like asking her to swallow the sun

I'm trying to form a new habit these days, and part of the new habit is breaking the old habit--spending too much time on Facebook. Ugh. Anyway the point is that I want to redirect some of those gossipy pitstops to more interesting and authentic ones. So far I'm reading EVERY article in the paper and wondering how many cute baby picture posts I'm missing.

But this morning I woke up to read a blurb by a local food-writing hero, Molly Wizenberg, and she pointed me in the direction of a TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert. I admit that I'd heard of TED and knew that all important techy, savvy people liked it, but until two weeks ago when my friend Lacey practically DEMANDED (on Facebook, oh sweet irony!) that we pay more attention, I hadn't even been to the website. I'll go ahead and embed Ms. Gilbert's talk because you know I love to embed videos, but more importantly, I just have to say out loud: I'm so glad to know other creative people get stuck too. And I'm so glad creative people can look at each other and say, We got to stick together. Because the injustice of creative people literally losing their minds? No thanks.

I might be giving myself too much credit here, I don't have an Eat, Pray, Love under my belt, but I do understand the shitty state of depression, so I resonated in about 1,000 ways with the way she describes that tipping point in a creative process where you think you have NO talent and NO potential and, as my mom would say, you're going to end up in the GUTTER. And then the other side of the mountain is where God's spirit (that's how I see it, at least) bubbles up through you and all that magic and creativity gushes on through. That's quite a tightrope.

This is all pretty woo-woo. But you know what? Without the woo, we'd all be engineers.

I'm trying not to think about that unflattering angle.

But I'm so proud of what we do and the work of Side-by-Side!

True Life: I am working retail

A few months ago it was clear this whole homeownership gig was going to be a LOT MORE MONEY than we planned. And we planned for a lot of stuff, but who can imagine a house with brand new windows would *literally* be 61 degrees all winter? No matter how much one pumps the heat, frigid we remain. I finally feel justified when I go to REI for high quality ski gear.

Thus, I got another job. Have I already told you this? (Side note: I'm going to put it all out there today and tell you that this new, sent-from-heaven medicine called Pristiq also affects my memory. I am upbeat, energetic, not depressed, which is the point (!!), but boy do I forget my thought in the middle of the sentence. Time will tell if this side effect is tolerable. But for now: spacey!)

What was I saying? Just kidding, I looked at my last paragraph for a refresher. I got another job. I'm making coffee at a new little shop in South Lake Union called Kakao. (Please don't stalk me if you're a weirdo.)

I LOVE IT. But first I hated it. First of all, I haven't really been a coffee drinker since I am so naturally energetic. Duh! So I didn't feel confident in terms of what the drinks should taste like, or what people meant when they said no foam. Foam? Like a mattress? What was I saying? This was also compounded by some very, very low expectations set for me by my friend Rory.

"I promise you that all you need to know about making lattes can be learned in one afternoon."

Maybe the fact that Rory is my age, has a master's in creative writing, likes to do calculus for FUN (Still? Who does that?), and has a column for McSweeney's should have tipped me off that my learning curve might be steeper. But it didn't. Because I am not depressed but spacey. Unlike Rory, who has his career in the bag and kicks ass.

After several miserable training sessions, from which I left covered in scalded milk and espresso stained fingernails, I nearly quit. I even planned a little speech about why the bus schedule had changed (it did), but somehow I persevered. Just kidding, we were just desperate for the money!

But it got better. Little by little, I got the hang of steaming milk. And I have learned all about the bouquet of espresso, and thanks to the early mornings, my body is happy for the caffeine. One day someone ordered a breve and I had to stick my head under the counter and pretend to look for lids, but actually I was googling breve. But nobody caught me, and that lady left happy.

Best of all, I have made lovely friends. The fellow baristas are my new favorite people--they are all in grad school and inspire me to get gutsy with my vocation--and the customers. I think baristas in Seattle serve more as bartending therapists more than I knew. What to say to all the Amazon employees that think nothing of coming TWICE a day for a $4.00 latte and a heart to heart?

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Next to Normal

Just when a hard day seems like it might end with a bucket of Breyer's Vanilla Bean, a long phone call with my mom saves me the heavy cream. Nothing quite like it. Four--one, two, three, four--families connected to Side-by-Side lost their children this week. No words for that. And the regular stuff of life marches on too. Car repairs, tax returns, poorly dyed hair. What a world, eh?

Last night we trekked out to see Next to Normal at the 5th. As much as I love the arts, sometimes I get bored in musicals. Then I follow up the boredom with guilt about not being cultured enough. Blahblahblah.

Not this time! Maybe it's because it felt so familiar, maybe it's because I saw at least ten people I know from my NAMI class, but I was howling with laughter and dripping with tears until the lights went up. All. the. way. to. the. end. It was superb. And there was an UNDERSTUDY playing the lead!

Take a listen and then go see this show.

Husky at Heart!

Even thought #22 looks like a badass, he actually really likes coleslaw and has great table manners.

From what I can tell, when you get cancer, especially if you're a little kid, people like to give you STUFF. A lot of times it's free tickets, sometimes it's free stuffed animals (since we know those are so hard to come by), ugly hats are a popular choice, plus bandanas that had been sitting at the bottom of the barrel in the Michael's clearance section since last Christmas. And there's a lot of wonderful gifts that come along, but in the end, stuff if stuff.

But tonight, my friends, the kids who are staying at the Ronald McDonald House while their families face serious medical situations had an EXPERIENCE. A fun one. The University of Washington Men's Basketball team came to eat dinner! And I was there, cooking up a storm! And then I chatted up a storm, because who wants a bunch of awkward 18-year-old boys to stand around in their 7 foot glory and scare small children with their awkwardness? Not me. So I sat down, the 5'4" blonde girl with an entire table of African American, NBA-dreaming college students, to pick their brains about the rain in Seattle (hard to adjust to, according to the boys from San Diego, Watts, and you know, Senegal!!!), which majors would never work for a basketball player: science and engineering, for sure, and what they thought of the House.

"I've never been here before, but I am definitely coming back y'all!" Too cute.

We had a mini photoshoot (HP should sponsor us with the amount of color ink we have been using lately), let kids decorate cardstock picture frames and got tons of autographs. There were t-shirts and basketballs and some good natured ribbing, but my favorite part was seeing those boys, the ones who land on SportsCenter all the time, the ones who came from all around the world, not necessarily thinking college education was in their stars, realizing the influence and privilege of their position. I'm hoping they liked it enough to warrant a free few tickets for me this season. :)

Don't Call Me

Dear Mr. Technology,

You rock my world. Daily. I love knowing that I can pretend to understand a conversation 'round the watercooler, run back to my desk, Wikipedia the mystery reference and make an "informed" comment the next time I swing by. This is a fabulous convenience: I feel cool.

I also love, Mr. Techie, the way my iPhone gives me instantaneous answers about my bus's whereabouts (downtown, three minutes delayed) and reminders for family birthdays. I couldn't do without these luxuries now that I'm so painfully spoiled. You get me, Techie, you really do.

But Tech, there has been a price for all this luxury. Mostly, I have become That Girl Who Doesn't Get Back to People. It's been a long time coming. People usually expect me to delay in responding to emails, answering friend requests, replying to messages, commenting in return on a blog, texting back my weekend plans, and on and on. BUT WAIT A MINUTE. What is wrong with this picture? There are ten, TEN ways that people can reach me these days.

And ten is way too many. You have created a monster, Techno Man. Home phone, cell phone, text, Gmail, G-chat, Facebook: messages, walls and chat, work email, and work phone. How am I supposed to sustain that kind of communication? WHO HAS TIME FOR THAT? I know I'm not the only one. But I am just not interesting in juggle all of this anymore.

So, Mr. T, I am waving my white flag. You win. I admit defeat. I'm not the girl who can be counted on when it comes to answering the call of duty. If people want to reach me, they can come and knock on my frickin' door. The rat race of "reply all" is ending today. The reply time guilt is whooshing down the drain as we speak. I know you'll try and woo me back. I'll continue to suffer the silent judgment of the Quick Replyers, but you will know who has my heart: Mr. Doorbell.

Love,

Holly Elizabeth

Learning, Learning

May was Bike to Work Month in Seattle. The Cascade Bicycle Club sponsors this big hoopla--t-shirts and water bottles and smack-talking online forums--and I unwisely volunteered to captain a team at work. Have you met me? Have I met me? This was extremely out of character. Not the captain (boss!) part, but the part about, um, exercise. BLECH. I hate to exercise! Who wants to exercise when you can be reading cookbooks? Or watching The Biggest Loser?

Each team member is required to make the trek to work on two wheels at least five times during the month. Today is May 31...I made three trips. Pa.the.tic. But I did make three whole trips, which is something. It's progress, right? And now I will share with you, fellow butterballs, the massive list of excuses I concocted this month. Chow down.

May 1: It's too hot (high of 75).
May 2: It's too rainy.
May 3: I hopped in the car and didn't even think about biking until I got to work! Oops!
May 4: My asthma is really flaring up today.
May 5: I couldn't remember the combo to my bike lock.
May 6: It's the day before my birthday.
May 7: It's my birthday!
May 8: I'm recovering from my birthday.
May 9: My husband broke my bike lock.
May 10: The trail has sooooo many bumps in it from all those rooty trees.
May 11: Crime is up in the U-District.
May 12: I don't know where to park my bike at work.
May 13: My team will carry us (this happened, because we won the contest).
May 14: My team will not notice (this did not happen).
May 15: Flat tire!
May 16: I'm running late.
May 17: I RODE TO WORK! Dustin dragged me to work on Friday night. This counts.
May 18: Helmet hair is not appropriate for volunteer interviews.
May 19: I'm heading straight to my therapist after work.
May 20: My husband needs a ride home.
May 21: I'm bringing cookies to the office, and they'll get squished in my messenger bag!
May 22: My messenger bag is missing the cross strap.
May 23: It's too hot (high of 70).
May 24: Cramps.
May 25: I might be pregnant.
May 26: I am so traumatized by that pregnancy scare.
May 27: I feel guilty that it's the end of May, but not guilty enough to ride.
May 28: I RODE TO WORK! And it actually felt incredible.
May 29: I RODE TO WORK AGAIN! Got v. sunburned.
May 30. Sounders game.
May 31: Helping friends move=biking failure.

Here's to grand delusions!