am i a wimp...

...if my favorite part of yoga is the part at the end, when we lie on the floor?

I like to think that I'm learning how to better appreciate the resting part of hard work. I mean, lying on the floor after my body works hard is more than just lying on the floor. It feels earned and lovely and necessary.

Or. It could just mean I'm a wimp.


I went on a bloggie fast this week (easier said than done). And when I opened up google reader today, I found a little surprise—584 new posts waiting for me to read. Feels like a fitting end to a week of some other surprises:

  • I, um, really liked relief society enrichment this week. I have generally maintained my prejudice against it, due to a long line of awkward-bordering-on-catastrophic enrichment moments in a long line of awkward single adult wards. Thanks for converting me, Misti.
  • I survived the week. Monday looked a little daunting with a 350-page book to read, two workshop pieces to finish writing and submit, 20 student papers to read, 20 student conferences to hold, the introduction to my thesis still unrevised, etc., etc., etc. It's Friday. I'm still here.
  • A funny little feeling in my tummy. Yep. There's really a baby in there.

sometimes i cry: a map

In the first week of this semester, my professor asked us to create an autobiographical map. He gave vague instructions about how we might construct one, and then asked us to bring whatever we came up with to class in a few days. When I mentioned my task to Christopher, he asked if my map would contain a river of tears (I was crying at the time—NOT because of the assignment).

When I considered his question, I imagined I might be more accurate if I just colored the paper blue, left off any hint of continent or island and handed in my map as a vast ocean.

I cry. Often, okay.

My map ended up looking less like a road (or ocean) map and more like a page of text—sort of in the spirit of John D'Agata's "Flat Earth Map," only shorter and less clever. I outlined some points of interest in the country of myself. And apparently, I charted them on a sad day because my map drew attention to my consistent experience of being talked over in large groups of people, moments in which my story trails off in the middle and nobody notices. That put a damper on the class-time show-and-tell.

But I included no river. And today, while thinking about maps yet again, I realized that my omission may have been a mistake. The river flows at a pretty constant rate around here. I might be sad. I might be happy. But the tear count remains steady. It is a permanent landmark.

I read the news today and noticed how many different ways people hurt or attempt to hurt one another: I cried.

I watched a video on my friend's blog of her wedding and remembered how good people can be to each other (and how fabulous her taste is): I cried.

I'm not going to create another map of me, but if I did, it might look something like this one, of the changes in the Mississippi River's course over time. The route or the reason might shift (can we say pregnancy?), but this river won't dry up anytime soon.

(Found this map at

my husband reminds me to be patient with myself

Me: I tried so hard, but I didn't get everything done today.

Him: Everything? Even God didn't finish everything in one day.

My sister's new blog

My sister changed the address of her blog without telling anyone. So here it is for any of you who read it:

you know what sounds good right now?

These days, my tummy feels a bit willing to re-open its culinary horizons. So, I baked some salmon, made some rice and took them to campus with me today.

I thought I'd have plenty of time in my office to eat lunch, but I didn't. So I pulled the food out of the microwave and ate it while I walked in the crowd of students that moves en masse across campus between classes.

I would tell you about the two guys walking right behind me, and how they must have been really hungry, because I heard one say to the other, "You know what sounds good right now? Chicken curry with couscous." And I would tell you that the other one said, "No," and offered some other protein/pasta variation as the ideal meal. And I would tell you that I almost felt guilty that my lunch smelled REALLY GOOD.

But I realized before I wrote it what a pointless story that would be. So I'll just say this: I was thinking today of how much cooler my lunch would be if I had a Remains of the Day lunchbox. Does anyone know where I might find one?