Sasha's Day

Crap. The alarm's going off. Now she's going to start moving around, and I'm going to have to change my spot. Wait, she's going back to sleep for a few more minutes. Fine, be late to work. See if I care. I can out-sleep you any day.

Oh, that was a good stretch. Now that she's gotten up, I'm just going to scoot over into the warm spot she left. No need to let it cool down. Wait, it sounds like she's pouring fresh food into my bowl. Why does she make me get down to eat breakfast? Would it not be just as easy to pour that food up here where I already am? Now I have to climb all the way down the stairs and go eat out of a bowl like a dog. Do I look like a dog? 

I do love to drink out of my water bowl, though. This new waterfall thing is just like the bathroom sink I used to be able to drink out of. Better even, since it's at my height. As long as she keeps it full, we'll be fine. I wish I could figure out how to drink out of it without getting water all over my mouth. Let me just shake my head a few times and get the water onto the walls and off my whiskers. There, that's better.

She's not moving fast enough. I'd better go sit by the door so she remembers where it is. I don't understand why it takes her so long to get ready. I just lick my coat a few times and call it done.

Thank goodness. Finally, I can go back to bed. Wait, I forgot I don't have to wait for late morning before any light comes through the window. Now that we're in Florida, there's light all the time. There's that perfect spot on the floor next to the bed where the light is coming in directly from the window. I think I'll just stop here for a while before getting back up into bed.

Ugh. I hate that climb up onto the bed. At least now I have my choice of spots. I don't know why she stays up here a the top of the bed and doesn't even cover her head with all these sheets and blankets. I'm climbing way down underneath the comforter to the end of the bed. I just need to make sure I make a noticeable lump so she can find me when she gets home.

Geez, she's loud. What do you mean, where am I? Where am I almost EVERY day? Right here under the comforter. I'll just wiggle a little bit and let her know I heard her, but I'm not sure I'm coming out yet. Well, okay, I guess I'm a little lonely. I'll just go greet her. But I'm going to be just as loud as she is. I still don't know why she asks me how my day was. Do you really think one day in my life looks any different from another? I'm just going to yell a little louder and see if she'll get out the Fancy Feast. Maybe if I look pointedly at the pantry long enough, she'll get a clue. 

Okay, she's either not terribly bright, or she's deliberately ignoring me. I want my egg carton full of Fancy Feast! Alright, I'm pulling out the big guns. Let me just climb up into her lap and see how fast she runs for the Fancy Feast. Oh, even better, she's got the laptop out. I'll just snuggle up on the laptop. She'll get so irritated that she'll get me that Fancy Feast before the next commercial is out. Ha! I knew it would work. At least I've gotten faster at this than I used to be. I finally figured out that all I have to do is flip- the egg carton over, and all the Fancy Feast pieces are on the floor. Crack for cats. Meow.

What now? She's coming at me with that plastic syringe again to stick in my mouth. Is this really necessary? It's so humiliating. And it tastes bad. I'm only letting her get away with it because of the Fancy Feast.

Are we ever going to go back to bed? I think I'll just curl up on my head next to her on the couch. Then I won't miss it when it's time to get up. Look, and here are some socks I can sit on. One more thing that can smell a little more like me.

What happened? It's dark. Did she go to bed without me? How did that happen? Let me just make a quick stop at the potty before I climb back up there. I'd better scratch a few more times just to be sure there's plenty of dust in the air and no one can smell anything. Litter dust is so much better. 

Oh, good, she's on her back. Let me just knead a little and push everything around to make the softest sleeping spot on her tummy. There we go. Backside up by her face, looking straight out to the end of the bed. Perfect. What a lovely day.

Drive-Through Window

All restaurants are drive-through if you try hard enough --unknown

One of the many tasks that must be undertaken when relocating is to renew your driver's license. Sadly, they do not care that the man who took your last driver's license photo got you to laugh at just the right moment so that your current picture has you smiling, your head tilted slightly, your eyes open. Or that you were having a good hair day. Or that you finally remembered to put on lipstick before stepping in front of the camera. Nor do they care that you have not entirely detached from your old locale and would just as soon keep one last remnant of the address you had for thirteen years. They also do not care that you have a million and one other things to be doing during their convenient hours of 8 to 5 Monday through Friday. Just so you know. No, your new state requires you to go through it all again, and then they charge you $56.50 for the privilege. Even though you have a perfectly good license already that's hardly ever been used and practically right out of the shrinkrap.

So yesterday I put on my big girl panties and hauled myself over to the tax assessor's office to take care of this dreaded task, made even more daunting by the fact that it was a hot Florida afternoon, and my office is already a little on the warm side. The good news is that I only had to walk two blocks. Florida DMV, or at least Alachua County, has an agreement with the tax assessor's office to provide driver's license and car registration services, and much to my (albeit reluctant) satisfaction, the county administration building is just up the street from my work. Even better, I walked in to find that there was no line. At least this would be over with quickly. Or so I thought. That will teach me to think so much.

Let me stop here a moment to say that the folks at the Alachua County Tax Assessor's office are fabulous and offered excellent customer service. I truly went in expecting to find staff who didn't particularly want to be there and would be as cranky as the day was hot. I was delighted to find that this was one of the few times in my life when I was proven wrong. The events that followed are no reflection on the staff's efforts to assist me. I don't think.

I had not yet reached the check in desk when I was greeted by a cheery woman who appeared unnaturally tall. Being as short as I am, this is not an unusual occurrence, so I quickly dismissed it as unimportant. I might have stood on my toes slightly. "Welcome to Florida!" she clapped when she heard I had just moved her from out-of-state. I thought I was the only one who clapped when excited. Nevertheless, she seemed genuinely pleased that I was there, and I was feeling a bit like company come to call. She sent me over to a nearby counter where another clerk called out "Come on over!" I was starting to wonder if I should have brought a covered dish.

As I handed over my current license, a customer at the next station gathered her things and prepared to make her way to the exit, pausing to speak to my clerk. "Thank you so much, Holly, you were very helpful," she called on her way out. The clerk gave her a big grin, waved, and responded that she was glad to help. She continued waving until the woman was out of sight, then she leaned towards me conspiratorially.

"I don't know where she got that, 'cause my name's not Holly," she confided. 

This was fine by me. I didn't care what her name was as long as we got this done with minimal fuss and muss and a picture that wouldn't force me to accidentally lose my new license and need to have the whole thing done again with a new hairdo. Funny, this woman seemed rather tall, too. Do they just grow them big here in Florida?

I rustled my bag of paperwork and documents and said I hoped I had everything she'd need. "Oh, don't worry, we'll get you set in a jiffy," she assured me. The smile fell from her face a bit when she looked at my current license, which she was now holding in her hand. "Well, not too long, anyway," she amended. Florida has quite the complex system for getting driver's licenses and car registrations, made more difficult by the fact that, evidently, the folks in here Florida don't trust the folks up in North Carolina. They won't accept my NC license as valid ID. Ironic considering there's great discussion in Raleigh at the moment about just what kind of identification is necessary to vote. In any case, this necessitated my bringing my social security card, birth certificate, and several pieces of mail to prove that I am now living in their hot, dry, flat state. As though I would want a Florida driver's license for any other reason. I held my breath as she thumbed through my mail, finally putting it down on the counter and beginning to type.

I pulled out my wallet and laid my fingers on my debit card, expecting to be asked to cough up some funds for this little piece of plastic any minute. The request didn't come. Instead, after watching the person at the next counter explain that she's not responsible for the crack across the center of her license which is now preventing anyone from seeing the expiration date, I began drumming my fingers. It was warm in there, but then, I've found it to be warm about anywhere I go now that I'm in Florida. I knew things were not going well when my clerk, AKA Holly, leaned forward with her chin in her hand and stared at her computer screen. 

"Well, Hon," she sighed, "why don't you go ahead and take your vision test. We can do that while we wait."

Wait? Wait for what? Not wanting to slow the process down any further, I moved over to the machine that looked like binoculars on some kind of game station and read off the requested line. I was feeling rather proud until AKA Holly asked me to read the next smallest line. I blinked a couple of times but tried to sound more confident than I was as I rattled off the next row. Congratulations, I was told, I have 20/20 vision with my glasses. Well, of course I do, I thought. I paid a lot of money for that vision. And quite stylish vision, at that.

Holly continued to stare at her computer screen, but now she was making faces. Hoping to move things along somehow, I brightly asked "So, it doesn't like me, huh?" She smiled at me and apologized, saying that her computer was stuck in some way. At least we couldn't blame it on my picture, since we hadn't taken one yet.

It was when Holly called her colleague Nicole over (and I'm pretty sure Nicole was really her name) that I realized these folks were standing on a stage. That's what I needed in my life. A stage to stand on wherever I went. Holly and Nicole poked at the computer for a while before Nicole said "You're going to have to call Tallahassee." That sounded ominous.  Holly apologized again and went off to make her phone call.

Nicole and I chatted a bit before I asked if she knew where a Coke machine was. This was clearly going to require caffeine. "You want a Coke," she asked. "I"ll get you one." I began politely refusing, but I'll only protest a free Coke for so long, so eventually, I graciously accepted. Minutes later, Holly had returned, and I had a Coke in hand, though I was beginning to think that Coke was going to be my lunch. 

Holly was finally able to bring up a completed record for me. She began squinting at my current driver's license, then turned to squint at the computer screen. "Shoot. Tallahassee misspelled your middle name." Resisting the urge to say that a city can't spell or misspell anything, and that I highly doubted everyone in the city of Tallahassee had made this mistake, I took a bigger swig of Coke. "They spelled your middle name Genne--what in the world is that?" I silently asked the same question, since my middle name is Jeane. But I was glad for them to call me anything they wanted at this point.

Holly suggested we go ahead and take the picture, and since I was up for anything that would move this along, I moved over to the blue screen. Beginning to smile, Holly and I quickly realized that the purse of a woman standing nearby was blocking the camera. Ever helpful, Nicole gently tapped the woman on the shoulder and asked if she could move her purse. I suggested she could switch places with me if she liked, but no one else seemed to think this was a good idea. As it turns out, Holly is a pretty good photographer, and so a few minutes later, we had a decent snapshot that met with my approval. It still wasn't as good as my last one.

I finished my Coke as Holly went off to battle Tallahassee again and get my middle name changed. By now, my feet and back hurt a little, my lunch period was over, and I could only hope no one got too close to me lest they be able to tell I was sweating to beat the band. Holly returned, a big grin on he face, and reported that everything seemed to be in place. Her computer was still moving slowly, so I began doing leg lifts to occupy myself why she sent the license information to the printer. I was already sweating. I may as well burn a few calories while I'm at it. Finally, she held up her hands in a big victory sign and said "Alright, off to the printer! You're ready!" 

"Woo hoo!" I agreed, trying to look more enthusiastic than I felt. I was a not just a bit tired and cranky at this point, especially considering I didn't even want the thing, but the staff was so nice and trying so hard to get me out of there that it was hard to be upset. At least, that's what I thought until Holly turned to the central printer only to find that the top was off and a maintenance man covered in grease was standing nearby, scratching his head. I looked away. This was not going to be pretty, and I didn't want to see this train wreck.

The train wreck must have been a fairly small, quiet one in which Holly had a serious conversation with the maintenance man because a few minutes later, she was handing me my new license and asking me for my debit card. By this time, I was happy to fork over $56.50. Holly and Nicole thanked me several times for my patience, Holly adding that she'd see me next week when I came back to get my car registered.

I have to go back?

Technology: Friend or Foe?

It seems to be quite de rigueur to frown upon those who spend a great deal of time with technology. Studies indicate that "screen time" is bad for us. Considering how many screens we use on a daily basis, this should probably have me concerned. Computers, phones, iPods and MP3 players, games, video conversations, webinars, television and movies, and general online access to tasks formerly accomplished in other ways make it seem as though it would be impossible to avoid screen time to some extent.Statistics indicate that few of us are without televisions, phones, computers, or Netflix subscriptions. Two years ago, a major study indicated that 76% of all people in the US had a computer. But multiple sources are encouraging us to turn away from our devices. Go outside, get some fresh air. Exercise. Read (these sources seemingly having forgotten that much online work IS reading). Walk a dog (no one has indicated that it necessarily has to be your own dog). 

It's hard to imagine putting away my phone, computer, TV, or iPod, though I've done it before. Right now, these are my lifeline. I'm in a new city, geographically separated from those with whom I'm used to communicating on a regular basis. Having these devices at my fingertips has made the transition so much easier. Twenty or thirty years ago, when you moved away, you had to rely on letters and phone calls (and expensive ones, at that) to keep in touch. You had to change your bank accounts. You had to have a newspaper mailed if you wanted to keep up with news of your former home. You had to become familiar with new local television shows and radio stations. Drive around with a torn paper map and hope you remembered how to get to the grocery store. Have pictures of your new surroundings and activities printed and mailed. 

My technology has changed all those things completely. I not only can talk with friends and family as much as I want without much cost, I can see them in their pajamas on my computer screen while we chat. I'm emailing with friends so much that the distance between us seems minimal. I didn't have to make difficult decisions about what music to bring with me, because almost all my music is on my cute little pink iPod, and I can rock out to the same tunes I always have. I didn't have to change credit unions because I can do almost all my banking online, and so paying bills will continue to work the same way. (Oh, joy.) The navigation system on my phone has gotten me anywhere I wanted to go in my new city (turns out, I didn't need it to help me find Target...I have a personal radar for that). My Netflix subscription is easily portable, so I can continue my obsession with The Good Wife with nary an interruption. And, thanks to my parents, I now have a larger TV on which to watch it.  So the idea of not checking in on my computer, turning on the TV, or recharging my phone seem a little impossible at the moment.

I've rolled my eyes a bit when I hear people say things like "he's always on his computer." What does that mean? I don't understand.  Since you can do an incredibly number of things on your computer,  I can't see how that says much. I could be paying bills, watching a movie, emailing a friend, working from home, buying my hair conditioner at Amazon, clipping coupons for an upcoming trip to the grocery store, or making reservations. If I'm on my phone, I might be talking to someone, but I might be getting directions, checking the movie theater schedule, updating my calendar, taking or posting pictures, tracking calorie or exercise intake (okay, unlikely, but possible), or getting a weather report. I use my computer and phone to keep any variety of accounts up to date, get information before calling or visiting somewhere, and just take care of personal business. I've used my Netflix subscription for everything from movies and TV shows to documentaries about Antarctica and fitness program videos. I finished listening to the same audio books I began back in Chapel Hill. It seems a little unfair to view all of these as mindless entertainment.

That said, as comforting as I'm finding technology at the moment, I'll acknowledge that variety in life is not a bad thing. When some statistic or report indicates that you shouldn't spend all your time in front of a screen, well, isn't it true that you shouldn't spend all your time doing pretty much anything? Reading can be both entertainment and a learning tool, and you'll never find me not reading something, but should I spend ALL my time in front of a book (in any format?). Not that I haven't tried. Regular exercise is vital, but should you spend eight hours per day at the gym? Marriage is a special institution involving commitment to a single person, but does that mean you should never spend time alone or with other people? I love my cat, and probably vice versa, but if I stay home too long, I can practically hear her ask if I don't have somewhere else to be. Travel offers opportunities for developing new understandings of the world and other cultures, but it sure does feel good to go home, doesn't it? (In fairness, that might just be me.) Should you spend every weekend in front of a ball game? Or at the beach? Or with your grandmother? Or working on your house? Or in front of the computer? Some balance is in order here.

Twice, I've shut off my TV for a month, partially just to prove I could do it, but also to demonstrate that there were other things I enjoy doing. I'm in a new place, a perfect chance to start some new habits. I don't think I'll be turning off the TV, computer, or phone anytime soon. I'm extremely grateful to have these for keeping friends and family close and for making the transition from the familiar to the not-so-familiar a little easier. And I'm okay with some heavy technology use for a while. The trick will be to turn to other things as well. My new city has lots of activities and experiences to offer. I might see an ad about these offerings on TV. I can learn more about it on my computer. And my phone will help get me to it. 

There's No Place Like Home

When someone asks me where home is, referring to where I grew up, I often joke that I'm homeless, having been an Army brat with frequent moves throughout my childhood. But as I write tonight, I may be closer to not having a home than ever before (my mortgage holder would vehemently disagree with this, as it is firmly expecting to be paid on the first of the month). Before I go on to explain this, I want to take a moment to clarify that I'm totally speaking with tongue in cheek here, and my clever introduction should not in any way be taken to diminish the difficult plight of those who truly are homeless.

Today I drove away from the home I bought almost thirteen years ago (again, my mortgage holder should not panic; the check is in the mail, and someone else is moving in right behind me). I love that house. Oh, there are times when I hated being a homeowner, but overall, I love that house. Maybe it has something to do with the memories that are now associated with it. It was my first house, a huge turning point in my life. All five of the cats who have owned me have lived there, and I'll never forget the first night they came into their new home and began to explore. It's the house in which I stayed up all night waiting to see if I'd gotten a job as collection development librarian, work to which I've become incredibly attached. This is where all kinds of conversations with special friends have happened. I've never been known as an outdoor person, but this is the yard in which my mom taught me how to take care of some basic plants and learn a little something about landscaping (some of it actually took). My dad taught me the wonders a garage has to offer when, after living in my house for 6 or 7 years, he arranged for me to get a garage door opener that really worked, allowing me to park in the garage and stop scraping my windows for the first time in, well, ever. This is the house in which I hosted several borders who have become wonderful friends. Where my mom and I returned after an amazing trip to Iceland. Where I baked my first loaves of bread. Where I went to at the end of the day to recharge. Aren't these the things that make a home?

But tonight, most of my possessions are on a truck, someone else is moving into my house, and I'm on the road as I make my way to my new apartment in Gainesville, Florida. My lease does not start until tomorrow. Does that make me homeless? Sasha's with me, so if she's part of what makes a home, maybe home is portable. When I move into my new apartment tomorrow, will it automatically become home? My parents will be there to help me settle. It will soon contain my possessions, my cat, and my return address. And a really awesome screened in porch. It will be the place to which I will return each evening. Surely those are the things that makes it home. Or does it? It won't contain any memories for me, good or bad. Yet. But it IS the place where the start of a new job and new goals will begin. Does that make it home?

It occurs to me that one of the biggest changes happening has to do not with the actual building in which I'm living but the location of that building. The Raleigh area is a great place to live, and I've thoroughly enjoyed my time there. So much so that I feel like an NC native, even if only by adoption. Not only do I have favorite restaurants and stores, but I have long time service professionals in my dentist, veterinarian, hairdresser, and doctor. Plus they know me and my favorite sandwich at Quiznos. Does having a history in a certain vicinity make it home? Maybe the Cheers folks had it right. We all want to be somewhere where everybody knows your name. Okay, so it will take a while, but new histories begin all the time, so if having a history in a certain place makes it home, then it's just a matter of time before a new location becomes home, right?

When does something move from being a place where you live to a home? I know people in their forties, fifties, and sixties who still call the place they grew up home, regardless of how long it's been since they've actually lived there. Did they decide not to create a new home, or does that mean that home can't change once it's established? Maybe home isn't even a place, but rather, a social structure of some kind. For some, home refers to the place where they find their family.  Until recently, the place we called home usually referred to some kind of limited geographic region. But in the past several years, communication options have changed enormously, and it's possible to talk to friends and family quickly and easily, even with video, anytime.  Is home where your friends and family are? Am I getting closer to home because I'm moving physically closer to my parents, even though I've never lived in their current house? Can I take home with me because I can continue the relationships that were so much a part of my life in my last home?

I don't have a definition for home yet, and maybe I won't find one. Meanwhile, I'm going to choose to make home be flexible enough (and I'm nothing if not flexible) to encompass not just the place to which I return each evening but the people to whom I turn each day.  No matter where they are. I'd love to hear other definitions!

All Good Things Must Come to an End

but with luck, another one will begin.

It's been a while since we've talked, yes? I have an excuse, though many of you already know what it is. Over the past few weeks, I've been planning a move to Gainesville, Florida, as I accepted a new position there.  It's a dramatic change and one about which I'm both excited and nervous, but ready or not, here I come. 

First things first. The job I've taken is as Technical Services Administrator for the Alachua County Library District in Gainesville, Florida, home of the University of Florida, and about 2.5 hours from my parents. So while I'm still working in a public library, it's a college town. I'll be managing the people who purchase, catalog, and process books for the library. Which is good, because I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't the first person to hear about all the new books. This should be a really interesting system in which to work, as it has its own taxing district and therefore gets money directly from taxpayers rather than from a local government. I'll be doing lots of reports and budgeting and and helping to configure our catalog records and administering of our vendor plans--all stuff I love. I love collection development and acquisitions work, and I'm excited that I'll be in a position where I can direct and lead some of what's happening with it. And if it means that I'm the first person to read the new Janet Evanovich or Mary Kay Andrews, well, then, it's just part of the job.

As much as I've hoped for more responsibility in this type of work, and as much as I've moved in my life, you might have thought I'd be less surprised at all there is to leaving a job, moving, selling a house, finding a new place to live, seeing everyone you can before leaving, and starting a new job. Can I just tell you how expensive movers are? I've always moved myself (translation: my parents have always moved me), so it was a surprise to me. Trosa, an organization dedicated to help people recovering from substance abuse that recently expanded its moving program to include inter-state moves, will be moving my things. My car and eight hours on the road will be moving me and Sasha. Who I hope will be appeased by her new screened in porch after the eight some-odd-hour drive.

Which brings me to my new apartment. I plan to rent for at least the next year. At some point, I'd like to buy again--somewhere where an HOA takes care of many of those maintenance things I hate--but I'm looking forward to not being a homeowner for a while. A non-homeowner with a pool and a fitness room, I might add. I'll be on the third floor, not my favorite, but who can't use the exercise? Plus, it gets me a better view, more sunshine, and vaulted ceilings. If you're curious, here's a video of the model apartment that has the same floorplan:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ac0h1pvElGs
And the best part is that it's only 7.5 miles from work! Woo hoo! Having driven 34 miles each way for years, I couldn't possibly be more thrilled about this. Although I'm having to learn how to stop at lights again.

My house is for sale! Do you know anyone who's looking? Please? Adorable little house in a fabulous location with only county taxes! We've had some good feedback so I hope it's just a matter of time, but I'd really like for it to happen fast. Tell your friends!

While the house is for sale, Sasha is staying with her Auntie Vicki, and evidently they're having a high old time together, as Auntie Vicki is threatening not to return her.  I'm madly trying to pack the many things I own, slightly embarrassing after having insisted that I only have a 1200 square foot house and couldn't possibly own very much. In my defense, a good bit of it belongs to Sasha. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the stuff that I won't need any more. And just how do you pack a breadmaker, anyway?

All of this makes it sound like I'm anxious to get out of here, and I will be glad when this is over, but it's not about leaving. It's about arriving somewhere else (I sure hope so, anyway). I'm going to miss this place more than I even know how to say. I love my house, even as I've entertained the idea of burning it down so I won't have to mow the lawn. The people I work with, well, it's hard to imagine a better group. They may never know that I've learned so much more from them than they could ever have learned from me, but either way, we provided great books to readers together. This is fantastic area in which to live, with everything anyone could ever want in entertainment, education, and resources. Oh, and basketball, don't forget the basketball. And I have friends here that I have no idea how I'm going to manage without having nearby. Skype and email, I suspect. But it's time for something new. Doing the type of work I love in more responsible capacity for an organization that supports my continued professional development; less time managing my house and more time playing. And lots of sunshine. What's not to love about sunshine? I'm looking forward to what the next phase brings.

Blog entries may be a bit sporadic for a while, but I promise I'll be back to it soon. Please keep in touch!

Doing my Duty

The NEW Durham County Courthouse

I've always found it interesting that many people dread receiving that notice from the county courthouse to serve jury duty. Until recently, I had served twice, once even being placed on a four-day trial jury. I raised my hand high when one of the lawyers asked "Who likes the TV show The Practice?" during juror screening. I think it's kind of exciting, and if I can pretend like I'm a character on Law and Order and serve my country at the same time, all the better.

So when I received that envelope from the Clerk of Courts in November summoning me for jury duty, I was fairly excited. Excellent. Maybe I should scan the newspaper to see what kinds of interesting trials are coming up. Or are you not supposed to do that? Oh, what if I get on a jury they end up sequestering because it's big time and makes national news? This could be the highlight of my year. Except that the date on which I was supposed to appear was the day before I was due to leave town for Christmas. While I was more than happy to grace them with my presence, I was going to be enormously unhappy if my trip was delayed because I was needed longer than one day. The $12 per day they pay was far from enough to make up for THAT inconvenience. This just wouldn't do. 

Within days, I called the courthouse to inquire after my options. "I truly would love to come in," I assured the woman on the phone. Please, please, I thought, just don't make me do it on this date. I also didn't want to take the chance that they might just let me off entirely. I really wanted to go, just at a time that better suited my schedule. "Would it maybe be possible for me to serve on another day?" In my advanced years, I have found that honey does indeed work better than vinegar.

And so it did. "Oh, sure, when do you want to come in?" was the breezy response. Oh, well, okay. This was more than I'd hoped for. Not only did I not have to go on the worst possible date, nor was I being told not to come in at all, but I could pick the BEST possible date. Surely this was a sign that I'd end up on the jury for some kind of fascinating case. Maybe it would be a murder. Or some kind of financial shenanigans. Should I start reading upon civil versus criminal trials?

"Well, how about sometime in January or February. I can make about anything work," I answered amenably. Quickly settling on February 19, I hung up, satisfied that I was doing my civic duty. 

I had no idea at the time that this change in date was going to mean the difference in serving jury duty at the old courthouse or the new one, which was set to open on February 11. As it turns out, Durham had begun building a new Durham Courthouse and Justice Center back in 2010, and it was finally about to open. The eleven story, 318,000sf building sits in downtown Durham at the corner of Magnum and Dillard Streets and virtually shines with newness. The three story staircase mural includes hundreds of photographs from Durham history (including pictures of the infamous former Durham County District Attorney Mike Nifong). 

February 19 turned out to be a nasty day, cold and rainy and full of gloom. I easily found my way to the parking deck and followed some equally lost folks to the third level of the deck and the pedestrian walkway over to the courthouse. Three lines had been formed for a security check. The employee's and the sheriff's lines moved efficiently along, but evidently, the visitor's line seemed to be full of people with pockets full of metal. Deciding that the alternative was riskier, I patiently waited in line to move through the security gates. Making my way to the third floor, home of the jury room, I found myself rather impressed. This was a huge room! Bright, with lots of windows, the room included comfortable chairs, televisions, electrical and network outlets, tables and chairs, and vending machines. Someone had even put out Reese's Pieces on the counter. Now here was a place I could be comfortable. 

I made my way to one of the cozy chairs and waited for the standard introduction to jury service starting Charles Kuralt to start on the televisions. I was looking forward to this. Who doesn't love Charles Kuralt? Okay, you might have a bit of an issue with the affair and second family that came to light after his death. Nevertheless, the journalist is held in high regard by many North Carolinians.  For more years than I know of, Charles hosted the video that describes the importance of jury service to all potential jurors throughout the state of North Carolina. It's tradition. Imagine my surprise to find that Charles had been retired (or maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, what with him being dead and all). Instead, we watched a new video that assured us our time and service as jurors would be valued. Oh, modernization.

The attending clerk shared some logistics, including the fact that there were three trials being seated that day. Chances seemed good that I'd at least be interviewed to be placed on a jury. All I had to do was wait. And wait, I did. After I finished my first book, I began playing with my new iPhone, a recent upgrade from the 4 to the 5. I caught up on email, read twitter posts. and added the book I'd just read to Goodreads. I was just pulling out my second book when the clerk began calling names to go into a courtroom. Holding my breath, I waited. Interestingly, in her attempt to offer some privacy, she couldn't decide whether she should call out first or last names, so there was some confusion when John Jones and Mary John both arrived at the front. By the time she was done, neither my first nor last name had been called. 

I had gotten a few chapters into my second book when the clerk called lunch and said to be back at 2:15. Startled, I looked up at the clock. But it's only 11:15? Really, a three hour lunch? No wonder it takes so long for a case to get through the courts. Not wanting my hair to frizz, I'd brought enough food with me to keep me from starving and stayed in the lounge. However, before long, I was incredibly bored and began walking the building. It really is beautiful, quite spacious and very clean. There are three different "circulation systems" so that the public, the staff, and the prisoners only see each other in the courtroom. Because it's a secret there there are prisoners in the courthouse, I guess. I made my way back to the lounge. 12:30. It was going to be a long day.

The people who had gone out for lunch began filtering back in around 1:30, and by 2, we were ready to go again. I chatted a bit with the lady next to me. I closed in on finishing my second book. I waited. Shortly after 3, we saw the TV go off and heard the clerk begin to tap the microphone, a sign that she had news to impart. After a minute or two, we all began to look at each other. What was taking so long? We were ready for the next trial! It soon became apparent that the delay was due to an animated conversation taking place between the clerk and a sweet old couple who seemed to have stopped by to, well, I don't really know why they stopped by. I hope it was important, because it was another 10 minutes before the clerk actually started speaking. 

Only to report that we were being released from jury service. The last case (never did hear what happened to the second one) had pleaded out, so we were no longer needed. Well, for Heaven's sakes. I could have left at 11:15 if I'd known that! I would have been thrilled to serve on a jury, but if that wasn't going to happen, I'd just as soon be at home taking a nap. My experience was over for at least two years. I'm disappointed that I didn't get to do anything but hang out, but it sure was a lovely place in which to do it.

The Silver Linings Playbook

If I could give this book 10 stars, I would. It's unusual for me to have seen a movie before reading the novel on which it was based, but that's what happened here. The movie, if you haven't seen it, is fantastic and totally deserving of all its Oscar nominations. Yet, as with most books made into movies, the novel is so much more and equally fabulous in an entirely different way. Even more amazing, it's Matthew Quick's (known to his friends as "Q") debut novel.

The premise revolves around Pat Peoples, recently released from some kind of mental health institution in Baltimore into the custody of his parents in his hometown in New Jersey, outside Philadelphia. During his time at "the bad place," Pat became convinced that his life is a movie in which God wants him to see the silver lining in everything and that he needs to practice being kind and not right. He's sure that, if he does so, the "apart time" being imposed on him and his wife will end and they can get back together, despite the restraining orders currently in place. Soon after returning home, he's introduced to Tiffany, his friend's sister-in-law, who turns out to be as emotionally damaged as Pat, and much of the book follows their relationship and their journey from worlds of their own making to accepting reality.

There's so much to love about this novel, and it goes beyond what can be covered in a movie. Easy to overlook but oh-so-important is the setting that Quick evokes. You can hear the autumn leaves crackling, see the tree-lined streets, feel the enthusiasm for Eagles. I love a town that loves its team, even though I'm no sports fan. Pat's family and friends are big Eagles fans, and the ups and downs of season during which this takes place mimics Pat's recovery as he regains his mental health. While he's somewhat confused over what has happened while he was away, he is certain that his perseverance will result in reuniting with his wife. Pat being determined to find the silver lining in everything makes me feel hopeful that all of us can do the same. Pat does not remember a lot of what's happened recently to bring about this alone time from his wife, and a lot of the novel follows his discovery of the kind of person he used to be and the kind of person he is now, giving the impression that we have some control over the person we are. Everyone around Pat wants him to succeed, to get better, even though they all have lives and problems of their own. He doesn't appreciate this early on but learns to do so over the course of the novel.
 

Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper  in the movie

Much of joy in the novel comes from watching Pat reluctantly become closer to Tiffany. Pat does not particularly see himself as damaged or emotionally unstable, so he doesn't immediately recognize this as something he and Tiffany have in common. The reader is viewing Pat's world strictly through Pat's first-person eyes--we're all living in Pat's imagination--and he sees Tiffany as pretty much nuts. I loved that even so, he is able to see beyond that to Tiffany's other qualities, beyond her problems to the person she used to be and might be again. It's possible for him to see beyond someone's issues to a person he can love. This is a slow build relationship that almost sneaks up on Pat, and it would be possible to enjoy the book just on the level of watching Pat and Tiffany get together.

Bradley Cooper and Robert DeNiro in the movie

Each of Pat's other relationships are fascinating on their own, particularly that between him and his father, a complicated man who uses their shared love of the Eagles to find common ground with Pat. Yet I was most intrigued by Pat's therapist, Cliff, who turns out not only to be an unusual counselor at best but a fellow football fan who seems to know just what Pat needs at the right time.  Pat is someone who tends to compartmentalize, so seeing his therapist in other surroundings first puzzles, then inspires him.

Quick wrote this novel from the basement of his in-laws house during a rather dark period of his life. He is a former English teacher, which goes a long way towards explaining Pat's interest in reading the classic novels his wife teaches her high school classes (and his ongoing query as to why classics always seem to have depressing endings when God's promised Pat a silver lining). His wife convinced him to follow his dream of actually being the one to do the writing, so after a lot of soul-searching that included a ride down the Amazon, backpacking around southern Africa, and forming a two-man literary circle, he landed in his in-laws basement. Three years later he emerged with Silver Linings Playbook, and now none of us will be the same.

Silver Linings Playbook reminds me a bit of Quick's later novel, Sorta Like a Rock Star, in that both protagonists have every reason to see the world as a terrible place but choose to see it as a world of opportunities. I wanted Pat to see things as they really are, yet the fact that he was wary to do so is what made me love him.

Dirty Words

Lake Superior State University in Michigan recently released its 38th annual List of Words to be Banished from the Queen's English for Misuse, Overuse and General Uselessness. Now, I'm not saying I talk like an English professor or nothin', but I've long thought it time to banish some words from polite conversation. Some of them used to be perfectly lovely words, but their overuse and misuse by the general public has gotten to the point they need to be banned from the English language. Below is my own list of words that need to go (and I'm sharing my list with you before I even look at LSSU's list). Let's review.

1. Literally--This has literally become the most irritating word I have literally ever heard. Literally.

2. Irregardless--Okay, you do know this is not really a word, right? Unless you're referring to the (no doubt fabulous) restaurant here in Raleigh, don't use it. The word is "regardless." But you knew that.

3. Like--This is a case of needing to say what you mean. I can't stand to hear someone say "And I was like, ...." You're not, like, anything. You said something. You thought something. You did something. You're not like anything.

4. I could care less--I couldn't care less if you keep using this phrase in correctly, but if you think about it long enough, you might realize you're saying the opposite of what you intend.

5. My bad--Your bad what? I need more information.

6. Basically--Ironically, this term that should mean you're breaking something down into its simplest parts seems to lead to long, drawn out explanations. Don't mislead me. Just jump into it.

7. Sick--This is the appropriate term if you're describing someone not feeling well or something that isn't working right. Using this term to describe something you're actually trying to convey is really good, exciting, fabulous, or otherwise wonderful is, well, sick.

8. Epic--Really, you can't be more original than thata?

9. It is what it is--Well, of course it is what it is. What else would it be? Why are you telling me something I already know? This isn't illuminating at all.

10. Deets--The word "details" is only two syllables and really should not require much in the way of abbreviation. Besides, it sounds like the name of a robot. 

Honorable Mentions:
fiscal cliff, trending, and occupy 

So I'm not trendy. Sue me. Now, what word of phrase do you think is overused?

Luxurious Me

To celebrate my birthday a few weeks ago, I dragged a friend with me to the spa for a day of pampering. If you've never done this, I highly recommend it. Really, who doesn't like having people running around you, tripping all over themselves to get you anything your heart desires? Add to that cute men giving massages and as much wine as you can drink and you've got yourself a winning combination. I've done this spa day thing for my birthday a number of times at this point, as it's hard to think much about getting older when you're being made to look and feel like a Hollywood star, but I've never brought a friend with me to join in the fun. Or keep telling me how much younger I was looking. Whichever.

So on a Saturday morning, we set off to be beautified. We were led upstairs to a waiting area, where the first thing we were asked was what we wanted for lunch. I love anything that starts out with food. That and changing into robes, since I try not to get out of my pajamas for any longer than necessary. Our first appointment was for massages. While my friend filled out some paperwork, the guy who was to do mine entertained me (it didn't take much; I'm easily entertained). Paperwork complete, I followed Rich to a dimly lit room scented with lavender while my friend took off behind her masseur, Ryan. An hour later, half asleep, it was time to get up. "But I'm not done yet, " I insisted. Unfortunately for me, he had other clients waiting, so brought me a glass of wine, led me to the sauna, and eventually left me to sweat.

I'm not entirely sure what the purpose of a sauna is. I know you're supposed to sweat. Is that it? Is there not more to it? Seems like it would dry out your skin. I love the feeling for short periods, but if God wanted me to sweat on a regular basis, he would have made me a guy. My friend joined me and immediately announced that she would be continuing to see Ryan on a regular basis. Since she's married, I'm pretty sure this meant she would be getting regular massages. Having had enough sweating, we took our robed-selves out to a waiting area. Ryan, my friend's masseuse, evidently had no one waiting, as he came out to say hello (he's done massages for me in the past) and chat a bit. Having correctly identified us as troublemakers, he spent five minutes laughing at us until we were called for our mani-pedis.

Color choice, of course, is a vital part of the "getting your nails done" experience. Admiring the color on my technician's fingernails, I settled on a deep black/purple color. I have no idea what my friend picked. I had moved on to soaking my feet, which for me personally is the best part. I'm rough on my feet, and getting all that skin softened and brushed away is almost better than the massage. Also, it's less greasy. Just as we were getting ready to paint my nails, I found myself distracted by a bottle of polish left over from the last client. Hot pink. Woo hoo! I subscribe to the philosophy that everything's better in pink. Naturally, I had no choice but to change colors. Evidently, this did not surprise my technician, as she took the bottle while trying not to laugh. Because I'm nothing if not coordinated (my mother calls it OCD), I generally like my fingernails to match my toenails, so I soon had hot pink all around. 

Never known for moving quickly anywhere, we were a bit late for lunch, served to us in a cozy hideaway behind a curtain of the spa. This was not unlike being in front of the first class cabin on an airplane, and I took a moment to feel sorry for those on the other side who were not having an entire birthday of luxury. A short moment. Lunch passed quickly, and we were soon whisked off for facials.

Facials are one of those things you don't realize you need until you actually get one. I don't know what was happening in my friends room, by my aesthetician was digging and popping and picking all over my face. She quickly soothed it with steam and smooth moisturizers. By the time I left, It felt like a film of dirt had been removed. I joined my friend to soak up the leisure for a few minutes before we got dressed and had to acknowledge that was almost time to leave. Because I'll stretch out my birthday for as long as people will let me get away with it, I asked if there was an intern available to blow out our hair (I'd been given a heads up that this might be possible). Indeed there was, so we made our way to the hair studio and seriously had our day "topped off." 

Because no birthday is complete without sugar, we left the salon to stop at a desert shop on the way to the car. Choosing some treats to go, we brought them back to my house, where my current boarder happened to be at home. "Did you go to the salon?" she asked. One hopes that a visit to the salon is generally obvious enough not to have to specify, but since it wasn't, we agreed that we had, indeed, been to the salon. We dug into our deserts and soon had to end the day of luxury.

It's not every day that I can partake in such a day of pampering, and it was only possible thanks to a birthday gift from my mom. There's no better time than your birthday to be treated like a queen.

The Real Estate Market Goes Up and Down, Up and Down, Up and Down...

Although to varying degrees across the country, in general, the real estate market has not done well over the past few years. Suze Orman has been saying that 2012 would be "rock bottom," the worst we've seen in a while, but that things should begin improving after that. As in, now. The Commerce department recently said that new, single-family home sales rose 4.4% in November 2012. That's the best it's been in 2 and 1/2 years. Prices seem to be moving fastest out west. 

Unfortunately for me, I don't live out west. So I'm anxiously watching for news that the real estate market is improving, especially in my area. I don't think the Raleigh area was hit as hard as some other places in the country, but I've watched homes in my neighborhood take forever to sell, and then not at nearly the price it would have gotten several years ago. However, in 2011, home values in Raleigh and Cary appreciated about 7% more than the previous year. The number of active home lists has dropped 12% from last month, which I personally take to be a good sign. Less supply, better demand. I'm pretty sure that's how it's supposed to go.

And that's what I'm counting on. I'm making tentative plans to sell my house in the Spring, probably in May. Five or six years ago, my house would have sold for more than it probably will now, or even this Spring. But I've been getting ready for a while, and the house is probably about as good as it's going to get. The list of projects from the past year or two is a long one: new hardwood floors, new countertops in the kitchen and bathrooms, new bathroom and kitchen faucets and lights, refinishing the back deck, new energy-efficient windows,  and a fresh paint job throughout the house. Other than a few small things that I'll work to get done in April (and if you know me at all, you know that means "hire someone to get done"), we're ready to go. Unless something happens to change things, the plan right now is to interview real estate agents in April and do whatever they recommend still needs doing around the house (I don't really need to repeat that that means hire someone, do I?), and then list the house for sale in May. I'll cross my fingers that it sells relatively quickly, at which time I'll rent in Raleigh (close to work) for a while until I decide what I want in a new home. This will likely be a condo with a fantastic homeowner's association that allows at least outdoor maintenance to be a thing of the past. Or, it would be, if I actually did any.

I've always watched the house sales in my neighborhood, but I've kept an especially close eye on them of late. The house next door to me, which had been most recently owned by a real-estate agent who had been renting it out but had decided to sell, sold within three months. Woo hoo! Good news for Tracy. A house around the corner has been listed as a short sale, and six months later, does not appear to have gotten any interest, despite a ridiculously low price. Not such good news for Tracy. There are two neighborhoods up the street that developers started building about six or seven years ago then came to a screeching halt as the economy went bad. Both have started building again, though selling at lower prices than originally advertised. I used to read palms, but I cannot read crystal balls, so any prediction I might make would be a guess. I am hopeful that things are starting to improve, and even though I might not get as much as I might have at one point, I'll get a decent price for my house in a reasonable amount of time.

I watch way too much House Hunters, so I have a lot of ideas about how this should go. A friend has already given me a sugar cookie scented candle perfect for enticing buyers into my house. I'm clearing out anything that could be termed clutter, unless, of course, it's something I might need later and couldn't possibly replace. I'm rearranging some pieces of furniture to show off the house's best features. I've been in this house for almost thirteen years, and it's a little uncomfortable to think about leaving it, but it's time. 

Do you happen to know a real estate agent?

Sasha, the Customer

***note--I actually wrote and published this in late November, but I somehow managed to accidentally delete it and had to replace it into the blog. Can you tell I'm new at this?***

Sasha and her ultra-sound hair-do

Sasha had an appointment with her doctor the other day. Regretably, this is not like saying she had an appointment with her hairdresser or her therapist (both of which she could use). If it was, she would have been waiting for me to come pick her up with a glass of wine in her hand or a prescription for some drugs in her bag. No, my job here was simply to be the chauffeur and check-writer. Her job was to look pitiful and insist that she felt fine.

Sasha's veterinarian has known her (and, therefore, me) for about thirteen years now. We have been in and out of that office numerous times, sometimes happier to be there than others, but always pleasant and with credit card in hand. At one point, Sasha had four sister-cats (the TLC show is in production now), and so we have spent a great deal of time at our vet's office over the years. When your cat's doctor can call you on the phone and start talking without introducing herself, you know you're important to her business.

So despite Sasha's reluctance, we were happy for an opportunity to check in at Dr. Sheri's office. Sasha needed an ultrasound, so it meant dropping her off at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight and picking her up later. The faces at the desk were familiar to me, but I didn't know anyone's name. I used to know everyone--that's what happens when you have five cats--but we're not in there as often as we used to be anymore. Nevertheless, I cheerfully (and at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight, somewhat painfully) announced that I had Sasha to see Dr. Sheri. One of the staff members at the desk gave me a blank stare. Oh, dear. Had Sasha done something to her that no one had mentioned to me? A co-worker quickly picked up the slack and asked me to sign some papers, adding that someone would be out to get Sasha in a moment.

I didn't ponder the blank stare for long. While looking at the paperwork, I heard a familiar voice and called out to a technician I know. An old friend! Sasha didn't seem to care one way or the other, but I was pleased to see someone who had been here even longer than I'd been coming here. We chatted for a few minutes, breaking up only when another tech came to take Sasha back. Kisses to Sasha and my business done, I turned back to the desk to make sure they didn't need anything else, but no one was paying any attention to me, so I left.

It wasn't long before Dr. Sheri called to report on the results of Sasha's ultrasound (fine bladder stones, which while somewhat distressing, are not the point here). A couple of hours later, I walked back through the office door to rescue Sasha from a small cage and the indignities of having her stomach shaved. Three people were at the desk, two of whom I recognized, one of whom I could name, none of whom could name me. I walked up to the one closest to me. "Hi!" I'm much brighter at noon than I am at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight, and really, who wouldn't look up when I walk in? Besides, I was wearing my high-heeled, black boots, which give me a certain level of sassiness, and I tend to command attention when I have them on.

To my great surprise, the office assistant did not even look up at me. She continued staring at her computer screen, and she let out a long sigh, the kind used to indicate that she was in battle with the computer and could not possibly turn away. Being who I am, I continued standing there and smiling, just daring her to make me say anything else. After thirty seconds (I counted), someone at the other end of the desk called to me "I can take you down here!" Hmmm. Well, I just didn't like that at all, but I needed to save my damsel in distress, so I moved down to the other end of the counter.

"How can I help you?" she smiled at me. Now, she was very pleasant, helpful even, and did nothing unfriendly in communicating with me. She was also the same receptionist with whom I had signed the paperwork and dropped off Sasha a few hours earlier. In the office where I have been going for thirteen years. Where I have spent thousands of dollars. And know my vet so well that I know her voice on the phone. Really? Quickly losing my sense of humor, I said I was there to pick up Sasha.

"Great," she responded. "What's your last name?" Again, really? You should not only recognize me, but know my name, my cat's name, and what brand cereal I eat. Nevertheless, I gave her my name and pulled out my credit card. But something on the screen caused her to pause, and she asked if I'd wait a moment while she went to make sure all the charges were in. Since there was only the one ultrasound, I'm not sure what charges she thought were missing, but sure, go ahead, and she scurried off to check this out.

As I waited, the first person I had greeted (but had not greeted me) came over. "I"m sorry," she said. "I was at still at lunch when you came in." This was approximately one minute earlier. Slightly Passive-Aggressive Tracy thought "If you were at lunch, perhaps you shouldn't have been taking a seat at the front desk and using one of the computers." But I smiled and said nothing. She asked if someone was now helping me, and I briefly explained the confirmation of the charges. Taking this as an opening, she began chatting with me about the weather and what she was doing over the holidays. I recognized this for an attempt to make better her abruptness at my entrance, which was appreciated, but didn't change anything.

The assistant with my credit card returned and indicated that all my charges were in. Not surprised, I signed the receipt and waited. They continued to chat with me a bit, until I finally asked "Is someone actually GETTING Sasha?" They agreed that, oh, yes, the technician was bringing her out, leaving me to wonder why they couldn't have led with that.

Finally, the queen was handed over to me. I greeted her with great enthusiasm, making sure she knew that I was there. I suspect that, had I been able to ask Sasha, she would have agreed that our customer experience that morning was not excellent, but at least I hadn't had my tummy shaved (look closely at this picture of her above, and you can see her bare stomach). Calling out a thank you (I called out a thank you; Sasha turned around in her carrier so I was looking at her behind), she and I took our leave.

Coincidentally, a friend of mine and I had just been having a conversation about the importance of great customer service. We both worked for an organization that places high priority on doing whatever is necessary to keep the customer happy. There are exceptions to that, of course, but we both have incredibly high standards for serving customers. She's currently managing an office in which she has to model and train staff of the significance of recognizing each customer and treating them better than they could be treated anywhere else. We agreed that this is not natural to everyone, but it makes a huge difference in getting and keeping customers (She calls it "faking it." At least, I think that's what she's referring to).

I love Sasha's vet, who does indeed treat her like she's the only cat in the world. I like the office, and I think most of the staff are pleasant and helpful. But I can't help but think there's a lot they could do to make someone like me, a long-time, loyal, and regular customer, feel a little more valued.

¿Habla Español?

In my never-ending quest to improve myself, I recently began taking Spanish lessons. Not with, you know, someone who actually speaks Spanish, but with my computer. My parents might be slightly confused to hear this, recollecting that I took five years of Spanish in high school. Haven't I learned it by now? I'm thinking of these lessons as more of a refresher course, brushing up on skills that I'm now too old to remember having learned in the first place. I wanted to learn Swedish, figuring I could do something no one I know can do and maybe even better understand those Scandinavian mysteries I've been reading, but then I realized this meant I'd be speaking Swedish to myself, and I do that enough in English.

I loved learning Spanish in school, and I was really pretty good at it. My parents even bought me a nightgown that called out in big, bold letters "¡Hola!" I practiced on anyone who would listen to me, including the dog, the kids I babysat, and occasionally the unsuspecting customers on the other end of the line at the answering service for which I worked after school. The 7-12th grade school I was in for 7th and 8th grades allowed me to take first year Spanish in the 8th grade, so I was already a year ahead by the time I got to high school. Probably it's what made all the cool kids want to hang out with me. I even got a chance to use it in real life during a cruise down the Mexican coast. My aunt and uncle, having spent a lot of time in a wide-variety of Spanish speaking countries, held many phone conversations with me in Spanish, so I was lucky to have multiple opportunities for annoying others with my evolving language skills.

But if you don't use it, you lose it, or so they say, and so, while I still recognize a lot, I  couldn't possibly speak it so easily anymore. Yet, recently, I've found myself wishing I could, either because it would be useful in communicating with a Spanish speaker or because it would allow me to visit Spanish-speaking countries I'd like to see or just because it broadens my awareness of other countries. Also, it's fun to say "pantalones."  Spanish is spoken as a native language by more people in the world than any language but Mandarin, more than 400 million people. Right here in the United States, Spanish is spoken as a first or second language by almost 50 million people.  It can only be a good thing for me to know how to hold at least minimal conversation. Not that any conversation of which I'm a part is minimal.

So when the library at which I work acquired a new online database for learning foreign languages, I decided it was time to renew my Spanish language skills. Imagine! I could read, write, and converse in Spanish with native speakers all without leaving my couch. Add food, and it's my idea of Heaven. There are several such databases out there, some designed for consumers (like Rosetta Stone) and some for libraries (like Mango). The one we're using is called Transparent Language from Recorded Books, the folks who have provided us with audio books for many years. With just my library card number, I was logged on and ready to start Unit 1.

So far, it seems a little on the easy side, but maybe I've retained more than I thought. The first unit focuses on easy words and phrases, the kind of thing you would use immediately upon visiting a Spanish speaking country. "Buenos Dias!" the program exclaims. The exercises run through recognizing words (which can be hard for me in English on a good day), pronunciation, and putting words together into short sentences. I can do this!  I like clicking on words and having them pleasantly repeated for me (funny how the voice never gets annoyed at me for asking so many times). One of the exercises is sort of a hybrid between hangman and Wheel of Fortune, where letters appear one at a time and you try to guess what they're saying. I'm not entirely sure how buying a vowel increases my foreign language skills, nor have I won any money for getting it right, but it's more practice. I have begun conversing with Sasha in Spanish, and so far, she doesn't seem to notice the difference. I recently began Unit 2, which covers terms needed while traveling in Spanish speaking countries. I don't plan to do so anytime soon, but can it ever be bad to know how to say "Take me to the hospital?" 

I plan to continue this adventure for, well, as long as it interests me. The program covers a slew of languages--perhaps next I can learn Farsi.

A Visit to Harry and Bart

If I had to write an school report about what I did on my Christmas vacation, it would be filled with descriptions and tales from visiting Universal Parks and Resorts (not to be confused with Universal Studios, the people who actually make movies) in Orlando. I was able to spend about a week with my parents in St. Petersburg, Florida for Christmas, and, being the active and interesting people we are, we decided we had enough time to spend a few days on the other coast. They don't let me go to school anymore--something about aging out--but I'm excited to recount the experience for you here.

The primary goal in going to Universal, of course, is to see Harry Potter. What's the point otherwise? But you know, while Harry was, as you would expect, fantastic, it turns out that Universal is so much more than that. Universal Orlando resort is made up of multiple parks and hotels, and you would truly need days to have a chance of getting to see everything. The two major parks are Universal Studios, Orlando, which opened in 1990 and includes actual production studios in addition to exhibits to help guests "ride the movies;" and Universal's Islands of Adventures, which opened in 1999 with six "islands" designed to emphasize a journey of exploration. The Wizarding World of Harry Potter opened as the seventh island in 2010. In addition, there are a million (only a slight exaggeration) restaurants, stores, and various and sundry other things to see. In 2011, approximately 30.8 million guests visited the Universal Studios theme parks, making it the third-largest amusement park operator in the world, and it was the only theme park in the Orlando area that actually had increased attendance after September 11.

Mom made sure we would get the most from our trip by reserving a room at one of three hotels on the property. This meant that we could park once and go back and forth between the room and the parks as often as we liked (by water taxi; a lovely path to the park was available, but why would we do that?). So, on a bright but chilly Friday morning before Christmas, my parents and I, the dog, and four or five suitcases took off for Orlando. After bragging to everyone I knew that Florida at Christmastime generally means 70 degree weather, the weather had chosen these few days to make a liar out of me. We bundled up in jackets and sweatshirts (except the dog, who already had one) and made our way through the desolate flatlands that is I-4 from Tampa to Orlando.

Lucky enough to get into our hotel room early, great discussion ensued over which park to visit first. One of the fabulous things about staying at a hotel on the property is that we got Express Passes, which not only got us into the speedy line at most of the rides but also got us into the park an hour before everyone else the following morning. Deciding that this privilege should be reserved for visiting Harry at the Islands of Adventure the following day, we settled on Universal Studios. Dad was especially excited about this, as it is home of the Simpsons ride. "Trust me, it's the best!" he enthused.

The first order of business was lunch, as none of us had eaten yet that day. There are a ton of restaurants outside the parks, but once you're in, your primary food groups consist of pretzels, churros, hot dogs, and turkey legs (I know, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself). We located a lovely cafe where we could grab not only a sandwich but a table in direct sunlight, much appreciated in the chilly air that Floridians were sure came directly from Canada but was likely only about 55 degrees. This proved fortuitous, as it had us moving towards the Simpsons ride just in time for a front row seat at the character parade. What with no longer being 10 years old, I didn't recognize most of the characters, but that in no way detracted from the dazzle that was the parade. The music had us tapping our toes, the costumes dazzled, and the dancing was soon imitated by those in the streets. The video above will give you a taste of the incredible talent to which we were witness.

After a stop to battle with the Terminator, we finally made our way to the Simpsons ride. Really, you can't call these activities rides.  There are stories, artwork, videos, animation--half the time, it's not you that's moving, it's whatever you're watching. Loving the express passes we had, we quickly got to the front of the line that led to Krustyland, the low-budget park created by that much-loved clown. Not wanting to spoil, I won't share details, but essentially, I sat in a box that shook me around while watching fast-moving animation on a screen in front of me. You know how, when you're on a roller coaster, and you're breathless, scared, and thrilled all at once, you tend to start laughing? I couldn't stop! That is, until my stomach dropped. I was distressed to find that, while I loved doing things as a kid that made me dizzy, I'm no longer able to handle that round and round and upside down feeling anymore. The ride ended and I began breathing deeply. "Are you okay"?" my parents asked.

"It was great!" I responded. And it was. Amazing, in fact. As we continued around the park, I realized that nothing Universal does is done halfway. Nothing is just a ride, but a story, with clever, funny scripts, awesome animation, and beautiful music and special effects. It's rare to find so much talent all in one place. Maybe I admire all this creativity so much because the only thing that comes out when I take pencil to paper is a stick figure. 

The rest of the afternoon saw visits to the Men in Black exhibit, Disaster! movie, and the Macy's Christmas parade that used actual floats from the original parade in New York. After a rest at the room (they wouldn't let us nap on one of the floats), Dad and I had dinner at a restaurant designed around the NBA and NBA memorabilia. Good thing, because we'd need the energy the next day.

In Dad's ideal world, that would have begun around 6am. Our express passes would get us into the park at 8am, an hour before everyone else. Mom and I were having none of that. By the time we rose, Dad had gone on to the park and been on the Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey ride at least once. Returning to the room to pick us up around 9am, we all made our way over to Islands of Adventure. Agreeing that if we did nothing else, we needed to get me to Hogwarts, we headed all the way to the back of the park (kind of the like the milk that everyone needs is in the back of the supermarket).  There's nothing that can explain what it's like to walk into the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Truly amazing. Walk through Hogsmeade, have a butterbeer, browse in Oleander's shop...it's everywhere around you, and that's all before you get to the castle. While there's always a long line to get into the castle, there's plenty to see while you wait. As we stood in line, I was terribly amused to see a couple of escapees from Azkaban ahead of us and trying to get into the castle. We saw talking portraits, Harry, Ron, and Hermione on a balcony wishing us luck, and even Dumbledore. No one offered me a wand. We were finally buckled into our seats and set off for a wild ride. As with everywhere else in the park, it could only be described as amazing. The animation was terrific, and other than that roller coaster feeling that had me breathing deeply again, I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was better than any of the movies because you truly felt like you were flying with Harry. I truly can't adequately describe it here, but if you like flying with Hippogriffs, I highly recommend it.

After some lunch, we checked out a few of the other rides and exhibits, then went back to the room for a nap. I really liked this staying in a hotel on the property stuff. We went back in the late afternoon, checking out Shrek and the Despicable Me rides (I must immediately add Despicable Me to my Netflix queue). We got to see the entire Christmas parade this time (I can still hear the music in my head), and then hung out for a concert by Manheim Steamroller, which Mom had been hoping for but wasn't sure we would get to do. Making our way out of the park, we decided on dinner at Bubba Gump's, where I spent at least five minutes trying to figure out why someone had left a suitcase with a box of chocolates left on the bench outside the restaurant. We all failed the Forrest Gump quiz given to us by the waiter but thoroughly enjoyed dinner. After a good night's sleep, we headed back to the other coast.

I couldn't possibly express how impressed I was with Universal. The dancing in the parades, the animation in the videos, the creativity of the stories. It's so real. You can't NOT be there, totally, and I'm all about being present in the moment (well, I try to be). Don't wait. Run, don't walk. Let the kid inside you out.