tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30059723660091042162024-03-12T15:59:25.282-05:00What Didn't Kill MeThey say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. This blog is about what didn't kill me!callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.comBlogger398125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-302795865926908222024-01-24T20:28:00.009-06:002024-02-01T15:45:09.964-06:00RIP uterus.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Pregnancy and birth are not for the faint of heart.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Women are sold this image of pregnancy and birth as this beautiful thing where we are goddesses on a cloud and every second is nothing but magical. The reality is much different - pregnancy and birth are gritty and dangerous and not glamourous in the least.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Before actually giving birth, I spent very little time imagining how it would actually go. That was partially out of fear and partially because of my combination good luck and good health in which nothing at all had really gone wrong for me at that point (medically or really even life-wise at all). Why would pregnancy and giving birth be any different?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">LOL said the universe.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have been pregnant three times, and all three times have been complicated. In all three cases, I felt like I was failing my babies - my body wasn't giving them what they needed to fully thrive.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">pregnancy #1</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Having never been pregnant before, I didn't know what to expect when it came to pregnancy symptoms. I felt terrible until well into my second trimester. For those who have not experienced it, the first months of pregnancy feel like the worst hangover you've ever had, but without the fun that typically precedes a hangover - and this hangover lasts for four months. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I developed gestational high blood pressure (bordering on preeclampsia). Among other things, I was under strict instruction to go to the ER immediately if I had a bad headache that would not go away. I have had migraines for years, so this was a tough call. I had a particularly painful migraine at the end of February, so I called my doctor, who told me to go to the maternity ER. I was there for hours, getting serious pain meds through an IV. Much to my relief, I got to go home (I had been threatened with bedrest) and even went to work the next day.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That was the weekend, and that Monday, I went to an appointment with the high-risk obstetrician. He had read about what happened with my headache and told me he was admitting me to the hospital. "I can't believe they let you go home," he said. I cried.</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">delivery #1</span></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I sat in the hospital for three days before they decided to induce at 35 weeks and 5 days. I found out later I was at risk of having a stroke.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My epidural failed. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">James was a great cheerleader. He told me I was a goddess and me having a baby was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. He didn't even pass out.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Birth was the most painful thing I have ever experienced (and hopefully will ever experience). It felt like my body was being ripped apart. I truly didn't think I was going to make it out alive. I knew millions of women had done this before me and millions would after me, but in the moment, it really felt like I was going to die. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Turns out I didn't die. Tiny baby Phineas was born and whisked to the NICU immediately.</span></li></ul><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBjkB8Pl6DO4JBDpr7LAbH1U3GmFO7R8FjGOZh1eO-PHtgHzRUn5EP_QN_Knkf8vyAngLQ5kJ_7IJNem5QfgnH7HIl-ejONqyT3H50lOEctU2GBaD2mcS82An1_ycIahZVWoSWwxTA0zK1_QdLbPtpS9LHf7ZBK18Vlq8Kkt4AnfreilNEA2mSf93qm0ND/s2592/IMG_0569.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBjkB8Pl6DO4JBDpr7LAbH1U3GmFO7R8FjGOZh1eO-PHtgHzRUn5EP_QN_Knkf8vyAngLQ5kJ_7IJNem5QfgnH7HIl-ejONqyT3H50lOEctU2GBaD2mcS82An1_ycIahZVWoSWwxTA0zK1_QdLbPtpS9LHf7ZBK18Vlq8Kkt4AnfreilNEA2mSf93qm0ND/w400-h300/IMG_0569.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So smol.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">the aftermath #1</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">After delivery, my blood pressure was still high enough I needed to be put on magnesium to prevent seizures. I was not allowed to get out of bed for 24 hours. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas had been taken directly to the NICU, so I didn't get to meet him until after that 24 hours had passed.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Since he was born before 36 weeks, Phineas automatically got a stay in the NICU. He was a "lazy eater" and stayed there for a month.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Guess what happened about a week after I delivered? That's right: COVID shutdown. My parents, James's mom, and our friends Nate and Taylor got to meet Phineas, but then the NICU closed to all non-parents. And THEN only one parent could be in the NICU at any given time. It was a lonely month of NICU visits where James and I would just pass each other in the parking lot.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When Phineas finally got to come home, the COVID shutdown was going strong. We were essentially trapped in our house. Friends would come over and look at Phineas through our front windows as we held him up like Simba. James taught school from home while I went back to work to navigate a newly-restricted library. All while being terrified this new disease would kill our tiny vulnerable baby.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Recovery from a vaginal delivery is a BITCH. One point for C-sections.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have had dreams and flashbacks about being back in the hospital having Phineas. I just recently learned this is PTSD.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Once we were far enough past this time to joke about it, we said, "At least if we have another baby, it HAS to go better than this!" Famous last words.</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">pregnancy #2</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I accidentally got pregnant when I began a new medication for migraine prevention that made my birth control less effective. Could've used a heads up about that.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">At eight weeks, I miscarried what would have been a little girl. </span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">aftermath #2</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This will really get to me out of the blue sometimes. Like when I'm having kind of a rough day and see a mom with a daughter and remember I'm never going to have that. </span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">pregnancy #3</span></div></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The pregnancy symptoms were fast and furious. This time, with a three-year-old running around, the level of tired I felt was indescribable.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">After becoming pregnant, I had to stop taking my migraine preventative medication, so I had frequent migraines throughout the pregnancy. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Having firmly entered the realm of "geriatric pregnancy" and having been through two challenging pregnancy experiences before, this pregnancy made me edgy. We did the recommended genetic testing, finding out early on our baby was not likely to have any chromosomal disorders.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Later ultrasounds revealed this baby to have a two-vessel umbilical cord (instead of the usual three) and a low-lying placenta. The two-vessel cord was no big deal on its own, but had it been paired with other abnormalities in the ultrasound, it could have been. If it did not resolve itself, the low-lying placenta would mean a C-section so the baby and I would not bleed to death.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I had to have multiple in-depth ultrasounds because the baby's heart was never fully visible. This was nerve-wracking, but it ended up being perfectly fine.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">While I managed to avoid preeclampsia, I did get hit with gestational elevated glucose (bordering on gestational diabetes). I changed my diet and faithfully poked my finger to test my blood sugar four times a day, every day. I was devastated by this, but the doctors told me it's basically a roll of the dice. You can be super healthy and still wind up with it.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Because I'd been so close to preeclampsia before, my doctor determined I would be induced at 37 weeks. </span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">delivery #2</span></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I went in for the induction, downright terrified my epidural would fail once more. James was an excellent advocate, making sure I got the epidural as soon as possible and alerting the anesthesiologist when I began to feel my legs again. James identified a bend in the line that was the source of the problem, allowing the drugs to flow and me to numb up once again.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">A tornado siren went off after I was induced, so all the laboring mothers were wheeled out of their rooms and into the hallway. My team and I ended up having to go into one of the operating rooms for shelter. Thankfully, it didn't last long, and we were given the all-clear.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">After many hours post-induction, the process was not forging ahead like it should. The baby stopped descending, and his heart rate and breathing got a bit spotty at times. The nurses (OB nurses are saints, in case you didn't know) had me contorting into all sorts of shapes to try and get the baby to move, but it didn't work. The ridiculous thing is that I could not move my legs, so it was up to James and the nurses to hoist them around for me. It was the weirdest feeling.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I started the induction process at 7am October 3. By 1am October 4, no further progress had been made, and the baby's heart rate and breathing were getting dangerously low. The doctor told me we would have to do an emergency C-section. I cried.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I was wheeled into the operating room and given a heavy dose of anesthesia - not enough to put me under, but enough to make me super sick. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Was I really here? Was this actually happening? The last thing I remember is seeing James hold a baby up to my face.</span></li></ul><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtzROSG0l98-30gneZ8zFBuUNL252X1Zf0Kec_NhcVt1eEofle_Y0nkHsW3EVJihYGGd6Dgf6ZghVpaDhxI-0AFrQf5967g38MdMjZW_LBOwMeQCzbYgLb8ID71xJr_Ycjc1JjzvNWFXjs20zRIPhH1oTJaVxd6_Itnecu8lZvrQC6gNPHpRSTc5T4baK/s1599/image000000%20(7).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="1204" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtzROSG0l98-30gneZ8zFBuUNL252X1Zf0Kec_NhcVt1eEofle_Y0nkHsW3EVJihYGGd6Dgf6ZghVpaDhxI-0AFrQf5967g38MdMjZW_LBOwMeQCzbYgLb8ID71xJr_Ycjc1JjzvNWFXjs20zRIPhH1oTJaVxd6_Itnecu8lZvrQC6gNPHpRSTc5T4baK/w301-h400/image000000%20(7).jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shortly before I lost consciousness.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I woke up hours later to find myself alone in a recovery room. A nurse quickly arrived to tell me the baby was fine, but I had needed an emergency hysterectomy. "Really?!" I said, wondering if she was talking to the right person.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Here's what happened. After the baby (whom we named Robin) was delivered, the doctors could not stop the abdominal hemorrhaging. I had been immediately put on higher pain meds before being put under completely, explaining my lack of memory. Once they lifted my uterus out of my body, they realized what happened: my uterus had ruptured. There was a gigantic hole in the back. Robin's arm had gotten stuck in that hole, which is why he wasn't descending like he should have. To save me from bleeding to death, the only real option was a hysterectomy. Poor James had to give the consent for the hysterectomy, because (according to the doctors) I was "too high on ketamine" to really understand what was happening. (When they asked me if a hysterectomy would be ok, I apparently said, "Yeah, that would be great!" which I would have said anyway, ketamine or not.)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">After I had woken up a bit, I talked to the surgeons. When an OB doctor needs to do an emergency hysterectomy, they summon the on-call doctor because apparently this is a two-surgeon job. They were both thrilled - yes, thrilled - to have worked on my uterus. You see, my uterus had no business rupturing. I had no previous C-sections and no uterine fibroids, both of which are known to cause ruptures because they weaken the uterine wall. They had no idea why my perfectly intact uterus would rupture. Neither had ever seen this before, and one of the doctors had been an OB for over 40 years. The odds of this happening were 1 in 20,000. One of the doctors even gave me his cell phone number in case anything else happened. That's probably not normal.</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">the aftermath #3</span></div></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">A recovery from a C-section is no joke - and recovery from a hysterectomy on top of that is REALLY no joke. Ten weeks of absolutely no lifting anything heavier than Robin. That's basically everything. I also felt like I'd been hit by a truck - I had even needed a blood transfusion.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Because of my hysterectomy, I had to have a whole bunch of follow-ups with my OB. She told me to take recovery very seriously. She said, "I'm not trying to scare you, but if you bust your stitches, your intestines will fall out your vagina." That's what she said when she was NOT trying to scare me?!<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">If this had to happen to anyone, I'm glad it was me. James and I knew we were done having children, so I certainly had no use for it any more. I feel like I've hit the gynecological jackpot. No periods, first of all - I've already had my period for 20 years, and I probably got out of 20 more years of it. No pap smears, since my cervix went with my uterus. No risk of uterine or cervical cancer. And no risk whatsoever of pregnancy without the hassle of birth control pills, an IUD, etcetera. The only downside is when my pants don't fit, I can't blame my period any more. Now I'm just chubby.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When nosy acquaintances or strangers ask me when I'm having a third child, I can make them very uncomfortable very quickly by telling them I had an emergency hysterectomy. That shuts them right up. </span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">takeaways</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The doctors are great, but the OB nurses are the real VIPs. They are with you every step of the way. Anything you need, they are on it. They're the ones who make sure you get pain meds when you need them; they're the ones bringing you warm blankets; they're the ones who hold your legs when you're pushing; they're the ones telling you that you're amazing and you can do this thing. When I had Phineas, I have no idea who the doctor was who delivered him. She showed up at the last minute to catch him. But my lead nurse's name was Taylor. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Along those same lines - for the love of Dolly Parton, be nice to your nurses. Both times in labor and delivery, our nurses told us each shift was fighting over who got to take care of us because we were nice to them. Apparently that's kind of rare. I just wanted to win labor by being agreeable, and I guess I did.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Labor and delivery (and then recovery) is the only time you're going to be treated like the goddamn queen you are, so you'd better enjoy it. It almost makes the pain and suffering worthwhile. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">These experiences taught me I have weirdly high pain tolerance. After Phineas was born, I had a hematoma that I didn't know about. (I was going to say "TMI alert," but this entire blog post is a TMI, so why bother now?) My doctor poked it and she said, "Does that hurt?" I said, "Ehh." She said, "Every other patient I've had with one of these would have passed out if I had done that."<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Both of my children's deliveries almost ended in my demise, so I've got a powerful card in my pocket - but I need to remember to save that for the big things. "I don't want to take out the garbage." "I ALMOST DIED FOR YOU."</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It took me until I was 32 years old to decide that yes, I would give motherhood a try. Four years and two children later, my body said, "Ehhh, enough of that." And now I'm short a few organs.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It was my uterus who did the heavy lifting, and it was my uterus who bore the brunt of the damage. To my uterus, I say: thank you for your service. There are two little boys who literally owe you their lives.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">In a nutshell, my body wasn't at all cut out for pregnancy. If I had been around and attempting to give birth before modern medicine, giving birth to Phineas would have killed me off - and if I had, by some miracle, made it through that, I absolutely wouldn't have lived through Robin's birth. I will have health complications for the rest of my life from these two: high blood pressure and am now 50% more likely to develop diabetes than I was pre-Robin. I also have a gnarly scar where my second child and my uterus were removed from my body. (Fun fact: Phineas respects me a lot more now that I have that scar.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">No, being pregnant and giving birth is not for the weak. That's why the women have to do it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(If you would like to see a photo of my shredded uterus, do let me know. I have one that I'm happy to share with you. I'm not going to post it here because it's pretty rough and will not be appreciated by those who are not into the blood-and-guts side of things. But if you are, you'll appreciate the photo. It's wild. The surgeons were so excited about the rarity of the situation they took a picture of it - it reminds me of a fisherman holding up a prize walleye.)</span></div><p></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-46889539778152508292023-11-26T08:58:00.002-06:002023-11-26T08:58:30.249-06:00Die Hard: is it a Christmas movie?<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Until last night, I had never seen Die Hard. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3m2KgK2-SpAMKna4Ij5TppEMxNdbyUv4JxZu_kkmMQk9W-qijpubKsFGHlkpnu1ohpnCZE2LvPOlhDCrHOV6744SextwEfJahl8Wsdpyz0C6lT6irG177DE6zeDU5oXA9-9OdCOnDWlRMMdHOpCtHpMqpKwd-AA0_BdeV7pjCFk79CEIhpYwvv5bWtyt/s600/IMG_7317.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3m2KgK2-SpAMKna4Ij5TppEMxNdbyUv4JxZu_kkmMQk9W-qijpubKsFGHlkpnu1ohpnCZE2LvPOlhDCrHOV6744SextwEfJahl8Wsdpyz0C6lT6irG177DE6zeDU5oXA9-9OdCOnDWlRMMdHOpCtHpMqpKwd-AA0_BdeV7pjCFk79CEIhpYwvv5bWtyt/s320/IMG_7317.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It’s been around since 1988, so I knew the important things about it:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">• Bruce Willis says “yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker.” Everyone knows that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">• It gave us the gift of Alan Rickman. Bless you, Die Hard.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">• John McClane is the good guy and Hans Gruber is the bad guy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">• Hans Gruber falls off a tower.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">• John McClane probably lives because there are a bajillion sequels.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">• People seem to be divided over whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I am not a big fan of action movies, but I was really excited to finally watch Die Hard. It’s a pillar of American cinema, after all. My dad has said to me (more than once) that he failed as a parent because I moved out of his house before watching Die Hard. And then still didn’t watch it for another 18 years.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I actually really liked Die Hard. Going in blind (except knowing the very general way in which it ends) was really fun. I didn’t know Bruce Willis had his shoes off the whole time, and there were plenty of truly hilarious one-liners. There were lots of surprise 80s celebrity sightings - Carl Winslow from Family Matters, the jerk principal (“mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns”) from The Breakfast Club, and a couple of passing faces from The Goonies. It was great.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">To the question at hand: is Die Hard a Christmas movie?</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGvlxpeoouGJJK5nkY7wlk7-dWpMbKG3ghxrEQ9x4BaOhOCzNBUjAIaW9fcfy93mCs0Vw_z2n2fmVIk9iKKnSoCQEXWI10Kbuw3iSInahZs9jtcrlI4KO4h_yD6EhzxlNLzkeKEy2_soPtW4QDbx9GWW8CmoHuBbJVMUFsnUFSnvdwmJiMJvjM4sblNRv/s966/IMG_7316.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="659" data-original-width="966" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGvlxpeoouGJJK5nkY7wlk7-dWpMbKG3ghxrEQ9x4BaOhOCzNBUjAIaW9fcfy93mCs0Vw_z2n2fmVIk9iKKnSoCQEXWI10Kbuw3iSInahZs9jtcrlI4KO4h_yD6EhzxlNLzkeKEy2_soPtW4QDbx9GWW8CmoHuBbJVMUFsnUFSnvdwmJiMJvjM4sblNRv/w400-h272/IMG_7316.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">My initial reaction is to say yes. It is set at Christmas time, and there are elements of Christmas that are present in the plot (“now I have a machine gun, ho ho ho”). Question answered.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But then, while up during the wee hours of the morning with seven-week-old-Robin, I thought more about it. This is when I do my best thinking: when you’re sleep deprived enough to be on the edge of delirium but you’re not there yet so your thoughts are just flexible enough but not fully off the charts. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Anyway, I got to thinking about what makes every other Christmas movie a Christmas movie. My personal favorites are the likes of Christmas Vacation, Home Alone I and II, The Muppet Christmas Carol, A Christmas Story, and Mickey’s Christmas Carol. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">They all take place at Christmas.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Die Hard does that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">They all have happy endings.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Unless you’re Hans Gruber, Die Hard does that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Christmas is a central part of the plot - almost like another character.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Hmm. Nope. Die Hard could be set at any time of the year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I would not watch any of these Christmas movies any other time of the year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">No, I would not. But I would not have a problem watching Die Hard in July.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">So I can’t in good conscience lump Die Hard in with all your run-of-the mill Christmas movies. It is, but it isn’t. I have a rule that Christmas movies should only be watched during December, and then they can fuck right off. But I would not apply that to Die Hard. I would also not have a problem watching it as a Christmas movie.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">So I feel I can’t give a good answer to the “Christmas movie or not” debate. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">What do you think?</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-48153218232089265442023-11-17T19:23:00.005-06:002023-11-17T19:54:01.883-06:00life’s pause button.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I am at a conference in the cities this weekend, and I brought Robin with me. During a break, he and I had just settled in for some really good snuggles, but we only had about ten minutes before I was due at a meeting. I REALLY wanted to keep on snuggling. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdsdx2l4usBycDkm29_G0kIJf7-pVM2mMGXDKJApyTYjw7MlkFqZj_c8kZ9AZHeq5IsCJs3YHc6WZIblMUt1KaPRO0FHo_yrJe8zcyHE6h9AlIuKwglVUo5qR41F5lLfVI6PbqqP5bw0JaknN-xeVBw98hHwT1laPkGWTbGZwQsECQSoUtny3SFfa0tCf/s4032/IMG_6594.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdsdx2l4usBycDkm29_G0kIJf7-pVM2mMGXDKJApyTYjw7MlkFqZj_c8kZ9AZHeq5IsCJs3YHc6WZIblMUt1KaPRO0FHo_yrJe8zcyHE6h9AlIuKwglVUo5qR41F5lLfVI6PbqqP5bw0JaknN-xeVBw98hHwT1laPkGWTbGZwQsECQSoUtny3SFfa0tCf/w300-h400/IMG_6594.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I thought, not for the first time, how amazing it would be if life had a pause button.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Truly, I have given this a ton of thought. I want a pause button, a rewind button, and a fast-forward button.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have thought about it so much I actually have rules.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>PAUSE</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When you hit pause, there is a time limit of just a couple of hours at a time. Time pauses only for you and whoever you link to - I’m not sure how the linking will work, but it’s like teleporting in Harry Potter. You can’t do anything illegal when you pause time, or even slightly nefarious - you can’t even touch other people. It’s designed to do nothing but allow you and your loved ones more innocent joy - sneak in more snuggles with your baby or spend a few more hours at a museum on vacation or make your day at the lake last a little longer. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>REWIND</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Rewind could take you a little further. Rewind is meant to fix little stupid shit that nags at you your entire life, or to do something small you wish you had been able to. An example: my mom once put one of her senior pictures on top of my laundry basket when I was a kid - I was ten or so. I thought it was an accident, so I put it back on her dresser. Later on, she sadly said something like “I see you didn’t want that picture of me.” I was MORTIFIED that I had made her feel bad. Typing this out now makes my stomach churn. I told her about this a few years ago, and she has no memory of it, THANK GOD. But I do and would absolutely undo it if I could, even though it was a stupid misunderstanding. So that’s the intent of rewind. It’s for getting a day to talk to my grandpa Harvey - he had a stroke and lost his ability to speak when I was six. It’s for just saying “yes” right away when I was offered the library director job in Luverne instead of “Can I think about it?” (Why did I say that? I knew I was going to take it. I was excited; just scared. What a jerk.) It’s not for going back in time and writing Beatles songs before they could write them, or for going back and making bets on sports when you know the actual outcome from the future (remember how wrong that went in Back to the Future 2?). But maybe it could be for going back in time and killing Hitler before he could become Hitler. Jury’s out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>FAST</b> <b>FORWARD</b> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Finally, fast-forward. Fast-forward, like pause, is also for the short-term. While I often think about how great my life will be when I am no longer responsible for wiping anyone’s butt but my own, I know I don’t actually want to skip over this part of my life. As much as I get so freaking sick about hearing about washing machines and robot vacuums (looking at you, Phineas), I will also miss the sweet hugs and kisses that come along with that (also looking at you, Phineas). Fast forward is for the real shitty stuff that does nothing at all for anyone - those long hours in the middle of the night when Robin is screaming his head off. When anyone has the stomach flu. Could have used fast forward when I was about to jump out of my skin nervously waiting for labor to start with Robin. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I must reiterate these remote-like functions can only be used for unequivocal good. They can’t be used for selfish gains (well, fast forwarding through pain and suffering doesn’t seem that selfish), just absolute and unobjectionable good. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Unlike pause, which effects only you, fast-forward and rewind will have to take the rest of the world along with you. Obviously this is all way above my pay grade; I’m just the ideas guy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">While we’re dreaming, let’s dream big and add in channel-changing as teleportation. How awesome would that be?!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">OH! And a closed captioning button for when it’s too noisy and I can’t hear someone, and a volume button (or, let’s be real, a mute button) for my children, and I guess life might just need a whole damn remote control.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-45514652624435591922023-11-09T23:35:00.002-06:002023-11-10T00:44:54.485-06:00the world's okayest mom.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(editor's note: this particular post is very stream-of-consciousness, meaning it's not particularly polished. Mostly because I'm only fueled by caffeine and little to no sleep. I told James the other day I could hear his aura and it sounded like soft string music. I was stone cold sober but hadn't slept the night before. Consider yourself warned.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You know those mugs that say "world's okayest mom"?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That's me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">No, really.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have completely accepted it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Like - I love my kids, and I'm 99% sure I would jump in between them and a starving grizzly bear. But sometimes I would give anything for them to be quiet and leave me alone for a few hours.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I knew from a very young age motherhood wasn't my calling. Baby dolls weren't my jam, and neither was playing house. I preferred Barbie: she had careers and friends and amazing clothes. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Babysitting was not my thing, either. I'd do it occasionally for neighbors or cousins, but these kids were talking and most definitely potty-trained. The first diaper I ever changed was my son Phineas's. I was almost 33 years old. (I tend to shock people with that one, and it cracks me up.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Nobody expected me to have kids. I mean, nobody. It seriously was the "her?" running joke from Arrested Development.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaua8zr3Feev1q5U-fL78_zrae91WR1ykdTWVdnjeX8XBKoHn5XpTjE3UiIK5yWDNlKc6hBvE897Q8TzoIt7Wpy0LfQml4iyF9gk6kO_MDcQLmIrFpcTQbHyINbqi9ysR3bMwYf9jDsMLbvrkK4RWvenP7099IUI88Rkip8DhFVLWWv4mvhFs7vdBdhRe/s464/michael-bluth-her.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="464" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaua8zr3Feev1q5U-fL78_zrae91WR1ykdTWVdnjeX8XBKoHn5XpTjE3UiIK5yWDNlKc6hBvE897Q8TzoIt7Wpy0LfQml4iyF9gk6kO_MDcQLmIrFpcTQbHyINbqi9ysR3bMwYf9jDsMLbvrkK4RWvenP7099IUI88Rkip8DhFVLWWv4mvhFs7vdBdhRe/w400-h225/michael-bluth-her.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Calla's having a baby? Are you sure it's the right Calla? Is it on PURPOSE?"</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(yes, it was on purpose.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas had me pegged right away.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Maybe that's an oldest child thing. As a fellow firstborn, I think we're pretty good at spotting the people who don't have a clue what they're doing. Look at that face. Phineas knew I was totally in over my head.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FOxl93T4w5WwT9Q6eXrdi7LfXYyeWiJ8PebDG_JU6Xok9zwFgZQWREXq6GVOrSbSgJhm0ftL2n0otdat9On76IEeb5VMnJakbl0IBbwo7Q5ROPdS9Fun1HwvtPd8Tgnt7guvLW_yWLdbEOxZuk5o1NmsXzxMSrVMvscgFDRcs5mBgM2thXiMqKklSDol/s2592/IMG_0099.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1944" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FOxl93T4w5WwT9Q6eXrdi7LfXYyeWiJ8PebDG_JU6Xok9zwFgZQWREXq6GVOrSbSgJhm0ftL2n0otdat9On76IEeb5VMnJakbl0IBbwo7Q5ROPdS9Fun1HwvtPd8Tgnt7guvLW_yWLdbEOxZuk5o1NmsXzxMSrVMvscgFDRcs5mBgM2thXiMqKklSDol/w300-h400/IMG_0099.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And I was. I had held just a couple of babies in my entire life, and I was so scared to hold Phineas. I was scared of Phineas in general. He was five weeks early, so he had all sorts of tubes and monitors and I was sure I was going to break him. (spoiler alert: I didn't.) </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6fUxl23mBzM1GdaQ_osgPa1hD2bhJ1umzHDi8AozDuNFxuekVfP2uTMB9FXI7Y_xouQFUa2OyU-bj90tUjg0G7XM7Gewhr3XP2ME0EI46nRO4NPxSvzru1K4PRrUY5v8sbWaHJzxaTk0oD0PEFjpQskXxf9l5Xf_jed7MFYT9lgEhaWpoPZ-SbvzU_zc/s1600/image000000%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6fUxl23mBzM1GdaQ_osgPa1hD2bhJ1umzHDi8AozDuNFxuekVfP2uTMB9FXI7Y_xouQFUa2OyU-bj90tUjg0G7XM7Gewhr3XP2ME0EI46nRO4NPxSvzru1K4PRrUY5v8sbWaHJzxaTk0oD0PEFjpQskXxf9l5Xf_jed7MFYT9lgEhaWpoPZ-SbvzU_zc/w300-h400/image000000%20(1).jpg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The poor firstborns. They're the guinea pigs. Their idiot first-time parents are just throwing (metaphorical) things at them to see what sticks. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Honestly, that's what we're doing with our second-born, Robin, as well. It's been too long and we've had too much sleep deprivation to really remember what we did the first time. Except I know I'm not scared of Robin.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(But maybe I should be. That kid PUNCHED A HOLE through the back of my uterus so big I had an emergency hysterectomy and almost bled to death. So I'd better keep my eye on him.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Robin is only a month old, so we're in the trenches here. I feel like I can do only the bare minimum for both of my kids, leaving me at just "ok" status. I can half-play with Phineas because I need to use the other arm to hold Robin, or I have to hold Robin's bottle with my chin so I can help Phineas zip his coat. I feel like I'm not even a very decent cat mom right now - they all like to snuggle and since I'm always holding a baby, their snuggle time has really diminished. Poor things!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Where was I going with this?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">THIS IS MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I wander off, physically and/or mentally, and don't know why I am there.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Back to how I'm the okayest mom.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Do you have a daily non-negotiable? Something that you HAVE to do each day to make you feel like a human? For some people, it's having their daily cup of coffee. For my mom, it's her daily can of Dr. Pepper. For me, it's taking a shower every day. Even if I'm not going to leave the house, I have to take a shower every day and put on clean clothes - I might just be changing into a new pair of pajamas, but this small act gives me just enough to not spiral into a deep depression. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Taking that shower, though, requires me leaving Robin alone for approximately five minutes. He could be dead asleep when I leave to get in the shower, but he is always - ALWAYS - screaming when I get out. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Bro - I gave up a ton for you. I sacrificed my body (remember that uterus?), my social life, a bit of my sanity, and who knows what else for you. I cannot and will not give up this one small thing that makes me feel like a human person each day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And if that makes me selfish, so be it. Another mark in the "okayest mom" column.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Did you know dads are widely considered the more "fun" parent because - and this is a scientific fact, not just me being a dick - men's brains mature more slowly than women's? Therefore, their brains are more childlike and can more easily slip into the "play" state. When I heard this, it was like DUHHHH. Phineas definitely prefers James to me when it comes to playing pretend, which is absolutely great with me. I really don't enjoy playing pretend - I think my imagination may have died out on me quite some time ago. But being imaginative is not the same as being creative, and I'll be damned if I'm not creative.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I felt bad about not enjoying playing pretend with Phineas - treasure every moment, right? But now with two kids when my time is especially limited, I am giving myself permission to not treasure every moment. I will absolutely fake it til I make it with the kids, but I don't have to do that to myself. That doesn't make me a shitty mom. It makes me the okayest mom. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I'll never win any awards for "world's best mom;</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">" I can't do any of the "traditional" mom stuff. I can't bake anything from scratch, I can't sew, I can't cook, I won't be the head of the PTA or whatever else parents these days are expected to do. I'm not the worst mother, either - fortunately for me and unfortunately for others, there's a long way to go before worst mother.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">What I can do is adventure. I can read books. I can teach my kids about the world around them. I can learn alongside with them. I can teach them how to be good people and how to admit when you're wrong. I am full of interesting but predominantly useless facts I can pass onto them. I am not good at drawing or painting but I would like to do it alongside with them all the same. I will tell myself that I won't embarrass them because I can't possibly be embarrassing but I will completely humiliate them somehow without even knowing it. And I can love them. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I think all that stuff makes me a pretty ok mom.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And I'm ok with that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">PS - you know how Robin exploded my uterus? I have a picture. It's disgusting and awesome and I will totally share it with you if you ask.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-26016028173216200452023-10-31T22:04:00.006-05:002023-10-31T23:47:31.455-05:00a lifetime of Halloweens, 2023 edition.<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 36px;">(Editor's note: I originally wrote this just before Halloween 2015. However, as you know, time marches on... and Halloweens keep coming. So I have been adding to this post each year so as not to miss a Halloween. That means we, once again, get to revisit a lifetime of costumes. I can hardly wait.)</span></p><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-5924742317780973721" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 688px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">YOU GUYS IT'S FINALLY HALLOWEEN.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I am excited: per usual. I have had my costume picked out since last Halloween.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">My costume is not just any costume. It kicks ass, and I can't wait to show it to you. However, there is a definite downside to having such an awesome costume. After this Halloween, I can NEVER WEAR IT FOR HALLOWEEN AGAIN.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Because I have a policy.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I cannot be the same thing for Halloween twice.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">"But wait!" you say. "What about the zombies, huh? YOU ARE LYING!"</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">But no! I dress up as a zombie for specific zombie-themed events: not for Halloween itself. Doesn't count. It's the zombie clause in my self-imposed Halloween contract. (Also, I've never been the SAME zombie, so there's that). Same goes for any re-wearing of costumes (as you will soon see in 2018): I'm not wearing the old costume for Halloween ITSELF, so it doesn't count.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I must have decided on my no-repeats Halloween rule at a pretty young age: I have pictures going back to 1988, and you won't find any duplicates (with the special exception of Halloween theme parties that do not fall on Halloween itself). You will, however, find some darn cute pictures of me as a very excited child. </span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I wish I had pictures of every Halloween, but I don't. I don't know what I was for Halloween 1987 - but I was a mere six months old and I am pretty sure that my parents dressed me up in the little skeleton costume you'll see on my sister in 1991 and my brother in 1993. 1992 is also missing, as are 1999 - 2001. While I am unsure about 1992, 1999 - 2001 was a dark time in my life... as I was deemed too old for trick-or-treating. I decided to forgo costumes those years, but I eventually realized that just because you're too old to trick-or-treat does NOT mean you're too old to dress up for Halloween. You're NEVER too old to dress up for Halloween, dammit. The only other year missing is 2009, but that was the year that I was in New Orleans. I was so excited to spend Halloween in New Orleans, but alas, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I didn't know anyone well enough to go out Halloweening with them, and even if I did, I didn't have enough money for a costume or drinks at the bar. I spent that Halloween curled up on my air mattress, watching Halloween episodes of <i>Buffy the Vampire Slayer </i>and sad-eating Halloween candy from my landlady.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">On the bright side? Pretty much every Halloween going forward is guaranteed to be better than that one.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">So here we go: a pictorial history of Calla's Halloweens!</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1988</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Superman</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVwQwB5CkSFLmlhFuHEM-m_hHuCqnsGgolgoaK0cOxVzfOEa4m01JozwyOzEwh9Lb6LdwjVw6X4OqLJUjjuQSBeP_LeFs_Bk5F8a5hOxw86-moub0cFhMEvyIjxh6Ac9yrsEnz6yQyCAg/s1600/IMG_3394.JPG" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVwQwB5CkSFLmlhFuHEM-m_hHuCqnsGgolgoaK0cOxVzfOEa4m01JozwyOzEwh9Lb6LdwjVw6X4OqLJUjjuQSBeP_LeFs_Bk5F8a5hOxw86-moub0cFhMEvyIjxh6Ac9yrsEnz6yQyCAg/s400/IMG_3394.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I came across this picture in May when I was digging through a box of ancient photos in search of something embarrassing to post for Mother's Day. (You mean you DON'T share ridiculous photos of your mother from the 1980s on Mother's Day? Shame on you.) I was overjoyed, as 1988 had been one of my mysterious gap years. You have no idea how happy finding this picture made me.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1989</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Mickey Mouse</b></span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-EDdOxQmid4hgyPJebcihvOo5hNxXqXwhhB5ogci2Pi02wuQ1YqbRJ2sPJsOPzvPkJSBOkHw5ABSy0yx-FUURhq7E9ZBTxNGnhQ9wg4h1Etgk7I-YcJeDUS8VG7JcBIWd3yDbwfU4-Ok/s1600/1989.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-EDdOxQmid4hgyPJebcihvOo5hNxXqXwhhB5ogci2Pi02wuQ1YqbRJ2sPJsOPzvPkJSBOkHw5ABSy0yx-FUURhq7E9ZBTxNGnhQ9wg4h1Etgk7I-YcJeDUS8VG7JcBIWd3yDbwfU4-Ok/s400/1989.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="235" /></b></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Is this or is this not the cutest damn Mickey Mouse you've ever seen? I was about two-and-a-half, and Halloween was already my favorite holiday. Trick-or-treating in the country always meant that you'd come away with an enormous haul. We just had to hop in the minivan and drive from house to house. As not many trick-or-treaters make it out into the sticks where we lived, any house you went to would reward you with handfuls of candy. Or multiple full-sized candy bars. Or twelve-packs of pop. Country trick-or-treating is the best.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1990</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>pumpkin</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWTHr0bs7MfxMikH9VyCThoZJcpLYtsYKtSLngCFMyID5r2kp4emIL7rl9h9IE-sN75_ZXA15sp9FRIAGHXRk4Owo5Rtp1ZXsxKEl6xUtUeQArDycQ-7lqAbnEz0ufsAfBIcZxUfJPyrB/s1600/1990.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWTHr0bs7MfxMikH9VyCThoZJcpLYtsYKtSLngCFMyID5r2kp4emIL7rl9h9IE-sN75_ZXA15sp9FRIAGHXRk4Owo5Rtp1ZXsxKEl6xUtUeQArDycQ-7lqAbnEz0ufsAfBIcZxUfJPyrB/s400/1990.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="308" /></b></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">My pumpkin makeup is a little bit hilarious. I'm not sure which parent was responsible for this, but I would like to know why exactly I have a red mouth instead of a black one. The jack o' lantern face on my sweatshirt has a black mouth - why not me? Am I a flesh-eating jack o' lantern? Or the child of artistically challenged parents? Let's go with that.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1991</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>witch</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzotT8FdNvQc9_w0J9zXt3MhU5X64j3kzC4TVsPoYz7UmcPD271nq9u3qqdrynZG2oVUfd9A-NEQCtHeNu2QK4HJXLvRPkupEvvFMCYLz0ebKWxZ_zE3irfiJ6-OuVPQNB3_hBzZ3elNN/s1600/1991.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzotT8FdNvQc9_w0J9zXt3MhU5X64j3kzC4TVsPoYz7UmcPD271nq9u3qqdrynZG2oVUfd9A-NEQCtHeNu2QK4HJXLvRPkupEvvFMCYLz0ebKWxZ_zE3irfiJ6-OuVPQNB3_hBzZ3elNN/s400/1991.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="400" /></b></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">You may have noticed that all of my costumes involve long sleeves. Indeed, I live in the Midwest, so many of my Halloween costumes were planned around sweatshirts and winter coats. That's why I look so bulky: under my black sweatshirt was probably another sweatshirt. I believe 1991 was a particularly snowy Halloween, but there's no way that I wasn't going out trick-or-treating.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1993</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>princess</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44XHZyIv4E2j1LQGQ3trrrhrMpcGE-dbD9EYYNHa66RVl2bMNgHWUXld0uHrcjxQCC6zNwepirYgANnoPkZ52yyIII67SDKO2onwrKgblqb9tItXeDPjNO6Wa2ro8EsWqYFZz87JaHxs7/s1600/1993.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44XHZyIv4E2j1LQGQ3trrrhrMpcGE-dbD9EYYNHa66RVl2bMNgHWUXld0uHrcjxQCC6zNwepirYgANnoPkZ52yyIII67SDKO2onwrKgblqb9tItXeDPjNO6Wa2ro8EsWqYFZz87JaHxs7/s400/1993.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="248" /></b></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">This princess dress came from a huge bin of my mom's old clothes that had been deemed "for dress-up." I played dress-up ALL the damn time, and it was a delight for me to be able to wear this out in public. To top it off, Mom made me glitter shoes: old dress shoes coated in glue and dipped in multi-colored glitter. They were the BEST.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1994</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>dog</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGFxZ0Pli3im1US9J6IUQel-7LX1r_7LqQxeVOeDw_HP5F8LLhusYxwutqiPYVBVi6_F5n5Vvi6BJufjlfyjq-RCKN0NUHdHjHdI636k5fLLVlg4sK8Ar2bvaZ4GuBvKRLpJiWicJoHg4/s1600/1994.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGFxZ0Pli3im1US9J6IUQel-7LX1r_7LqQxeVOeDw_HP5F8LLhusYxwutqiPYVBVi6_F5n5Vvi6BJufjlfyjq-RCKN0NUHdHjHdI636k5fLLVlg4sK8Ar2bvaZ4GuBvKRLpJiWicJoHg4/s400/1994.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="263" /></b></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I don't know where this costume came from, but I do remember that it was supposed to be a bunny suit. It more or less a white onesie and had big ears sticking straight up. One of Mom's coworkers sewed spots on it, and presto! I was a dalmatian. However, even though I was clearly wearing a dog collar, I was mistaken for a cow for all of Halloween day.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1995</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>cheerleader</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonpoCkahho7jucCC17hww5BIadTN9lXTVc4X_3HzilEwMO9Fk1RLZb8W5Tshy4Oc9qxHqMOpoFyYZbF9iM4iHmZ79sXfJ0LVmxyjCyD-ielC92hibRXufwsXmIAF-PeHbciGcw1FysOha/s1600/1995.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonpoCkahho7jucCC17hww5BIadTN9lXTVc4X_3HzilEwMO9Fk1RLZb8W5Tshy4Oc9qxHqMOpoFyYZbF9iM4iHmZ79sXfJ0LVmxyjCyD-ielC92hibRXufwsXmIAF-PeHbciGcw1FysOha/s400/1995.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="235" /></b></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">1995 must've been a particularly warm Halloween, hence the bare legs. Though I was only eight in 1995, I feel as though my sarcasm was really starting to develop: being a cheerleader for Halloween was the scariest thing I could think of.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1996</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>cat</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKVxWZrILS-5QWGZYkmD5B07SRUc8iyCdBJxsN1TBMtPdz_6kV9iY2cFWwp4nhpuEIZs9e9scTMLS1voi7TPVlLRrhSnP8F856rCwH2DPMqnZZFVb0XG5HIB82WEYgqS0I-Cg5GIHR4bx/s1600/1996.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKVxWZrILS-5QWGZYkmD5B07SRUc8iyCdBJxsN1TBMtPdz_6kV9iY2cFWwp4nhpuEIZs9e9scTMLS1voi7TPVlLRrhSnP8F856rCwH2DPMqnZZFVb0XG5HIB82WEYgqS0I-Cg5GIHR4bx/s400/1996.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="400" /></b></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Another cold Halloween, as our costumes were comprised mainly of different-colored sweatshirts. My cat ears are a little droopy, but I felt (at the time) like the stuffed mouse really brought the costume together. Please, though, direct your attention to my brother Mitch, who (at age three) is way too delighted to be Satan.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1997</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Cruella de Vil</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsJpq3FJvS3OhWGceoF0rxhSuSadvl3qi2Xt4AplNfaG0WVI3Gvnxixho7VUE0pEKKL7LdpIASskmLLsvLk7QTV7hjKOeq1XNjIQN02-IwJMmoIZVsibQeJRlekYIIHhw8hHkEyp8XgxE/s1600/1997.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsJpq3FJvS3OhWGceoF0rxhSuSadvl3qi2Xt4AplNfaG0WVI3Gvnxixho7VUE0pEKKL7LdpIASskmLLsvLk7QTV7hjKOeq1XNjIQN02-IwJMmoIZVsibQeJRlekYIIHhw8hHkEyp8XgxE/s400/1997.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="400" /></b></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Ah, the year I was Cruella de Vil. Mom (for reasons still unknown) had this old rabbit-fur coat in the back of her closet, and I commandeered it for Halloween that year. My cousin Ethan was a part of the theatre department at SDSU, so he was able to procure (and spray-paint) the wig for me. Another cold-weather costume, but this one was a win. </span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>1998</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>gypsy/just-rolled-out-of-bed girl</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFNZ9I-fwHb38ghkyIXu4DOZN2RUZGhgkaDWGVT2i6sgjHJgCaLa7l5xDZlHptUQ7AfxxfOMwixbtkKpIP4Hn33S7NDWy5WDwdpA8x7IjfiU1tfgUfUFCr2MT6rvUg8KVdUTa6CiwYyNU/s1600/1998.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFNZ9I-fwHb38ghkyIXu4DOZN2RUZGhgkaDWGVT2i6sgjHJgCaLa7l5xDZlHptUQ7AfxxfOMwixbtkKpIP4Hn33S7NDWy5WDwdpA8x7IjfiU1tfgUfUFCr2MT6rvUg8KVdUTa6CiwYyNU/s320/1998.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="231" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsPuoO_d9r6NZel0Y-zUzS01QnfnBPxd9JFcW2ARIzoUNydEdd06e9cmwbSr8tpt1kNDpfinj_5JrOBQQ-aGDnsoBnzPJuDk4utBcZZ92KvhyphenhyphenxWSR-icKukaAUYjCyo5ErYkHZPCWsJml/s1600/1998+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsPuoO_d9r6NZel0Y-zUzS01QnfnBPxd9JFcW2ARIzoUNydEdd06e9cmwbSr8tpt1kNDpfinj_5JrOBQQ-aGDnsoBnzPJuDk4utBcZZ92KvhyphenhyphenxWSR-icKukaAUYjCyo5ErYkHZPCWsJml/s320/1998+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="210" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">The first year of the double Halloween costume. I dug through the old dress-up box and was a gypsy for the school Halloween parade. (This was around the time Disney released <i>The Hunchback of Notre Dame</i>, and I totally wished I could be Esmeralda.) I came home in my gypsy outfit, all ready to trick-or-treat, and I was informed that it was too cold to wear it. I would have to find something else. I half-heartedly threw together my "person in pajamas" costume, which is 100% lame. Had I realized that it would be my last year as a trick-or-treater, I'd like to think that I would've come up with something better. We'll never know. (Looking back at this in 2018, I realize now that cultural appropriation is not ok, and I regret my costume choice. However, as an 11-year-old, I had no idea what I was doing. Please forgive me.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">2002</b><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Medieval vampire?</b></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0pzmKGATVqZfUnX_KByzbsWTKGXLxKeeDpiSMEEvXQle8Nh4DZ-d4vnXe1SAoVwPYGpCjBzjCFGkc9vPcKC2_7Gs9Sqn1wuXsDJKTFfVYESpteMBVyVRAO4fbiCR7HW5KoU1giZ-U0D3/s1600/017a57b725d20210e52c35e0ea951f7145d35b1c0d.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0pzmKGATVqZfUnX_KByzbsWTKGXLxKeeDpiSMEEvXQle8Nh4DZ-d4vnXe1SAoVwPYGpCjBzjCFGkc9vPcKC2_7Gs9Sqn1wuXsDJKTFfVYESpteMBVyVRAO4fbiCR7HW5KoU1giZ-U0D3/s400/017a57b725d20210e52c35e0ea951f7145d35b1c0d.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="300" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">Ok, so I'm not 100% sure what I billed my costume as this year. I do know that it involved this dress that I bought at Goodwill, a vampire cape from KMart, and skeleton earrings. Medieval vampire, perhaps? Who knows.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2003</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Count von Disco Bono</b></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ3ikDL2mhpoBriTUwswtoNx-ZWJKNyqjDurBdfmLY2P3Z6NZYvqdDZFOoLz8_o3Ricu24MbketrhCq1RsIJTEPIGaX3Sq_x7bf-is8OsJJ1YTS5db_14Jgg-lcRTUPMWdrKV6zYHoQVP/s1600/IMG_1592.JPG" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ3ikDL2mhpoBriTUwswtoNx-ZWJKNyqjDurBdfmLY2P3Z6NZYvqdDZFOoLz8_o3Ricu24MbketrhCq1RsIJTEPIGaX3Sq_x7bf-is8OsJJ1YTS5db_14Jgg-lcRTUPMWdrKV6zYHoQVP/s400/IMG_1592.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="237" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Another off-year in my Halloween history. This is the cape that I bought with my friend Allison the year before. The cape itself is pretty awesome - it came from Kmart in Brookings before it closed, and I still have the cape to this day. I also have the skeleton earrings in this picture, which you can see if you look very closely. Anyway, I wanted to dress up for Halloween but was fresh out of ideas, so this is what I got. I called myself Count von Disco Bono: vampire cape + Bono sunglasses + pink plaid bellbottoms. A terrible costume, but a costume nonetheless.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2004</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>reject Charlie's Angel/</b></span></span><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: xx-large;">beat up band kid/ </b><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: xx-large;">generic sock hopper</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkrCJpfCdPO3vuZPEnLh-RhI-ThV5AerUIO-Mf-9b7FWsqOfDInCGxySFCz_gq9IVoGOGUEClDiRvTtjhUFgE_rnnzX22g4DFVBIHGDJqGYwOKIhpMZmwh5NU4GfB4GpEEqV3cBirL9rS/s1600/mmm%252C+Brush-Ups.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkrCJpfCdPO3vuZPEnLh-RhI-ThV5AerUIO-Mf-9b7FWsqOfDInCGxySFCz_gq9IVoGOGUEClDiRvTtjhUFgE_rnnzX22g4DFVBIHGDJqGYwOKIhpMZmwh5NU4GfB4GpEEqV3cBirL9rS/s400/mmm%252C+Brush-Ups.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO5hJp397tNO6YuHNy-G6JdSOob0odql-ON_XXyX1QHWQ0EbglQRwnFVc0lWpSwSjaE1_3wtTBoi3pX_sShVKBKejPrBwpwIwSOCdNzqLwABZ_NjZVw4OT278KRxZOd6TVBUIKVoiqV-F/s1600/band+geeks+with+Halloween+spirit.jpg" style="clear: right; color: #118899; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO5hJp397tNO6YuHNy-G6JdSOob0odql-ON_XXyX1QHWQ0EbglQRwnFVc0lWpSwSjaE1_3wtTBoi3pX_sShVKBKejPrBwpwIwSOCdNzqLwABZ_NjZVw4OT278KRxZOd6TVBUIKVoiqV-F/s400/band+geeks+with+Halloween+spirit.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej9dNFX-SqLsiFS6YLZTjm0T24XVGvfw1UDlZeTNrfuGoFPS37Ujj3sViVd2A3XEIQY58PYSoEqG_FX-iOu4sa5NWx0Fn2VXtrsAJRxOhqEhAsBMcoU4wH2W269U0thmqr2zn7SbDvuSn/s1600/0177c8ed5d43fb1d8af2735542b8879d71ed113bc7.jpg" style="clear: right; color: #559099; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej9dNFX-SqLsiFS6YLZTjm0T24XVGvfw1UDlZeTNrfuGoFPS37Ujj3sViVd2A3XEIQY58PYSoEqG_FX-iOu4sa5NWx0Fn2VXtrsAJRxOhqEhAsBMcoU4wH2W269U0thmqr2zn7SbDvuSn/s320/0177c8ed5d43fb1d8af2735542b8879d71ed113bc7.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="222" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Halloween of my senior year of high school was AWESOME. That was the year our high school football team made it to the state playoffs (and won). Halloween was right around said big game, so all of Halloween (which was on a Sunday, so we celebrated early at school) was one big pep rally day. There were games and snacks and absolutely no productivity whatsoever. My outfit was a red one-piece bell-bottomed monstrosity that I got at Goodwill, plus some go-go boots and a shiny scarf. I was a reject Charlie's Angel. I had to work at the Dairy Mart that evening, and there was no way that I was doing so in a polyester jumpsuit. I changed into a dress and saddle shoes and was a generic sock-hopper. On Halloween itself, Bob and I dressed up as beat-up band kids and Meagan dressed up as our band director... and we went trick-or-treating at his house. I recall that he and his wife thought we were hilarious. Or hilariously lame. Either way.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2005</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>band kid</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5tPUqO2xgEj6Vb38-Y9eLXzL1-0CR6pDtY2MHiLodMMwsgVQwr4rsVKmYGTdj0YYE4tbANufc_9ZoWAhxXqBeN805QiV28hs4JktNUzbDZpkw8YNSV2ocaV7Bk0wyv-N7-088tUwx39C/s1600/band+and+ketchup.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5tPUqO2xgEj6Vb38-Y9eLXzL1-0CR6pDtY2MHiLodMMwsgVQwr4rsVKmYGTdj0YYE4tbANufc_9ZoWAhxXqBeN805QiV28hs4JktNUzbDZpkw8YNSV2ocaV7Bk0wyv-N7-088tUwx39C/s400/band+and+ketchup.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="301" /></b></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">(Editor's note: this qualifies as a different costume than the previous year because a.) I was a beat up band kid in 2004 and just a regular one in 2005, and b.) the beat up band kid costume was not my main costume: an honor I'd give to my reject Charlie's Angel jumpsuit.) </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Yes, friends: this was the first year of the triple costume. M</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">uch to my great pleasure, I found all sorts of people at college who loved to dress up at Halloween. I </span><strike style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">stole</strike><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> adopted my old band uniform - after all, the school had just gotten new ones and was systematically burning/donating/destroying the old uniforms, so I figured that I might as well give mine the loving home it deserved. Anyway, it was the perfect Midwestern costume - made of wool = super warm. And how about that hat? If only I'd had the red plume that goes with it. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2006</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>zombie I/sailor-ish/opposite</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1lNunNoGZSXohDO8K3nmWEnQ8P5n5gQFy-WVDrLD7bFMSy2ZfL05MCcp8MOlpzVMO8turV1O4dCNIL7faKp42sQytFXMumYePxb9sz4H1AP7NBy1Fut5rprvvu6AGkN-fU_1eZvZRi5G/s1600/2006.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1lNunNoGZSXohDO8K3nmWEnQ8P5n5gQFy-WVDrLD7bFMSy2ZfL05MCcp8MOlpzVMO8turV1O4dCNIL7faKp42sQytFXMumYePxb9sz4H1AP7NBy1Fut5rprvvu6AGkN-fU_1eZvZRi5G/s320/2006.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="201" /></a></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ruvKm1f_Q5Od9hFqcSB63UpIO5uuae4ZtR5wUSY-kbvcQIeISmIfZowWMzGX7JgCd0AfU9I2-8mvYMYWod49765Po2_m3XM-p7vgj3oNJ2iKo8IrhDCt334yV4gx2qgRoVV_GpEf2xYh/s1600/2006+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ruvKm1f_Q5Od9hFqcSB63UpIO5uuae4ZtR5wUSY-kbvcQIeISmIfZowWMzGX7JgCd0AfU9I2-8mvYMYWod49765Po2_m3XM-p7vgj3oNJ2iKo8IrhDCt334yV4gx2qgRoVV_GpEf2xYh/s320/2006+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="264" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-1oP3jGvWGTBTBf3dkc0nGxl102jzCEGUBD9rdU0Ci4WVXDYAViOj4FNjt7N_ApjntOlwGFF93kiYxxKOmxdftChy8i8omhg0_I7c4YWaXaPPXqvjY2S7STC8JcrML0urmsvDGhCUJMn/s1600/2006+-+3.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-1oP3jGvWGTBTBf3dkc0nGxl102jzCEGUBD9rdU0Ci4WVXDYAViOj4FNjt7N_ApjntOlwGFF93kiYxxKOmxdftChy8i8omhg0_I7c4YWaXaPPXqvjY2S7STC8JcrML0urmsvDGhCUJMn/s320/2006+-+3.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="235" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">The triple costume returns! My friend Sara and I attended UMM's first Zombie Prom: though we look like undead pandas, believe me when I say that we were zombies. Halloween was on a Tuesday that year, so we also needed costumes for the preceding weekend: hence my sailor outfit. It's difficult to see in this picture, but my top is an actual wool sailing uniform that I picked up at an antique store. Points for authenticity. Finally, Sara and I had costumes for Halloween itself: we went as opposites. It's the only time that I've ever dressed as a concept for Halloween, and it was a very liberal arts college thing to do. I totally loved it and still think we were a little bit brilliant.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2007</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Croc</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><b style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehHAqcDKi10Xf0FiWzYCsFQMVey_mTypZmmwDtLu4mPnj3Ujfuh9GOvfAZxmMtnLESLYOD8WswVmHOfhthwZIHwM5GZAp9Elt6waNmyy67F3QO6lrJkw5cOyirrdnLCqXOK3LEcoOo0RK/s1600/croc-tacular.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehHAqcDKi10Xf0FiWzYCsFQMVey_mTypZmmwDtLu4mPnj3Ujfuh9GOvfAZxmMtnLESLYOD8WswVmHOfhthwZIHwM5GZAp9Elt6waNmyy67F3QO6lrJkw5cOyirrdnLCqXOK3LEcoOo0RK/s400/croc-tacular.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="297" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">One of my all-time favourite costumes: the year of the Croc. Ever since I first saw those rubbery horrors, I have cursed their existence. Sara had a pair of pink Crocs that she so graciously let me borrow for this costume. This was the year that Halloween was on a Wednesday, and Wednesday nights were the nights that both Sara (the news editor) and I (the arts and entertainment editor) worked late at the college paper. We put in extra hours on Monday and Tuesday of that week in order to be out the door by 10pm Wednesday - instead of our usual 2am Thursday. Halloween is THAT important.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2008</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Norwegian</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8Aub9695L4IJt82X2fC2hmWQ-KabmtUbjLRYzOh67PEJfJe2vlZw75bmiQE8dLTMS8QKTsbfob5Z1aPWdooTKUIExNKGpQBmj-l_9AJ8ihz7tUb-2Am2c2bBUO33hbWrbKVmXGMpn-bZ/s1600/DSCF4960.JPG" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8Aub9695L4IJt82X2fC2hmWQ-KabmtUbjLRYzOh67PEJfJe2vlZw75bmiQE8dLTMS8QKTsbfob5Z1aPWdooTKUIExNKGpQBmj-l_9AJ8ihz7tUb-2Am2c2bBUO33hbWrbKVmXGMpn-bZ/s400/DSCF4960.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="338" /></b></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Thanks to the leap year, Halloween landed on a Friday in 2008. Theoretically, that was great: but we poor band kids had a concert on HALLOWEEN NIGHT. And not even a fun Halloween concert... a regular concert that no one attended BECAUSE IT WAS HALLOWEEN. After the concert, we all booked it back to our houses to get into our Halloween costumes and catch up to the rest of our non-band friends. My costume is an authentic Norwegian folk costume, given to me by my authentic Norwegian grandma. And made of wool. The best Minnesotan Halloween costumes are wool-based.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2010</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b><i>Lobster Telephone/</i>skeleton vampire</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCzORjHWEBnCRr33nWaaZpqhICfH6mTQGTekTDfjc8rqTisDsre_HlysJkKxRRpsHTLqF7Nt-eDDibcLTYoipiswUeqlQep_2G_97EGaOAIbc5sbcNZVHw56vr5Fhp-8pWLoeXNnxZ3aj/s1600/100_7944.JPG" style="clear: right; color: #118899; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1113" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCzORjHWEBnCRr33nWaaZpqhICfH6mTQGTekTDfjc8rqTisDsre_HlysJkKxRRpsHTLqF7Nt-eDDibcLTYoipiswUeqlQep_2G_97EGaOAIbc5sbcNZVHw56vr5Fhp-8pWLoeXNnxZ3aj/s320/100_7944.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="222" /></a><b style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJx0NYnlwmjUYthzmJfuYW4HAEXZc0rVGzMdCnYyk6Z_0Jsd3N5rpc0B75VDUNstU19xkf-Gd3xg01mcGSyeJfixqY3ccLawBQAkCHtUnpt1mga3CXkPVk9eT_Sd6j59aknz841ApI8LfR/s1600/2010.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJx0NYnlwmjUYthzmJfuYW4HAEXZc0rVGzMdCnYyk6Z_0Jsd3N5rpc0B75VDUNstU19xkf-Gd3xg01mcGSyeJfixqY3ccLawBQAkCHtUnpt1mga3CXkPVk9eT_Sd6j59aknz841ApI8LfR/s320/2010.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="320" /></a> </b></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I was living in Minneapolis in 2010, which is an all-around excellent place to spend Halloween. I had finished my tenure as an intern at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, but during my time there, I learned about all sorts of cool events that they sponsor. Example: they do this thing called Third Thursdays where, the third Thursday of each month, they keep the museum open late and have some kind of big event. On this particular Third Thursday, the MIA asked attendees to come dressed as their favorite MIA work of art. I chose Dali's <i>Lobster Telephone </i>because why on earth WOULDN'T you choose <i>Lobster Telephone</i>? That same weekend, James and I went to a performance of <i>Psycho </i>with the Minnesota Orchestra - the movie was playing on a screen behind the orchestra while they played the soundtrack. It was amazing. I had purchased this skeleton shirt at Walmart in college (2007? probably?). It was child-sized and glowed in the dark and I loved it. Oddly, this is not the last appearance of me in child-sized skeleton apparel.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2011</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Rocky Horror fail/old-timey teacher</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRejdn-qVQfItCuqZ4hJsBjrrnYRoyhn3OM6bmo4YLMe_AZcpP_zIMbvTeNOZRSSFcpI4KyBaa0lLRGR6EARuir1Ap87awa_NxCNEsWyFUAOBKsa4bv344pr3ptELbzjb_CStPfcOGEcx/s1600/2011.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRejdn-qVQfItCuqZ4hJsBjrrnYRoyhn3OM6bmo4YLMe_AZcpP_zIMbvTeNOZRSSFcpI4KyBaa0lLRGR6EARuir1Ap87awa_NxCNEsWyFUAOBKsa4bv344pr3ptELbzjb_CStPfcOGEcx/s320/2011.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="212" /></a><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGUy3hvAYqAuMoKEb-5daxSmT78RxEERhSZov41vyiBw_IkAO4GEU5woB9MQyOing-Qy60bF3ZYxHHRETpTorcZwNaRf9TA-TWcgNVBvfxiRtdV4UqoZPv7OUlHqoSlY-qxkQGoAbNPao/s1600/2011+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGUy3hvAYqAuMoKEb-5daxSmT78RxEERhSZov41vyiBw_IkAO4GEU5woB9MQyOing-Qy60bF3ZYxHHRETpTorcZwNaRf9TA-TWcgNVBvfxiRtdV4UqoZPv7OUlHqoSlY-qxkQGoAbNPao/s320/2011+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="212" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">By 2011, I had moved to Sioux Falls and had been there for approximately one month. I wore the costume on the left to a midnight showing of <i>The Rocky Horror Picture Show</i>, hoping that it would be as amazing as the midnight showing I had seen in Minneapolis the year before. (Note: it wasn't.) My <i>Rocky Horror </i>outfit was not as risque as a real <i>Rocky Horror </i>outfit should be, but what can I say? It was cold, and I was a chicken. The costume on the left is the one I wore to work at the Department of Labor and Regulation. I was dead-broke, so I had to pretty much phone this one in. I carried a ruler and was an old-timey teacher - the dress belonged to my grandma in the 60s, who was real-life old-timey teacher. Again, points for authenticity.</span></div><div style="font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2012</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>Batman</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmCKTlC7_c97PolnamtknYahQ1wmGHc63mnoeAPiv7DIHgJ9KAeZjrqDxZKrLbFeu3BxL2G6CMQO3XnyzvGUxwR1fYAcJI4mPXqhvIGL0LpKjlFaQpQL8loMXS2otlg5jlhRt_zJ5iVox/s1600/2012.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmCKTlC7_c97PolnamtknYahQ1wmGHc63mnoeAPiv7DIHgJ9KAeZjrqDxZKrLbFeu3BxL2G6CMQO3XnyzvGUxwR1fYAcJI4mPXqhvIGL0LpKjlFaQpQL8loMXS2otlg5jlhRt_zJ5iVox/s640/2012.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="372" /></b></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">By Halloween 2012, I was gainfully employed at the library and was delighted to find out that nearly everyone at the library dressed up for Halloween. The library costumes were all part of a theme, and the theme that year was superheroes. That worked out perfectly for me, as my brother Mitch had given me this spectacular pair of pajamas for Christmas the year before. And may I say that James's Pee-Wee Herman costume is simply amazing? </span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2013</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>zombie II/Duck Dynasty/Mary Poppins</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNeJIQkbyXYCG999JH_af9CjK1nGPNRPIv8i12vGcPA5S2v7ZBf6jWAAOvfIRBNb-j7VvIA8gUSpjNWOMmgtYWjX_3WMFWVu1rQ8c4gdGB71q1Q7vHMkXUol5lf-3VPpLezeiRRXVqo5I/s1600/2013.jpg" style="clear: left; color: #559099; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNeJIQkbyXYCG999JH_af9CjK1nGPNRPIv8i12vGcPA5S2v7ZBf6jWAAOvfIRBNb-j7VvIA8gUSpjNWOMmgtYWjX_3WMFWVu1rQ8c4gdGB71q1Q7vHMkXUol5lf-3VPpLezeiRRXVqo5I/s320/2013.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="176" /></a><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzxraMyZQd7JmxeItPZyJiCDw5S0_w6oXxjN6JzcDzzvimx7Bl1xMG_ygzflbCU3XnMWZjmtMDqBb12RUmVc7o2qqZDZX_1cciNa32D1qzB7zVzBCitUumZsHn7Fget7FoZzZQZE0R7c-/s400/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="400" /><b> </b></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRk2SxCgaFaeHlo8BPof_m2EWy5jgyStdwMWLpDg16rd1Xvs_hWvmXQXN8b8R77LjbzSUIl-ckyJhsNc0qTn0BjKJQiBZsSmJfvsmNoaUf8sH7KTBTQgf7I1AXGuYiO-gTxzYtNrhjfQR/s1600/IMG_9621.JPG" style="clear: left; color: #559099; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRk2SxCgaFaeHlo8BPof_m2EWy5jgyStdwMWLpDg16rd1Xvs_hWvmXQXN8b8R77LjbzSUIl-ckyJhsNc0qTn0BjKJQiBZsSmJfvsmNoaUf8sH7KTBTQgf7I1AXGuYiO-gTxzYtNrhjfQR/s320/IMG_9621.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="208" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">2013 was the first year that we participated in the Zombie Walk... and I didn't really even get to be in it. The parade started at 5 o'clock, but I worked until 5... I thought I could quick run over, find James and our friend Nate, and quick get my makeup done and hop in the parade. Alas, by the time I left the library and made it to the zombie area (approx. two minutes), the parade was over. So I found James and Nate at a restaurant, and they did my makeup while we were waiting for a table. For Halloween itself, the library's theme costume was Duck Dynasty (NOT MY VOTE - I need you to know that), but my REAL costume was Mary Poppins - and this was the first (and so far, only) year James and I have had couples' costumes. </span></span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>2014</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><b>zombie III/Buster Bluth</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdCq0b_Yi9nvOV9IZfpYie6DbdWvuM6y3lwNRqQ8sx7FLUbim0oMCZzUSJUc5uB_I_LUCmxsbsTsKIIMlUSv4ZWqE9K9T0ER65_8oZ47c42KdhSUiFxhqvY1Ay_BVp51b-D2XYZ4NvjoL/s1600/2014.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdCq0b_Yi9nvOV9IZfpYie6DbdWvuM6y3lwNRqQ8sx7FLUbim0oMCZzUSJUc5uB_I_LUCmxsbsTsKIIMlUSv4ZWqE9K9T0ER65_8oZ47c42KdhSUiFxhqvY1Ay_BVp51b-D2XYZ4NvjoL/s320/2014.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupp2O7dHTS5RighvgwoS_y-tMQt0uYzcRRYnFrjggoh2ldgrreXlrzolGPbJPxJNf5ApAD2dnvXl9G_ZIIpUm5rG5pjqe242_s4GhE6CCnsHF9AY1rOKuMlF1NmRh23elIJFjFPxC_SOG/s1600/2014+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupp2O7dHTS5RighvgwoS_y-tMQt0uYzcRRYnFrjggoh2ldgrreXlrzolGPbJPxJNf5ApAD2dnvXl9G_ZIIpUm5rG5pjqe242_s4GhE6CCnsHF9AY1rOKuMlF1NmRh23elIJFjFPxC_SOG/s400/2014+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="225" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">We arrive at 2014. Mitch made it for the Zombie Walk, and I feel as though our makeup was much better than the year before. For Halloween, I convinced the library to go with a "TV characters" theme just because I had been dying to go as Buster Bluth. I repurposed the Duck Dynasty jacket from the year before and bought camo pants, a hook, an army hat, wire glasses, and a loose seal - complete with a yellow bow tie. It was the most I'd ever spent on a Halloween costume, and the hardest I'd ever worked on one. And you know what? Almost NO ONE got it. At the bar that evening, one guy yelled out "Motherboy," which was a spot-on Buster Bluth reference and totally made my night.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2015</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie IV/Maleficent/Marla Hooch</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkgJxIOTr8kg3layfEhWay8WLitz0WoZOat2s2IAqcAM34I8TvJfDU6BGX6E0daRl-eJmgiYzLiQedor69Ra7LD5_uCQipMWhISY2344do4i21AixPKOMyCQUV6No4xyN5CFhJlxMvSLu/s320/10393785_10106810396537680_1218078715029593142_n.jpg" width="232" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRiXLD9d0C6ar7h4KZfF5xnksnv2eMhFCXDn_Ouz-vUefoLDHUyEYPJ3OxALEcJRg7fM79PzYjkryg_fSakvI-Iogitxf0duoZWdPL8z-8kWOQ89azq_k8aluO9Av9CjkyG6ywEBe5u1S/s1600/0141f434f510d223259f856c9f7efea12b2db792d5.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRiXLD9d0C6ar7h4KZfF5xnksnv2eMhFCXDn_Ouz-vUefoLDHUyEYPJ3OxALEcJRg7fM79PzYjkryg_fSakvI-Iogitxf0duoZWdPL8z-8kWOQ89azq_k8aluO9Av9CjkyG6ywEBe5u1S/s320/0141f434f510d223259f856c9f7efea12b2db792d5.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="156" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEwfGjYwEwyooiUvfeNIKav7gSus_Bf94ln8hQEQV9iwscrEjT7vQ7XSTzURDPFtTNmkexiInU7tr8v34OMOBl_EIBjUODrvSC0jTvxdWUHeuwzJIpVYA0iIYnrm8OBKQOtt7drvSzvNm/s1600/016007b64103909d3021c309ab3392484b6a3433cd.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEwfGjYwEwyooiUvfeNIKav7gSus_Bf94ln8hQEQV9iwscrEjT7vQ7XSTzURDPFtTNmkexiInU7tr8v34OMOBl_EIBjUODrvSC0jTvxdWUHeuwzJIpVYA0iIYnrm8OBKQOtt7drvSzvNm/s320/016007b64103909d3021c309ab3392484b6a3433cd.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="144" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">2015 was a particularly strong year for me, and I'm really quite proud of my costumes. Of course, there was the zombie element: I went to both the Minneapolis Zombie Pub Crawl and the Sioux Falls Zombie Walk, so zombie squared. (I'm only including the one picture, though, since my zombie costume was the same.) For work, I dressed as Maleficent. Our work theme was heroes and villains, and I was only one of two villains. I got a lot of great compliments on my costume that day, and no less than three people asked to take a picture of/with me. But what really struck me as hilarious was that for every one person who commented on my costume, there were at least three more who pretended like absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary. On Halloween itself, I dressed as a Rockford Peach - specifically, Marla Hooch. "And then there's Marla Hooch... what a hitter!"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2016</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie V/zombie David Bowie/Scarlett O'Hara</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6DLkBd6Jhdxw8xe_FEKpzMtoaugEXhfdX4Q26GnQu8OsQP6L_h-jK8_bnfI0bNb33PHT6GW5RhcjSHTBtejzvljo8nchjsB91jZ19yToKNUPgkpS8buKS7eLBOQaE0BUxE6_CFHD44S2/s1600/14720520_10108383820049350_873952955584558202_n.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6DLkBd6Jhdxw8xe_FEKpzMtoaugEXhfdX4Q26GnQu8OsQP6L_h-jK8_bnfI0bNb33PHT6GW5RhcjSHTBtejzvljo8nchjsB91jZ19yToKNUPgkpS8buKS7eLBOQaE0BUxE6_CFHD44S2/s320/14720520_10108383820049350_873952955584558202_n.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="209" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-5eYOi11Cwn6aDAQIpLS6QrIgLo7apzdYUE5_ojjjHy5fccIvvZcFns5KDjeVRmHugxnTOtlbr8tYeJ131jPOOXPYAuwvVQkJs5TPenfAZ6kJJJsjs_DjPc20_u_sJiHvzbdOTO_bHqF/s1600/14656421_10108463221303600_2789273788009551940_n.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-5eYOi11Cwn6aDAQIpLS6QrIgLo7apzdYUE5_ojjjHy5fccIvvZcFns5KDjeVRmHugxnTOtlbr8tYeJ131jPOOXPYAuwvVQkJs5TPenfAZ6kJJJsjs_DjPc20_u_sJiHvzbdOTO_bHqF/s320/14656421_10108463221303600_2789273788009551940_n.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsq3mwZCg5l7krBzE697LIRKqFCOgySYpZ3rRKbaGAHVt1qlKXtUCCGbqv9Kw0b9Ud0pAXw1coeFtdh4MHYsE1gTFNb4B5SQuLninvdCClfYXD-0BLv_J8OBMB6JRoZUpN_gMmPr0w3gz3/s1600/14956629_10108478936565090_173224651763958451_n.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsq3mwZCg5l7krBzE697LIRKqFCOgySYpZ3rRKbaGAHVt1qlKXtUCCGbqv9Kw0b9Ud0pAXw1coeFtdh4MHYsE1gTFNb4B5SQuLninvdCClfYXD-0BLv_J8OBMB6JRoZUpN_gMmPr0w3gz3/s320/14956629_10108478936565090_173224651763958451_n.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here I am at the 2016 Minneapolis Zombie Pub Crawl, in my child-size skeleton onesie. We had initially planned to go as Zombie Clue (which would've been AWESOME), but two members of our group couldn't come. Instead of looking like idiots when we dressed as just part of Zombie Clue, we went with the classic random zombie horde. I found my costume the day of at Goodwill. Typical zombie behavior. In the middle is my costume for the Sioux Falls Zombie Walk: my FAVORITE event of the year. James went as Zombie Prince, and I was Zombie David Bowie. Too soon. Finally, on actual Halloween, I dressed as Scarlett O'Hara. Hoop skirt and all. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2017</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie dinosaur/jellyfish</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSoeNjiMGQnV5MYzMV2yEsd9JUplvHdU0xzN-_xVit5vZsyvL2_lI8PI6Dmnx1Hf2qTRIgBTeNn4VIGbqY4FhLDlkfEIL05UGDQeRwdVaXJxtb1sNFJNQ2Vj0DBjNuES-Uyb7EVGQcSa0F/s1600/zombie+dinosaur.jpg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSoeNjiMGQnV5MYzMV2yEsd9JUplvHdU0xzN-_xVit5vZsyvL2_lI8PI6Dmnx1Hf2qTRIgBTeNn4VIGbqY4FhLDlkfEIL05UGDQeRwdVaXJxtb1sNFJNQ2Vj0DBjNuES-Uyb7EVGQcSa0F/s320/zombie+dinosaur.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sQWhcy47hOah-r0Etef-ShuM49jZ8KR1tnKfYhHohq3323yuIos8hKhSfbGxjj62oRG6O59Sx687l1SqbUk1Rh3wqsqu0B2DtNzCwrm0M4urU2YobRPIQEwQCoxNVwEjVJrpZSIE5OEB/s1600/jellyfish+and+shar.jpg" style="color: #118899; font-size: 27.72px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1043" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sQWhcy47hOah-r0Etef-ShuM49jZ8KR1tnKfYhHohq3323yuIos8hKhSfbGxjj62oRG6O59Sx687l1SqbUk1Rh3wqsqu0B2DtNzCwrm0M4urU2YobRPIQEwQCoxNVwEjVJrpZSIE5OEB/s320/jellyfish+and+shar.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="208" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">2017 was the year I started grad school. My program is set up so that the bulk of it is online, but we do meet in person in Sioux Falls for intensive weekends from time to time. One of the intensive weekends (which are super NOT optional) landed on Zombie Walk weekend. The class went from 9am - 5pm on Friday. Zombie Walk starts promptly at 5 downtown. The second class let out, I bolted to the parking lot, where James was waiting for me with my dinosaur onesie costume, a Zombie Walk entry pin, and a bag of zombie makeup. While he drove us downtown, I did my makeup in the car. Not too bad for hastily applied car zombie makeup, I must say. For Halloween itself, I dressed up like a jellyfish: my most ambitious handmade costume to date. I had a tutu, iridescent leggings, fairy lights wound inside my tutu, glitter glued to my face, and a billion strands of glittery ribbon hot-glued to my tutu. I left a trail of glitter wherever I went (I STILL find glitter in my car), but it was AWESOME.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2018</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie Marty McFly/Marla Hooch reprise/Beetlejuice/Winifred Sanderson</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXq6OMnI8HfMxONY01MMXe4VFD3EIp968ipp-GnC8KdLNhecLwgZDZpdn-LpRbh65uLxkr70SScoox-jkEaPHw4O5H0CuJB1j8iHRLT5A3hGey0tWQ6yRQcEjIbbvr1q9Or2yC3GFa5UMk/s1600/marty+and+doc.jpg" style="clear: left; color: #118899; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1412" data-original-width="825" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXq6OMnI8HfMxONY01MMXe4VFD3EIp968ipp-GnC8KdLNhecLwgZDZpdn-LpRbh65uLxkr70SScoox-jkEaPHw4O5H0CuJB1j8iHRLT5A3hGey0tWQ6yRQcEjIbbvr1q9Or2yC3GFa5UMk/s400/marty+and+doc.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="232" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqku1LB7sQxSEtvbLWxUQ1u_1HOiP1_CHGv5CiN971M1ds90xmivNWdzionKopUbZ1uGf8gli5OROQatoHlaaUiRhbl5hX-dCH4OxDsEMdx9lGvWtwGN3l6Hovd2UZkcRwKoBMzNOc3C99/s1600/marla+and+maleficent.jpg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqku1LB7sQxSEtvbLWxUQ1u_1HOiP1_CHGv5CiN971M1ds90xmivNWdzionKopUbZ1uGf8gli5OROQatoHlaaUiRhbl5hX-dCH4OxDsEMdx9lGvWtwGN3l6Hovd2UZkcRwKoBMzNOc3C99/s400/marla+and+maleficent.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDTRbXc-X0G85mU9bqxY6V63WEb4lbAyxxS345QPgUJJYzCud7nGbQ_gUtH9S8z2T0NSzDv8UETmq_3Z9eQy36mE3ARBENsh_YXyrcUBUPgGf1iQX5-jMhLfaPTzigl1TCw17T9THCjnn/s1600/Beetlejuice.jpg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="826" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDTRbXc-X0G85mU9bqxY6V63WEb4lbAyxxS345QPgUJJYzCud7nGbQ_gUtH9S8z2T0NSzDv8UETmq_3Z9eQy36mE3ARBENsh_YXyrcUBUPgGf1iQX5-jMhLfaPTzigl1TCw17T9THCjnn/s320/Beetlejuice.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="275" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFsLLWsi-AVoce61rrpGn12KYuF_1uPciJHvCvfWm7mPYQRtu4uh0uxKtfjLxFfBBowOTS2_BzhtYcKb7mkkivGiexmtgNeVtDAFhLyOXYqXUzd4WPaZESkYTWBwBoOEvw5CjHLJYxEAJ/s1600/2018+-+6.jpg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="957" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFsLLWsi-AVoce61rrpGn12KYuF_1uPciJHvCvfWm7mPYQRtu4uh0uxKtfjLxFfBBowOTS2_BzhtYcKb7mkkivGiexmtgNeVtDAFhLyOXYqXUzd4WPaZESkYTWBwBoOEvw5CjHLJYxEAJ/s320/2018+-+6.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="190" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">2018 was AWESOME. It was the first year I had QUADRUPLE costumes. 2018 was the first year James and I went as couple zombies to the Zombie Walk, and I have to say, we were a hit. And by that, I mean we got lots of high-fives. Plus, my Marty McFly vest was super warm during the cold and rainy parade, so that was an unexpected bonus. After the Zombie Walk, our friends Bob and Luke hosted a "nevertheless, she trick-or-treated" Halloween party, and you were to dress as a strong woman. So Marla Hooch made a comeback, as did Maleficent (but on James this time). This was James's first time dressing as a woman for Halloween, and he was super into how comfortable Maleficent's robe was. My Beetlejuice costume was for a Halloween-themed murder mystery event we had at the library. My goal as a child was to have a career that allowed me to dress up for Halloween, and I hit the jackpot as a librarian. I got my Winifred Sanderson costume at the Halloween store on November 1 2017- 50% off! I have wanted to be Winifred Sanderson FOREVER, and this year was finally my year. And this was the same year we had a teeny black kitten (named Ned) who could pose as my Binx.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2019</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie Bojack Horseman/Captain Hook/traditional vampire/Willy Wonka/grim reaper</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSpK7XBKypGGCNDtKAgBH5ndhiV_YAQL9Sax3WrCyNYpuXA2ELYSnNiUk9imnjEjCWK3XRJZ-iKVmiKw3XBzlS5_Czqxpgm-uwwakXewrS-ULahTsv0-2my0behAqOLtcH7jUGmBZLdsT/s1600/vampire.jpg" style="clear: right; color: #118899; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSpK7XBKypGGCNDtKAgBH5ndhiV_YAQL9Sax3WrCyNYpuXA2ELYSnNiUk9imnjEjCWK3XRJZ-iKVmiKw3XBzlS5_Czqxpgm-uwwakXewrS-ULahTsv0-2my0behAqOLtcH7jUGmBZLdsT/s320/vampire.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5EpvsSgzF1rnEOUUvW0e_NeFHyrNAC7EPD2caFzbHiK2lFx05xQOqAu_zjd0iEk4ekx5NmoaKypxv1gvJXcThAOYEe-bUHwMNi2ta5NAcP6ZuSi2iYKmGPrRx8fXlLdLznq2pCwW6H_D/s1600/IMG-8757.JPG" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVEdvPM_jhwNAGQSx-DK23rUKULD5D6LT0hIWT7AZmahlkXXthyphenhyphenJzZHOCGHnURxqGfKigDmPlQUgmjtSKUAIMtQtqBvpkpsnJjUN3YWgluHFmNEl0erutPfQjs-yT4M6U8uCizuVT3vdC/s320/IMG-8755.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="180" /> <img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5EpvsSgzF1rnEOUUvW0e_NeFHyrNAC7EPD2caFzbHiK2lFx05xQOqAu_zjd0iEk4ekx5NmoaKypxv1gvJXcThAOYEe-bUHwMNi2ta5NAcP6ZuSi2iYKmGPrRx8fXlLdLznq2pCwW6H_D/s320/IMG-8757.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7pT5YlEKtVHtZUX3ce2FvXMKAsPcoNotJUKN4RdDuoFocbdYnt-yI59xUU2zddTxtzKryjVx-IL9ZErYtFmReZ35g1JNwq0nYYQcQDqGmbwAivHpIWgVp00rrMBpMmD67MnEw1byHm75/s1600/ww.jpg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="914" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7pT5YlEKtVHtZUX3ce2FvXMKAsPcoNotJUKN4RdDuoFocbdYnt-yI59xUU2zddTxtzKryjVx-IL9ZErYtFmReZ35g1JNwq0nYYQcQDqGmbwAivHpIWgVp00rrMBpMmD67MnEw1byHm75/s320/ww.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="182" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qeyAZSPhBurRTxEBdt2BfsEppUUOIoRen4opyy2RYnHLXafMKDYODOM1QH09O91N0_Q4j7mpNZdJSHY7J3fSVK4XAN-lRodssCdKQnH0fVqAsIfe8pQX4rq3qkBVRhb81u0qMsaKqc8Q/s1600/reaper.jpg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qeyAZSPhBurRTxEBdt2BfsEppUUOIoRen4opyy2RYnHLXafMKDYODOM1QH09O91N0_Q4j7mpNZdJSHY7J3fSVK4XAN-lRodssCdKQnH0fVqAsIfe8pQX4rq3qkBVRhb81u0qMsaKqc8Q/s320/reaper.jpg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="180" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;">You guys. Five costumes, one Halloween season. A personal best. This was made possible by having two Halloween library programs instead of just one. 2019 saw the sixth year of me as a zombie - this year, I was zombie Bojack Horseman and James was zombie Todd. The horse head mask was impossible to see in and stunk like disgusting rubber, so this picture was the only time I actually wore it over my head. I had actual zombie makeup on under there; I promise. That same evening, we went to a Halloween party at our friends' house, at which I won the popular vote for best costume. I've never worn a fake mustache before, and let me tell you, it's not for the weak. The library had our Halloween murder mystery a few days later, and this had a vampire theme. I dug out my vampire cape from 2002, but I was a more traditional vampire - not to be confused with whatever medieval vampire I was in 2002 or Count von Disco Bono in 2003. I even had fangs. On Halloween itself, I dressed as Willy Wonka: a costume that had been on my to-do list for ages. It turns out all I had to do was buy the hat, the bowtie, and the blazer, and a costume was born. The blazer is some cheap polyester thing from Amazon, but I ended up actually liking it, so it already has a home in my business casual rotation. Then, on Halloween night, the library had a haunted pumpkin patch story time. It was AWESOME. We decorated the pumpkin patch, read scary stories, and had staff scaring children. I was the Grim Reaper, and it is my favourite library program to date.</span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2020</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">Landshark/Ursula/Brienne of Tarth</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_H2VzcWwZ1KuaOBv94iBqNMNr-CqLjfpZamfCIdbKKqsZBiymWrI3PLkEn-cOs87ApCzTLaOei80FnTPiV7inIP45qqeJFkv1xgZXy2yH5qsEp81hMtpsknsZ2_Bsw79pkDRbM0lj2YcT/s2048/IMG_9361.jpeg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_H2VzcWwZ1KuaOBv94iBqNMNr-CqLjfpZamfCIdbKKqsZBiymWrI3PLkEn-cOs87ApCzTLaOei80FnTPiV7inIP45qqeJFkv1xgZXy2yH5qsEp81hMtpsknsZ2_Bsw79pkDRbM0lj2YcT/s320/IMG_9361.jpeg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2pHjib1ZdkIJCkBdHFd-wON-QQ7ONiwyruvs9CvE2ko-dN6wxrJ6F-u5IrfJ7zGbr7Fz8bArasUVeSn1BKmZqCDqbTWAvkHFDdAhQ0muJsylow12-KNQs8oYWbF6Ad0nZpJDsNpgioKU/s2048/IMG_9443.JPG" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2pHjib1ZdkIJCkBdHFd-wON-QQ7ONiwyruvs9CvE2ko-dN6wxrJ6F-u5IrfJ7zGbr7Fz8bArasUVeSn1BKmZqCDqbTWAvkHFDdAhQ0muJsylow12-KNQs8oYWbF6Ad0nZpJDsNpgioKU/w240-h320/IMG_9443.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="240" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9HTvaAGKeV-M3YplEhE1u4zKC81p_KaDDvL22eEPlj4W9WA9spPJwEn156yCQbhgh215t-wLs1t7y11PvRcy2LUxpchhtDqa3fNC9GF2l8ZMWbzIYa3S256BZwfngfHZuOdLL3xUqiXR/s2048/IMG_9477.JPG" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9HTvaAGKeV-M3YplEhE1u4zKC81p_KaDDvL22eEPlj4W9WA9spPJwEn156yCQbhgh215t-wLs1t7y11PvRcy2LUxpchhtDqa3fNC9GF2l8ZMWbzIYa3S256BZwfngfHZuOdLL3xUqiXR/w320-h240/IMG_9477.JPG" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="320" /></a><br /></div></div></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; text-align: left;">Ah yes... COVID-ween. I've been some kind of zombie every year since 2013, and COVID forced me to break my streak. Zombiewalk was canceled, and rightly so, but I couldn't help but be a little bummed out about it. We also couldn't have a Halloween program at the library. I started off as Landshark on the Friday before Halloween - that's when us working folks dress up, after all. I volunteered to work at the library on Halloween day, mostly so I could wear another costume. I am a huge fan of Disney villains, so I chose Ursula and put my costume together thanks to a mishmash of things I ordered on Amazon. Finally, it was Phineas's first Halloween, so James and I had to make it count. It was also essential to put him in awesome costumes when he's young because he doesn't have any say. So we were Tormund Giantsbane, Brienne of Tarth, and a dire wolf. (If you're not familiar with Game of Thrones, I apologize.)</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>2021</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>bcat-cbat/snail/Buttercup</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeepQ82gBp2_f6rtOheKi7pL3Zx-NOt3AnuqszgUZfYO53gHwI6eOtdLX8colQcOwuyPPqOT2tyt1wLWERxKrHh7x0i47_eVTTXSgyG0j3uNGjkswRilJDM6zl8Fiq3T4mjp_P5a3E-RG/s2048/A312E5B6-876E-4D69-B3AC-ADBB625C136D.jpeg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeepQ82gBp2_f6rtOheKi7pL3Zx-NOt3AnuqszgUZfYO53gHwI6eOtdLX8colQcOwuyPPqOT2tyt1wLWERxKrHh7x0i47_eVTTXSgyG0j3uNGjkswRilJDM6zl8Fiq3T4mjp_P5a3E-RG/s320/A312E5B6-876E-4D69-B3AC-ADBB625C136D.jpeg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ea3KxeU8Ltv9tKDM7EDobkh-JfK12PELWfNJzKrJiHRQsM66TSzl-uFk9BCEhyphenhyphenm4fPIamYlItZdUDHlprSChmgWdPgAPqvogm8Ahf5eUiL8gufleotNqsrkk5FJffhXpSCPVMW-N1QSK/s2048/87E16AC2-06DE-4AF7-A3F1-65683B076995.jpeg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1638" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ea3KxeU8Ltv9tKDM7EDobkh-JfK12PELWfNJzKrJiHRQsM66TSzl-uFk9BCEhyphenhyphenm4fPIamYlItZdUDHlprSChmgWdPgAPqvogm8Ahf5eUiL8gufleotNqsrkk5FJffhXpSCPVMW-N1QSK/s320/87E16AC2-06DE-4AF7-A3F1-65683B076995.jpeg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sr1JCrjAUJMgx-y_uLWn8kmHZfKoz1ClsFiZLwmLVh2DiAEUXVgmE1JjVT_8O5tjXI2O3xhjCdssRz3x9h2Mg7YyYRX2oQoDjxhAe23ou5nPVi11X0gZtyp9AyaWeWSKsyhb_D4fcSbD/s1467/DBC33C39-90CD-4720-A646-8DEFFB6001F8.jpeg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sr1JCrjAUJMgx-y_uLWn8kmHZfKoz1ClsFiZLwmLVh2DiAEUXVgmE1JjVT_8O5tjXI2O3xhjCdssRz3x9h2Mg7YyYRX2oQoDjxhAe23ou5nPVi11X0gZtyp9AyaWeWSKsyhb_D4fcSbD/s320/DBC33C39-90CD-4720-A646-8DEFFB6001F8.jpeg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="314" /></a></div><br />My first costume is actually a bat, but I kept getting mistaken for a cat, so here we are. My snail costume is made out of library packaging material and a metric ton of hot glue. Our big family costume this year was Buttercup, Westley, and a Rodent of Unusual Size (who would not wear his cute mouse hat).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>2022</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>zombie Winifred Sanderson/Maleficent reprise/ Instagram/Golden Gate Bridge/Oscar the Grouch</b></span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ca2Dq-DCPvXSNnPM9QZABqCsSgy5eS5Kf5KYpOBW_9_vHa2VSb4dvYm9ihEm4AjIDWlQEOHtWmYPCsC2jcYu1UpTcyEOBIqWEtWDkI_M5nMFa6fQVCEUDKP2cxbKptFlbf7QgScsAhNmdYsAWkuH0M519JqR4Id2PtITXMbE_WOOGrzTRyiGfTOZNg/s2040/image000000%20(1).jpg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ca2Dq-DCPvXSNnPM9QZABqCsSgy5eS5Kf5KYpOBW_9_vHa2VSb4dvYm9ihEm4AjIDWlQEOHtWmYPCsC2jcYu1UpTcyEOBIqWEtWDkI_M5nMFa6fQVCEUDKP2cxbKptFlbf7QgScsAhNmdYsAWkuH0M519JqR4Id2PtITXMbE_WOOGrzTRyiGfTOZNg/s320/image000000%20(1).jpg" style="border: medium; 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position: relative;" width="242" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrSqjA2U7EMibAPUiuWTOb2KUEPw66YSwpNAVL-onkoc0KIjuNy7YQO72ElIE3QskQHySl_Aouz24B2U1hhr3rzdx88flKjiJQaq0YiOEXjLybXy_pPadklpBMbsv70WkIeEgpxdhYSXU1Zxlakyr2KBcOOqpUdz9gwRHB8uePIvLMPaO9UPvGJizkg/s1654/9E79C964-C553-4677-A603-BFB6EBA7B1A4.jpeg" style="color: #118899; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1654" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrSqjA2U7EMibAPUiuWTOb2KUEPw66YSwpNAVL-onkoc0KIjuNy7YQO72ElIE3QskQHySl_Aouz24B2U1hhr3rzdx88flKjiJQaq0YiOEXjLybXy_pPadklpBMbsv70WkIeEgpxdhYSXU1Zxlakyr2KBcOOqpUdz9gwRHB8uePIvLMPaO9UPvGJizkg/s320/9E79C964-C553-4677-A603-BFB6EBA7B1A4.jpeg" style="border: medium; position: relative;" width="279" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I am SO delighted to be back to my five-costume rotation. The library had a zombie program a couple of weeks before Halloween, and zombie costumes were encouraged. The local brewery has bingo every month, and this month included a costume contest. I won for "scariest." (There were like five people dressed up, but a win is a win.) The "Instagram v Reality" costume was a great last-minute costume which I find more hilarious as I look at it. Every year, I have a costume I am particularly excited about, and this year, it's the Golden Gate Bridge. Some of my favorite costumes of all time have been inanimate objects. Lastly, the three of us dressed up as Sesame Street characters for trick-or-treating with Phineas. </span></div></div><span style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"> </span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>2023</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Weird Al/Arthur/the Joker</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8XziLHKvu8xovVcU63P36vWMU78fr_D9dzlsu5_CI_ma6LqgIPNpCutK5Xbxzqh6ImNZbk9E994KsHfVcy0hFEPQgMleEzN54llmluq9tAN2cwWNSZhzEJF-MK8Q93jQh0qMOPHFtQBLhlVt1QOeYZ44dXSmsXhKZ7K1mxN0zdtR7uJ3A88pfcXK5K96/s1036/unnamed%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="829" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8XziLHKvu8xovVcU63P36vWMU78fr_D9dzlsu5_CI_ma6LqgIPNpCutK5Xbxzqh6ImNZbk9E994KsHfVcy0hFEPQgMleEzN54llmluq9tAN2cwWNSZhzEJF-MK8Q93jQh0qMOPHFtQBLhlVt1QOeYZ44dXSmsXhKZ7K1mxN0zdtR7uJ3A88pfcXK5K96/s320/unnamed%20(1).jpg" width="256" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod2jv-j5Q1m-4cGIzlB78vwbtRuF9cFZz1DB5I0eeQwX5JCdhiVQgUZIqGRfod-3XN6X1qhiQv5rl1cjuWMru9YNKV-w39tbFzd-WIcH5-oeDSb2M7apAqs6iMzH2uGQUWrei4V7WIfFCP90oHEPimETSZqZ048hVE_8Iq6COxuQ9P7oBI48sbLpM0Ouq/s4032/unnamed%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2659" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod2jv-j5Q1m-4cGIzlB78vwbtRuF9cFZz1DB5I0eeQwX5JCdhiVQgUZIqGRfod-3XN6X1qhiQv5rl1cjuWMru9YNKV-w39tbFzd-WIcH5-oeDSb2M7apAqs6iMzH2uGQUWrei4V7WIfFCP90oHEPimETSZqZ048hVE_8Iq6COxuQ9P7oBI48sbLpM0Ouq/s320/unnamed%20(2).jpg" width="211" /></a></div></div><b><br /></b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnXYckkqqFt6prLqFkys5ctsffVh01_sPTUnM9D_sVXjjTSj5ADI-2ymoNIonXdZb-uW-pYJLBfUjF2yM0M39NQoXaRGsHmowqzh5uNh1Fuuxdjc6Mn32aZg0lw3Mkr9yfXPt3qX8LkXO_jD3OtmkHn-dRKFvZN9zTiMpFSyy6vSifZITRraoxK_rOwuM/s1179/unnamed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="798" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnXYckkqqFt6prLqFkys5ctsffVh01_sPTUnM9D_sVXjjTSj5ADI-2ymoNIonXdZb-uW-pYJLBfUjF2yM0M39NQoXaRGsHmowqzh5uNh1Fuuxdjc6Mn32aZg0lw3Mkr9yfXPt3qX8LkXO_jD3OtmkHn-dRKFvZN9zTiMpFSyy6vSifZITRraoxK_rOwuM/s320/unnamed.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I admit, I was a little nervous about what Halloween would mean for me this year. My original due date with Robin was October 22, so I could have still been in the hospital or he could have been in the NICU. Robin ended up being born on October 4 and needing no time in the NICU, so that worked out quite well. My first costume of the year was for Halloween-themed rotary bingo at the brewery, at which I won a prize for "most hilarious." On Halloween day, there was an event at Phineas's preschool where adults were welcome to dress up, so obviously, I did. As Arthur. Finally, the family costume: Batman, Robin (ha), the Joker, and the Riddler. The first Halloween as a family of four.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>---------------------</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">And there's my lifetime of Halloweens! Rest assured I will continue adding to this list as the years go on, because you're never too old for Halloween. NEVER.</span></div></div>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-36961820142026890852023-10-23T11:58:00.019-05:002023-10-23T11:58:00.151-05:00Neopets and my prison pen pal.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I am an elder millennial. My brother, born six years after me, is a young millennial. One of the key differences is technology. For example, I read an article by an elder millennial saying that "the thought of learning Snapchat makes me want to take a long, peaceful nap," and I FEEL that. My brother, on the other hand, is an avid Snapchatter. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Elder millennials have very clear memories of the days before the internet. We got an internet connection at my house when I was 13 years old. Sure, we had the internet at school, but my formative years were spent largely without it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When we did get the internet, it was the year 2000. I went hog wild - or as hog wild as a dorky 13-year-old would go. I stayed up late chatting away on MSN Messenger. I spent hours waiting for terrible early YouTube videos to load (it was dial-up, after all). I joined a Simon and Garfunkel chat room and met one of my dearest friends (her name is Sue, and we have now been friends for 22 years). </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And then there was Neopets.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Neopets was (is?) a site where you could "adopt" a virtual pet - they were all made-up animals that you could name and put clothes on and "paint" them different colors. You had to play games on the site to earn points to "buy" the clothes and whatever else. I cringe when I think of how much time I spent on that stupid website. I don't remember what my Neopets' names were, but I know you could have four per account. I had a variety over the years, but I know I had some iteration of these four:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2XuQX2XzO5g3u2Ez8wPprqYi2OAX8Kc2kqclB-Wo9_g6Ih_-ClVusynhvzguJomX7StVlDDIA2HWm6NKoMM13kJN2P29CM6Ud_ZUHCdV43IzIgUVU94v4JFKHrtct0HFIe4PhWzIJaLD9WLqEqCVX9UQchV0btCL_Lor5rJzR85qIT19MTmqIf-Q4wEH/s150/2_rainbow.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2XuQX2XzO5g3u2Ez8wPprqYi2OAX8Kc2kqclB-Wo9_g6Ih_-ClVusynhvzguJomX7StVlDDIA2HWm6NKoMM13kJN2P29CM6Ud_ZUHCdV43IzIgUVU94v4JFKHrtct0HFIe4PhWzIJaLD9WLqEqCVX9UQchV0btCL_Lor5rJzR85qIT19MTmqIf-Q4wEH/s1600/2_rainbow.gif" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxgpiDq-UHYvK-Rrh216SlNEuOjxPSblj9nbx_FDH4XTMANJAzkNrBEYpzF40suOnY8plgAIreiZ-irdIfIq999-yQf1w2jXQ0O8hmnIpVczOaBgQNjH0KjpHN8R0ran-lVg8n6NPZX-6DKi9IneY7KxlAhFAVott4iYFfT_7HhhQB0sT2joVIu8AKX3J/s150/4_spotted.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxgpiDq-UHYvK-Rrh216SlNEuOjxPSblj9nbx_FDH4XTMANJAzkNrBEYpzF40suOnY8plgAIreiZ-irdIfIq999-yQf1w2jXQ0O8hmnIpVczOaBgQNjH0KjpHN8R0ran-lVg8n6NPZX-6DKi9IneY7KxlAhFAVott4iYFfT_7HhhQB0sT2joVIu8AKX3J/s1600/4_spotted.gif" width="150" /></a> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgz4HYfRMcG2Pwxt3GGaaNSzMKXyIypYHr6JuTeT2C80j_nCS_563X98fxAzPdNKSMXbWeN8jGJFyklmaEaZVnMxHPT0ud3auEtgocZ0zAt2s-jSlAsZY7LA25j1JaagGLk7ci75HxX2Actxrw4YlGVmhyphenhyphen4C5J-SU2C_PbGx3ekZm603gMs-0oVYgflOt/s150/1_desert.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgz4HYfRMcG2Pwxt3GGaaNSzMKXyIypYHr6JuTeT2C80j_nCS_563X98fxAzPdNKSMXbWeN8jGJFyklmaEaZVnMxHPT0ud3auEtgocZ0zAt2s-jSlAsZY7LA25j1JaagGLk7ci75HxX2Actxrw4YlGVmhyphenhyphen4C5J-SU2C_PbGx3ekZm603gMs-0oVYgflOt/s1600/1_desert.gif" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJADlqnAvsTOamw92FE8NpYaIIshkX2iN4cCE45jY-CsyrGzFyKLUEBbAEv-MqWWJK12KRu4pGWrYKJlcklIRv7rNs2nPpGjDVHNI2Hz4agl1NrtX76UlOZ9HEbp1fnZvoGyA1rSbBmrr7BtEJmZ6Xrgwv1FuDjnnP_HvaapGXKhfxpqguNlxkyDkc7shb/s150/2_glowing.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJADlqnAvsTOamw92FE8NpYaIIshkX2iN4cCE45jY-CsyrGzFyKLUEBbAEv-MqWWJK12KRu4pGWrYKJlcklIRv7rNs2nPpGjDVHNI2Hz4agl1NrtX76UlOZ9HEbp1fnZvoGyA1rSbBmrr7BtEJmZ6Xrgwv1FuDjnnP_HvaapGXKhfxpqguNlxkyDkc7shb/s1600/2_glowing.gif" width="150" /></a></div> <br /></div><br /></div><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(these are all examples of how you could "paint" them.)<br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I could go on about the ins and outs of the Neo-world, but that's not what this post is actually about.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(If you also played Neopets in the early 2000s, check out this article for a trip down memory lane: <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/impossiblynikki/things-only-people-who-played-neopets-will-remembe-9lrzxccruu" target="_blank">https://www.buzzfeed.com/impossiblynikki/things-only-people-who-played-neopets-will-remembe-9lrzxccruu</a> )</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It's about meeting an accused murderer on Neopets.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">OH YEAH you read that right.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Neopets had a chat board where you could post about anything you wanted. You could ask for advice on how to beat a game, offer to trade paintbrushes to customize your pets, or just say hello. I don't remember what exactly I posted - as this was 23 years ago - but someone named Shannon answered my post.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Neopets had "Neomail" where users could exchange private messages through the website. Shannon and I started chatting through Neomail and eventually graduated to MSN Messenger. She was friendly, interested in a lot of the same things I was interested in, and willing to listen to what I had to say.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Shannon was in her mid-20s and had a girlfriend named Tasha. I don't remember what either of them did for a living, but I do remember they were both super into Neopets. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And then things got weird.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">One day, Shannon told me she'd be going away for a while. My 13-year-old brain did not comprehend quite what she was saying; I thought maybe she was going on a trip. So I was all like "cool where are you going" and she was all like "federal prison."<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I wish I could remember what exactly I said. Thankfully, this conversation was over MSN Messenger, which bought me a little time to compose something a little compassionate. I do know I asked her to tell me what happened if she was comfortable, and she said she was tangled up in a bad crowd several years back and someone was murdered. She ended up being charged as an accessory and sentenced to several years in a North Carolina prison.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Will you write to me?" she asked.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Of course," I said, because what do you say when your internet friend tells you she's going to prison and wants to get letters.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I wrote her a time or two, but my teenage life wasn't particularly set up for bouts of letter-writing. Online chatting and sending short messages through Neomail I could handle, but this was somehow too much. Also the reality of it - when I mailed a letter to an actually prison - really kind of shook me. I was 13, after all.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The letter writing ended unceremoniously when a letter arrived for me bearing the return address for a penitentiary along with an inmate number... and my parents got the mail that day. Mom and Dad didn't tell me I had to stop, but I felt like this was more than I could handle. So I ghosted my prison pen pal. Decades later, I do feel bad about that.</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">So that's how Neopets gave me a short-lived prison pen pal. </span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-37491120253547196912023-09-24T19:02:00.001-05:002023-09-24T19:02:04.244-05:0036 weeks.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Hey there, baby.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We did it.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuTmifpczTSk1KIaBrhdNf3R6cl_RVcihwIkb-4guoaGIQPK932yvbiPYcMXkcykTx7pUTetKRp25h-q000i-7dFpbx-dORxt0uMv7daQE6SkVkx2rYlq9_mzxn08ZpOys-3qgjaS6EaZyVOQh6SFaLLVEvkkXG0ehBOn0sJwWVGzQbKMWUr0axQEMs_j/s725/IMG_5055.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="725" data-original-width="551" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuTmifpczTSk1KIaBrhdNf3R6cl_RVcihwIkb-4guoaGIQPK932yvbiPYcMXkcykTx7pUTetKRp25h-q000i-7dFpbx-dORxt0uMv7daQE6SkVkx2rYlq9_mzxn08ZpOys-3qgjaS6EaZyVOQh6SFaLLVEvkkXG0ehBOn0sJwWVGzQbKMWUr0axQEMs_j/s320/IMG_5055.jpeg" width="243" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">We made it to 36 weeks. You are now full-term.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That's not a huge deal to a lot of pregnant people, but it's a huge deal to me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Your older brother Phineas was born at 35 weeks and 5 days. He spent a month in the NICU at the very beginning of the COVID shutdown. The NICU nurses were wonderful, but your dad James and I couldn't be in there with Phineas at the same time. Your grandparents couldn't hold him. Our friends couldn't meet him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Your sister passed away before eight weeks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Between those two events, I was pretty nervous about this pregnancy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Your dad and I breathed a sigh of relief when we saw your heartbeat at eight weeks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We breathed another sigh of relief when your genetic testing came back normal at 12 weeks. Between the miscarriage and my "advanced maternal age," we were so happy that everything that could go wrong didn't go wrong.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">At 20 weeks, we found out you had a single-vessel umbilical cord, which could have been bad news for many things, including your heart and kidneys. At a 22-week detailed scan, we found out everything was fine. Another sigh of relief. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas was born early because I developed gestational high blood pressure. As the weeks crept on, my blood pressure stayed where it should be. Yet another sigh of relief - good blood pressure meant a premature birth was less likely.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But guess what I got instead? Gestational elevated blood sugar. This could have meant you would get too big too fast and have to be born early and/or via C-section. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You've been a good size so far, though. However, we're not out of the C-section woods yet. At the 20 week scan, we also found out the placenta was low-lying. That means it may or may not block the cervix - if it does, I would have to have a C-section for fear of us both bleeding to death. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">All that aside - we still made it to 36 weeks. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Because of my history of gestational hypertension, I'll be induced at 37 weeks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">See you next week, baby. Thanks for hanging in there with me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-26978981242407040262023-08-22T19:06:00.002-05:002023-08-22T19:06:32.588-05:00my grandma Sheila.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You know how some people are just meant to be certain things? Like this person was meant to be a nurse and this person was meant to be a teacher?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My grandma Sheila was meant to be a grandma.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Her picture is probably next to the word “grandma” in the dictionary.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">She was only 56 when I was born, but she’s been a little old lady in my entire memory. White hair, 4’11”, big smile, twinkly blue eyes.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">If you lived in or around Arlington from 1931 to 2019ish, you probably knew Sheila. </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Grandma Sheila did a lot of things in her life - 92 years, after all - but among my peers, her legacy lies in the Arlington school lunchroom. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Grandma Sheila worked as a lunch lady for years - she was there when I began kindergarten and there when I graduated high school. Her spot was at the dishwasher window. Kids would bring their dishes to the window, and Grandma would greet each and every one of them by name. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It is a complete mystery to me how she managed to remember the names of hundreds of kids over decades, but she did it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When I started school, it didn't take long for word to spread the sweet lady at the dishwasher window was my grandma. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">No joke, I became famous by association.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Grandma Sheila passed away earlier this week, and the messages we've been getting are absolutely heartwarming. There are countless notes about how she made someone's day in the lunchroom with her smile; how she always made you feel like you were the most special person in the world. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When you lose a grandparent, people understand - many of us have lost grandparents, after all. Grandma Sheila passing away has been different. When my other grandparents passed away, people would say things like "I'm so sorry" and "losing a grandparent is hard," which are absolutely fine things to say. But this time, people say, "I'm so sorry! I remember how she used to give me a big hug every time she saw me" or "her smile lit up a room." Everyone knew my grandma, and she knew them. She was everyone's grandma, and how neat is it for us (her kids and grandkids) to hear from all these people with fond memories.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I have no memories of my grandma without a smile on her face. To my knowledge, I have only truly disappointed her one time: by failing to give her a red-haired great-grandchild. She loved Phineas, but the first time she met him, she said, “Oh, I really wanted a redhead!” But with a smile.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqjgUSC25nj5DKFzAfRERPs_OrCD4S5mOP8MOQShGRhrZk7JFEEdQ3XR8pQaE1mNbPaXag0aULAGBR8s6Kw9HAHNLh7hL9kAzGVB23P37Rt9zn6UPIBDVDBviacTJYXS2yZcGLNCTG2_EW8ZIepW_Nki6tNUkhnxF3eEyab4LsMPfP4f7zwUTp2lV7_l/s2324/548E1C6A-90ED-40BE-98E1-B28956B0F915.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2324" data-original-width="1944" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqjgUSC25nj5DKFzAfRERPs_OrCD4S5mOP8MOQShGRhrZk7JFEEdQ3XR8pQaE1mNbPaXag0aULAGBR8s6Kw9HAHNLh7hL9kAzGVB23P37Rt9zn6UPIBDVDBviacTJYXS2yZcGLNCTG2_EW8ZIepW_Nki6tNUkhnxF3eEyab4LsMPfP4f7zwUTp2lV7_l/w335-h400/548E1C6A-90ED-40BE-98E1-B28956B0F915.jpg" width="335" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the first time they met</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Phineas loved her, too. He asked about "gweat gwamma" fairly often, and he was thrilled to see her at family gatherings. Phineas is only three, but I hope he'll have some memories of her. I have an overwhelming sadness that our second child will never meet her, but I also have confidence we've got plenty of stories to paint a picture of who she was.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXAlAviwVdsa5tuA9vMiWQbqvI1ZYjrNwhfhfcGC6TG0VWOxob-2cbD_2vFD8yC9VVRa561PTtMrVW9NcKfoBW6iKJk1pDVQPz3mZYfCXQJdzQ6XDNu1otsDlnLkUPraFoiYWX_Wm1oYlMMhWhgsMIbIvCI7wgYNCJ_Pk3HCmZi9xNQi6ht2CSh6PQniS/s1440/291333807_10119723327595330_3114376868244507602_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1288" data-original-width="1440" height="573" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXAlAviwVdsa5tuA9vMiWQbqvI1ZYjrNwhfhfcGC6TG0VWOxob-2cbD_2vFD8yC9VVRa561PTtMrVW9NcKfoBW6iKJk1pDVQPz3mZYfCXQJdzQ6XDNu1otsDlnLkUPraFoiYWX_Wm1oYlMMhWhgsMIbIvCI7wgYNCJ_Pk3HCmZi9xNQi6ht2CSh6PQniS/w640-h573/291333807_10119723327595330_3114376868244507602_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">four generations.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Every year, Grandma Sheila sent birthday cards to everyone she knew who shared her birthday. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">As my dad likes to say, she turned her cinnamon bread into currency. She lived in the small town of Badger, SD for about 25 years, and she paid the guys at the gas station a block away in treats.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When I went to college, she gave me a "magic cookie tin." I was to bring that cookie tin back with me every time I visited home, and it would "magically" refill with cookies.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When I myself am a little old lady, I hope I can be like Grandma Sheila. I trend more towards the “better not go near her house; she’s probably a witch” old lady vibe (which honestly sounds kind of great), but Grandma Sheila was certainly the “oh I love her, she’s always so sweet and has treats” type of old lady. Something to aspire to.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">At the end, it doesn’t matter how much money you have or where you’ve been. All that really counts is how you’ve treated people. You would be hard-pressed to find someone who knew my grandma who didn’t feel loved by her. She made everyone feel special, no matter how short the interaction. Even if you met her just once, she remembered you.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-32091635709015856352023-08-15T22:11:00.001-05:002023-08-16T10:05:20.021-05:00myths about atheists.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Atheists have a bad reputation. When James and I first moved to town ten years ago, one of the first questions we'd get asked was "what church do you go to?" You should've seen the looks we got when the answer was "none." We didn't even say we were atheists - just that we didn't to go church.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">In the interim years, I've had a baby and am about to have another one. My casual atheism has become something more serious as James and I discuss how we're going to raise them. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The answer: as good people, but not in church.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">James and I are not vehemently opposed to religion and church. We'll go to church with my parents, especially because my dad keeps luring James there with promises of trumpet-playing. (James will do anything if he gets to play trumpet.) If Phineas tells us someday he wants to try church, we'll take him. But we're not going to force our kids into something we don't believe ourselves.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzyqxj6mM-xhYKbInLlMPSlC-IcSCVG0a__8aso1e-XdVb6GQFuex5bXDpy4uet5uvKsgHAuTTe1zQObCtuU9SSIQcJWhBx5knokfakjjwNVHG1H_0Ke77vcUvBI3keQWCJG-Wk146bKOKuhJYoV7Xh-HBzLJhW5yPgWj2hoz-EYFuLozUwjHrNAZjCow/s1600/IMG_0858.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="931" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzyqxj6mM-xhYKbInLlMPSlC-IcSCVG0a__8aso1e-XdVb6GQFuex5bXDpy4uet5uvKsgHAuTTe1zQObCtuU9SSIQcJWhBx5knokfakjjwNVHG1H_0Ke77vcUvBI3keQWCJG-Wk146bKOKuhJYoV7Xh-HBzLJhW5yPgWj2hoz-EYFuLozUwjHrNAZjCow/w233-h400/IMG_0858.JPEG" width="233" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Didn't even believe it back then.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I could talk forever about why and how I arrived at the conclusions I did. But that's not why I'm writing this post. It's about that</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">bad reputation I mentioned. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I read somewhere that a huge majority of Americans would not consider voting for a political candidate who identifies as an atheist. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And that's really a shame, because all the atheists I know are super good people.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I can speak only for myself, but allow me to debunk some common myths about atheists. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Atheists believe life is meaningless.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">On the contrary. I believe we get one life to live and when it's over, it's over. That means we only have one chance to live life to the fullest, appreciate our loved ones, and do good things for the world around us. But not all atheists believe there's no existence after this life - like I said, I can only speak for myself.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Atheists are not spiritual.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Some of the most spiritual people I know are atheists. This is quite common, but I feel most at peace when I'm in nature - specifically in/on/near the water. There's a profound sense of calm and wonder that washes over me. To some, this is equivalent to the presence of God. For me, it's becoming immersed in the beauty around us and stopping to take it all in.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Atheists don't know anything about religion.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Almost every atheist I know grew up going to church. My parents brought me to church every Sunday from the beginning of my memory. I was the kid with perfect attendance at Sunday school. I went through confirmation and ended up teaching Sunday school myself. I've read the whole Bible. The more I learned about the Bible and Christianity, the deeper my doubts became. It took me until my late 20s to truly consider myself an atheist, but I had years' worth of information leading up to that point.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Atheists hate religion.</b></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As long as your religion isn't hurting anyone, I am completely fine with it. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I will also respect your religion when I'm on your territory - if I'm visiting a mosque, I'll cover my head. If I'm visiting a church, I'll stand up and sit down when I'm supposed to. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I do have a problem with religion when it's used as an exclusionary tool or as a way to suppress any one person or group of people. Same goes for the Bible. It's all fine until it's used as a weapon. </span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Atheists have no basis for morality/aren't good people.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">One of the more common questions atheists get is "if you don't believe in God, what stops you from stealing, murdering, etc?" Penn Jillette said it best - I'm paraphrasing, but he essentially said he murders as much as he wants - which is not at all. If a person doesn't understand why murdering is wrong, there's no amount of religion that can fix that. You don't have to believe in God to be a good person. As an atheist, I do good things because I want to - not because it will get me into heaven.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">-----</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Those are the myths. Here is the most important truth about atheists:</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">While we don't have faith in unseen deities, we do have faith in our fellow human beings. To live as a person in this world, I think you need to have faith in each other - God or no God. If we don't have faith in each other, what do we have that is worth having?</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-2011000727341112352023-08-08T21:19:00.000-05:002023-08-08T21:51:37.895-05:00Midwesterners and their clothes.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Midwesterners are kind of hilarious about their clothes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Compliment someone from on their Midwest on their shirt and see what happens.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Chances are you'll get one of three responses:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Thanks! I got it for $2!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(note: a Midwesterner will never brag about how expensive something they are wearing is, but they WILL brag about how little they paid for it.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Thanks! I got it in Maine!"<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(note: Midwesterners gladly will tell you about the origin of their clothing if it is somewhere interesting and/or inexpensive, ie, Target.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(When they go on vacation, my parents like to wear their shirts that say "South Dakota" or "Minnesota Twins" or whatever in hopes of sparking conversation with a stranger who is either also from the Midwest or has an affinity for the Midwest.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Thanks! My sister gave it to me!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(note: Midwesterners are quick to give credit where credit is due, especially when it comes to clothing choices.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Here's what you will NEVER hear:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Thanks."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">As a Midwesterner, I too am guilty of this. Something just feels wrong about simply taking the compliment. It's ingrained in our DNA to elaborate. Just thinking about this fictional interaction ending right at "thanks" is making me a little uncomfortable.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">If complimenting someone on a dress or a skirt, you may hear "Thanks! It has pockets." This is not unique to the Midwest - you will garner this response from anyone in a skirt or a dress that has previously suffered through pocket-less or pathetically pocketed garments. There's nothing like making a move to put something in your pants pocket only to discover THERE IS NO PANTS POCKET.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0Z2TVJyLCYjQdBFsos6QjvbvHn9RDzO2WdMCDY4oeP_Gt706wWCEXrZu0ZetfmKa-3-mqczISF3CfNTtN9611tpPj9r3QlLFGdoiRoGetjPJFTHf53ernogg99IT28hwhgrydBLHhpLl03IliLlsYY6iqhSDiBln2QqpU6if4uoMk6L8I_Dm5ouYkal2/s3463/women-demand-pockets-memes-304-5dcabbdc038ae__700.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3463" data-original-width="700" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0Z2TVJyLCYjQdBFsos6QjvbvHn9RDzO2WdMCDY4oeP_Gt706wWCEXrZu0ZetfmKa-3-mqczISF3CfNTtN9611tpPj9r3QlLFGdoiRoGetjPJFTHf53ernogg99IT28hwhgrydBLHhpLl03IliLlsYY6iqhSDiBln2QqpU6if4uoMk6L8I_Dm5ouYkal2/w130-h640/women-demand-pockets-memes-304-5dcabbdc038ae__700.jpg" width="130" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Or if the pocket is there, it may not be deep enough to fit anything larger than a Chapstick. If that.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My three-year-old's clothing has deeper and more plentiful pockets than my clothing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It did when he was a TINY BABY, too.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">WHAT DOES A TINY BABY NEED TO CARRY AROUND THAT I DON'T.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Anyway.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Back to Midwesterners.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My clothing is almost exclusively from two types of places: consignment/secondhand stores and small businesses. Compliment me on whatever I'm wearing, and I'll tell you which one. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">At this exact moment in time, here's the rundown:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">shirt: secondhand</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">skirt: secondhand</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">shoes: small business</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">bracelet: small business</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">ring: I made</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">earrings: I made</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">necklace: I made</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Honestly, it's going to be pretty much the same on any given day. Just switch the order around.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This is part through conscious effort, part through me being cheap. Over the last four years, I've been pregnant three times, resulting in one three-year-old and another baby due in just a couple of months. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This means four plus years of no consistent clothing size. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">If you're buying new stuff all the time to try and maintain some sort of functioning closet, that adds up FAST. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It adds up even faster if you need clothes for different situations, such as workwear.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I am obviously not buying all new stuff. During my first pregnancy, I bought a couple of brand-new pairs of maternity jeans from Target, so they were like $25 apiece. I was ANNOYED spending THAT MUCH MONEY on items of clothing that I really didn't want in the first place but knew I needed... but worst of all, knew I wasn't going to use in the long-haul. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">During this pregnancy, I was annoyed again at the prospect of purchasing maternity shorts and swimwear (as my previous pregnancy seasons didn't line up with this one). But then it hit me - swimsuits are stretchy for a REASON. I just bought a cheap one from Amazon in a size bigger than usual, which should serve me well in the coming years. I got maternity shorts from a consignment site called ThredUP.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Overall, I kind of think maternity clothes are a scam. Jeans, maybe not. There's no way I'm going to find a pair of regular jeans that fits me, no matter what size I choose. I do have some ultra-stretchy shorts that will work, though, and the aforementioned swimsuit. I also have plenty of elastic-waisted skirts and dresses that will see me through to the end and beyond. Almost no special maternity clothes necessary.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This is thanks in no small part to oversized/flowy clothing being more in style for the past handful of years. If I had been pregnant during the late 90s to mid 2000s with the short shirts and the low-rise jeans, I most certainly wouldn't be able to rely on anything I already had. Thankfully (for many reasons), the tide has turned.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That was kind of a long aside, but I have switched to purchasing more secondhand not just because of my fluctuating clothing needs, but because it's not only better for the environment, but because I can find clothing I like more at a better price than I can in your run-of-the-mill mall store.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I also do my best to shop at small businesses because they are just that: small businesses. When you buy from a small business, you're helping someone fulfill their dream. You're buying from a real person. When you buy from Amazon, you're just helping Jeff Bezos buy another yacht or steal some more souls or whatever it is he does. (I am totally guilty of using Amazon more than I should, but I'm doing my best to cut back.) Small businesses keep our downtowns alive.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This post didn't really end up where I had intended when I started it, but the sentiment remains true: Midwesterners will tell you all sorts of stuff about their clothes - namely how good we are at NOT spending money.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-15898794147107081262023-07-10T21:42:00.002-05:002023-07-10T21:42:39.258-05:00the demise of festival food.<p> <span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have written extensively about the joys of the Brookings Summer Arts Festival, so I probably don't need to tell you much more about it. Here's the short version: it's a giant annual two-day arts festival in Brookings, South Dakota. It's also my favorite weekend of the year (tied with Halloween, obviously). There are amazing vendors and you always see eight thousand people you know and I almost never miss it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">One of the greatest joys of the arts festival used to be the food. Yes, I said USED to be. In my late teens and early 20s, you basically had to commit to being there eight hours for both days in order to eat all the things you wanted to eat. I would arrive each year with a rough game plan of the order in which I wanted to consume said food: frozen hot chocolate and mini donuts for Saturday breakfast, cheese curds and a strawberry smoothie for Saturday lunch, SDSU ice cream for Saturday dessert. Then on Sunday, you would return to re-eat the things you loved most, as you would not get to eat them again until the following year. Oh, and be sure to bring plenty of cash, because the food vendors never took cards.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Flawless, right?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(If you're a 20-something with an insane metabolism and a stomach of steel, that is.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It WAS flawless. For a while. Until my favorite foods started to disappear.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The first thing to go was the frozen hot chocolate. There was only one food stand that sold it, along with kuchen (which is South Dakota's state dessert and basically a cake/custard/pie all in one). But one year, that food stand was nowhere to be found. Honestly, I was a little bit crushed. It's almost always as hot as the surface of the sun during the summer arts festival, and a frozen hot chocolate is perfect for the sweltering days. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Ok, no more hot chocolate. But I still had my other favorites.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Next to go were the strawberry smoothies. It needs to be said these were not just any strawberry smoothies. They were hand-blended in front of you using just real strawberries, ice, and sugar. None of this milk or yogurt-based nonsense. They were refreshing, tasted great, and had actual strawberry chunks in them. But then they were gone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There were several other stands selling strawberry smoothies, so I tried each and every one that year to no avail. They were either dairy-based or syrup-based - not a real strawberry to be found. I was once again crushed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">After my two favorite drinks were gone, I switched to hand-squeezed lemonade. You can get lemonade at almost every food booth, but you have to be very careful about where you actually purchase it. Many of the lemonade options are not actually hand-squeezed - they are just from powder or concentrate. That is simply not what I want. You have to look for places giving out clear cups with actual lemons in them. That's the key. This year, I found my real lemonade at the Brookings High School Marching Band fundraiser booth. I'll be back there next year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The cheese curds were the next victims. There were several cheese curd stands at the park, but one in particular was head and shoulders above the rest. I don't know what made them that way, but these cheese curds were really something special. You couldn't find curds of that caliber anywhere else - no other festivals, no fairs, nowhere. It was the shabbiest looking stand and only sold cheese curds, so that's how you knew which one to go to. But then THEY were gone. You can still get cheese curds at the park, but they are far inferior to the originals.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But the mini donuts hung on. These were not just any mini donuts - they were magical. You would order a half dozen, a dozen, or a dozen donut holes. You'd get them piping hot in a clear plastic bag with the inside coated in sugar. They would invariably burn your fingers and your taste buds, but it was worth it. These mini donuts tasted less like donuts and more like funnel cake, which is absolutely my jam. The mini donut stand was also run by a non-profit, which you can't help but love. Plus, they were the only stand selling ice-cold glasses of milk. So Midwestern.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This past year (as in yesterday) was the first year without the mini donuts. I felt that familiar sinking in my stomach, knowing that another greasy piece of my childhood had disappeared. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The final item remaining on my original list is SDSU ice cream. I am not at all concerned about that disappearing - SDSU ice cream is much too important for that. It's an institution in and of itself. Even if, god forbid, SDSU ice cream vanishes from the park, there are still plenty of places to obtain it. Not the end of the world.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">None of this is to say I go hungry at the arts festival. I just can't get the super special foods that I used to find only there. I had a funnel cake and iced coffee for breakfast this year, which was not at all shabby.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYu9c7u7arfCngbTEkz5yYslW4FKBLKFcrbsYFPVZCvtoW44ctBSAiNqn9ui7IvY2Rw5hqnrHVD6NvB0TTK5pCX7r55W6LPUtZWNccIWchVBdAExsdJxaWwZC1qyPLbnSZPiSO4ThIXeeR9y86FSnapChPdUoCa1wUeJq_3CZleLwDTeg7aVTi2g-mLswd/s3780/A4F4F997-85CD-4234-92A6-A68F17C40F10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYu9c7u7arfCngbTEkz5yYslW4FKBLKFcrbsYFPVZCvtoW44ctBSAiNqn9ui7IvY2Rw5hqnrHVD6NvB0TTK5pCX7r55W6LPUtZWNccIWchVBdAExsdJxaWwZC1qyPLbnSZPiSO4ThIXeeR9y86FSnapChPdUoCa1wUeJq_3CZleLwDTeg7aVTi2g-mLswd/w320-h400/A4F4F997-85CD-4234-92A6-A68F17C40F10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">With the lunch/supper options at the festival being pretty meh (giant corndogs, giant turkey legs, etc), I instead opted to have Nick's for lunch (never a bad idea) and a little taco truck for supper on Saturday. Both were absolutely delicious. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Oh, and a lot of the food booths take cards now! The fundraiser/nonprofit booths don't, so you'll still want some cash on hand, but the food booths that are full-time businesses do. As someone who almost never has cash, this was a welcome change.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We'll see what next year brings, food-wise - you'd better believe I'll be at the arts festival unless I am actively dying. Maybe I'll see you there. We can share a funnel cake.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-31658166731493796712023-06-26T12:13:00.006-05:002023-07-04T23:57:21.830-05:00cute shit Phineas says, part II.<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas is getting to be kind of hilarious the older he gets. Kids are known for their deadly honesty, and he's no exception. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Here are a few more gems from the last several months.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgI3S7BWihf0cLdfSEhDDqHuOao2S0emlmqftPzzTUiYhf2hbvKoIZH4o2atuDD3JqP9tVYWQSZQayVj_QX0JFFT1UHKBemYL94j0D6YmY-sXPIqwSicudFDydqvRuV3-dgQ1KhGrQY7WMxEeN7K9uj6_xUeI8HCAyvhdT1kJkYgKhm7VPPvqYqRBeeYb/s2048/IMG_2256.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgI3S7BWihf0cLdfSEhDDqHuOao2S0emlmqftPzzTUiYhf2hbvKoIZH4o2atuDD3JqP9tVYWQSZQayVj_QX0JFFT1UHKBemYL94j0D6YmY-sXPIqwSicudFDydqvRuV3-dgQ1KhGrQY7WMxEeN7K9uj6_xUeI8HCAyvhdT1kJkYgKhm7VPPvqYqRBeeYb/w480-h640/IMG_2256.jpeg" width="480" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></b></span></p>IN CONVERSATION</b></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: I’m going to get big like Mitch.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">me: yes you are!</span></span></p><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: but now I’m little.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">me: but you are bigger every day! once you were little enough to fit in my belly.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: … don’t eat me.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>IN CONVERSATION II</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: Mabel wants to talk.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">me: What does she want to talk about?</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: me!</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">me: What would she say about you?</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: mrow.</span></div></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>IN CONVERSATION III</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="gmail_default"><span style="color: black; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="gmail_default"><span style="color: black; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: do you have a headache today?
me: no!
Phineas: I’m so glad!
one minute later…
Phineas: I need to take a break.
me: from what?
Phineas: you.</span><br /></div><div class="gmail_default"></div></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>BABIES</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="gmail_default" style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">He told me he wanted to snuggle his "brudder" and laid on my stomach. He even talked to his "brudder" and said: "Hi buddy. I love you." </span><span style="font-size: large;">In the next breath, Phineas asked, "Can I hit my brudder?"</span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">(note: he alternates between calling this baby his “brudder” or sister. I’m saying this is not a gender reveal - Phineas just happened to land on “brudder” this time.)</span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(upon telling Phineas I have a baby in my belly)</span></div><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas: Did you eat a baby?</span></div></div><div><br /></div></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>INSULTS</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Don't get your stinky breath on me!</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>GETTING OUT OF BED</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I want to snuggle for just a few minutes.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">LEAVE ME ALONE.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I'm not ready to get up.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>BEING SWEET</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You're always beautiful, Mama.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You're my Calla.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>ON LEAVING</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Are you going to do laundry without me?</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>BEING POLITE</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Come swing with me! Ask Dad if you can please be excused!</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>ON COOKING</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I make recipes in the mixer with Dad. We put in the ingredients.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>AS A NURSE</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Do you have a headache? Let me feel your head. I will get you ice. (returns with one ice cube) You will feel better soon.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>APOLOGIZING</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I'm sorry, Muffin. (giggles) I called you Muffin!</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>ON OUR HOUSEHOLD GHOST</b></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(looking in the library at night)</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There's a ghost in there. I like that ghost.</span></div>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-73756245056034271182023-05-18T22:36:00.000-05:002023-05-18T22:36:15.145-05:00the great poffertje battle of Orange City, Iowa.<p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My mom and I have been going to the Tulip Festival in Orange City, Iowa since 2015. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The only year we've missed from 2015 to 2022 was 2020 - not because I had a two-month-old baby (we totally would have taken him), but because the Tulip Festival was canceled due to COVID.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are so many reasons to go to the Tulip Festival: the gorgeous tulips (obviously), the lovely people, the cute town, the fun shops (Next Door Boutique being our favorite), the parade, the food... just everything.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The number one reason to go, though, are the poffertjes.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QYkCBeKjRIhqLoX-AC7Age8MiUqGxIEc-6i2EhuaDWsVmTjBAkMSewEbsBWLefwsPsbtTTggh-7Tcw62j-nIZfmLAzNo80S4sxwSMXRgBU6yUud60lFaQ7Cd7DZU8EV6mtNpU8kPciiYUYXf2XMHpO6qd6JHKzGhcTmaQj2IutUDWstJS-0Ne0VDEw/s2048/IMG_7803.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QYkCBeKjRIhqLoX-AC7Age8MiUqGxIEc-6i2EhuaDWsVmTjBAkMSewEbsBWLefwsPsbtTTggh-7Tcw62j-nIZfmLAzNo80S4sxwSMXRgBU6yUud60lFaQ7Cd7DZU8EV6mtNpU8kPciiYUYXf2XMHpO6qd6JHKzGhcTmaQj2IutUDWstJS-0Ne0VDEw/w300-h400/IMG_7803.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">For the uninitiated, poffertjes are Dutch mini pancakes. One obtains poffertjes at a place called The Little White Store. You buy them by the boat, and they are soaked in rum butter and sprinkled with powdered sugar. There are no words for me to accurately describe them to you - they are nothing short of delectable. Ambrosia.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Dutch Heritage Boosters have been in charge of poffertjes for who knows how long, and the poffertje earnings go right back into the community. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Last year, though, there was a PROBLEM.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Another store in town decided to set up their own poffertje stand.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">COMPETITION.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Obviously, competition is just fine - most of the time. But when you are a shop that sets up your own for-profit poffertje stand for the first time ever in competition with the local volunteer-run nonprofit who basically makes the entire Tulip Festival happen? Come on.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The poffertjes they were offering had different topping options - strawberry and Nutella, I believe. Not a bad idea, but PEOPLE. Have a little respect.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I cannot tell you how the poffertjes at that place compared to the originals, because I obviously only had the originals. I would venture a guess that the only ones who tried the other kind were those unfamiliar with the underlying douchebaggery. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mom, Phineas, and I will be attending the Tulip Festival tomorrow, and our first stop (as always) will be The Little White Store. Mom and I typically end up with three orders for the day: two (one for each of us) right away, and one more to split before we head out of town. I'm anticipating Phineas finding them as delightful as we do, so the Dutch Heritage Boosters can c0unt on more money from us. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I checked this morning, there was no indication on this other shop's social media indicating if they would be serving their knock-off poffertjes or not. However, when I checked again before publishing, the announcement was there.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD__OTsKL0lx5ujjqGUGIA4oMGQ8hNyV5BsQXVApghHsPgEDpHBh265Id_ZqxKUaoL6lym08l8fdCJZLTJ4Iws5n5QtMg1MU1DMrDu9zwx3IarfDHrUIzBmd4Df-OolEunxpDQPXuIeXf7ML-lLlGbljzJcf0z-uICArcsYTT1mxZ7xowncSN0pXZQWQ/s1800/347640673_1327980118101121_3348438810240525548_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD__OTsKL0lx5ujjqGUGIA4oMGQ8hNyV5BsQXVApghHsPgEDpHBh265Id_ZqxKUaoL6lym08l8fdCJZLTJ4Iws5n5QtMg1MU1DMrDu9zwx3IarfDHrUIzBmd4Df-OolEunxpDQPXuIeXf7ML-lLlGbljzJcf0z-uICArcsYTT1mxZ7xowncSN0pXZQWQ/s320/347640673_1327980118101121_3348438810240525548_n.jpg" width="256" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5IuZ7Vcjhscu5CJR7BZuOwJUocbJlZ4C1_d4Py9vAhv_vhrz-ObDpSFtIb31tTtKtky_bjQ01b6rNK3aasp7SOI7M9VVQVx9MBy2caW9-dW8JvMHEUesVnFISoplMoU7npOdGUzxV3s3UZYS-VY1AlTZ5UG88wCkTqgYrtI5JwpTDJt9WgJitOHOW7Q/s1800/347803755_3076570935970019_3344094962648261127_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5IuZ7Vcjhscu5CJR7BZuOwJUocbJlZ4C1_d4Py9vAhv_vhrz-ObDpSFtIb31tTtKtky_bjQ01b6rNK3aasp7SOI7M9VVQVx9MBy2caW9-dW8JvMHEUesVnFISoplMoU7npOdGUzxV3s3UZYS-VY1AlTZ5UG88wCkTqgYrtI5JwpTDJt9WgJitOHOW7Q/s320/347803755_3076570935970019_3344094962648261127_n.jpg" width="256" /></a><br /><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I was hoping they were sufficiently shamed into not doing it again, but that clearly is not the case. If I'm feeling like enough of a sasshole, maybe I'll get in their line and ask them if they are Dutch Heritage Boosters as well. When they tell me they aren't, I'll ask them how the money supports the Tulip Festival and Orange City. I'll let you know what happens. </span></span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-77114607476264400812023-04-25T11:41:00.001-05:002023-04-25T19:29:13.194-05:00picky eaters.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When I was a child, I was labeled that most common of childhood afflictions: picky.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I was never offended by the term. Ok, picky it is. I liked what I liked, namely chocolate cake, hot dogs, and cereal.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Here's what I DIDN'T like that gained me the "picky" designation:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">beef (unless it's a burger or a good steak)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">broccoli</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">pork (unless it was sausage)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">fish sticks</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">canned tuna</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">peas</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">celery</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">cantaloupe</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">lima beans</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That's it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And guess what?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I STILL don't like those things. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Unfortunately for me, those handful of foods I didn't like made appearances in nearly every Midwestern meal. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Church potlucks were the absolute worst. Everything was some kind of hotdish that involved one or more of the things I didn't like held together with cream of mushroom soup. And don't even get me started on Midwestern "salads."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">School lunch could be a challenge, as well. My least favorite meal was tuna gravy and biscuit day, which was a frequent flyer on Fridays during Lent. Not only was there tuna in the gravy, but there were peas as well. Woof.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I assumed I didn't like Mexican food because the only kind I had ever been exposed to was school lunch Mexican - hard shell tacos with ground beef. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I assumed I wouldn't like Chinese food because I had never had it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I knew I liked Italian food because it's mostly pasta and cheese. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I don't remember when I started trying more food - I know it was well into college, because James (who I have now known for 18 years) remembers thinking of me as a picky eater. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Turns out? I'm actually not a picky eater at all.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I just hadn't been exposed to many different types of food.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It helped to be dating James, who likes almost everything. When we'd go somewhere, he'd always offer to let me try his food. And I always did. That was the turning point for me. Doors were opened.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I thought I didn't like fish until we had salmon at a friend's house. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I thought I didn't like Mexican until we went to an actual Mexican restaurant.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And so on.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I love Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and Thai food. I've had limited experience with Indian food, but I like what I've had so far. I would eat Mexican all day, every day. I still like Italian food, but now I get way more stuff in it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I can't think of a single cuisine that I would group into an "I don't like this" category. There are certain things I'll avoid, but there's always something for me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Funny story: I was in Berlin a few years back for a grad school class. Our professor had lived there a few years back, and he was excited to take us to some of his favorite restaurants. He asked what we would like - there were 12 of us - and one student said, "I don't like Asian." Our professor hesitated for a second and said, "...any Asian? That's a big cuisine." The student replied: "I don't like how it smells."<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(That trip to Berlin involved stops in Iceland and Denmark and introduced me to such delights as currywurst, d</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">öner kebab, Aperol, s</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">mørrebrød, and pears on pizza<span style="color: #4d5156;">.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Chef's kiss.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Vacations are when I find the best food. I was in weird fruit heaven when we went to Jamaica: lychee, Jamaican apples, passionfruit, guava, soursop. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrEYUxuARHBagAxEj71z1x0M-cmL1yk4OjiWW9wWCcZqk3wwV6mQflDIYe7Cm7tnB9ceCH-yHiHZ8fgEEDV8hhYBUl3HI5HTVLercJYGfyZhzIVkqWQqNtcY2VlAZ8Kwq4uwKJEn9lqinJLY5WtLGvu9hUWZuV9SUp73DvTZ6Ja87ojIhmh5T1Kfj0w/s972/12484762_10107120605516400_1044727974096545214_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="648" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrEYUxuARHBagAxEj71z1x0M-cmL1yk4OjiWW9wWCcZqk3wwV6mQflDIYe7Cm7tnB9ceCH-yHiHZ8fgEEDV8hhYBUl3HI5HTVLercJYGfyZhzIVkqWQqNtcY2VlAZ8Kwq4uwKJEn9lqinJLY5WtLGvu9hUWZuV9SUp73DvTZ6Ja87ojIhmh5T1Kfj0w/w266-h400/12484762_10107120605516400_1044727974096545214_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">One of my all-time favorite meals was in Massachusetts, and it was squid-ink pasta. I dream about that dish. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5RnDVJDUAPI38ceffuRamykre7suug3L4KaADbD5oxfLgiNzfcvhUJrJBqQUO-9Ft6vXIl_nCiIx7jrgmhK6YBRTnoSQXhyOfP7ZKJYJn4XDy9WvFhSOK4-ZuKs_72l1cw2XhoD0EW1xaZZ1oNoGGvs_6hQ_us0f82pzcUT7ERIzbiEKpx-r1nu6Lw/s3042/IMG_8310.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2858" data-original-width="3042" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5RnDVJDUAPI38ceffuRamykre7suug3L4KaADbD5oxfLgiNzfcvhUJrJBqQUO-9Ft6vXIl_nCiIx7jrgmhK6YBRTnoSQXhyOfP7ZKJYJn4XDy9WvFhSOK4-ZuKs_72l1cw2XhoD0EW1xaZZ1oNoGGvs_6hQ_us0f82pzcUT7ERIzbiEKpx-r1nu6Lw/w400-h376/IMG_8310.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That same trip, I tried my first lobster outside of a single bite at Red Lobster decades ago. I also dream about lobster.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIOAdqyvHE_eTk4Uuk6HWJzl4rMb5LVUumUiJoBJlibVTcD3eEQsY63TBoUMCRy3Ds-1qTgMA059EAXeMdVCrOQkFxxNuvoc73QpTH-e24R1rckEX4awQGakN1ahAKPlmP8CtJtMKWUPB60VVYqzqf9jwu8BktANss84eBOvTXP6OfmvwihbPDT4Vlw/s2048/IMG_8574.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIOAdqyvHE_eTk4Uuk6HWJzl4rMb5LVUumUiJoBJlibVTcD3eEQsY63TBoUMCRy3Ds-1qTgMA059EAXeMdVCrOQkFxxNuvoc73QpTH-e24R1rckEX4awQGakN1ahAKPlmP8CtJtMKWUPB60VVYqzqf9jwu8BktANss84eBOvTXP6OfmvwihbPDT4Vlw/w300-h400/IMG_8574.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I will admit I do have a hard time trying weird meat. I've tried plenty of unusual (to me) seafood (shark, octopus, squid, eel, crawfish), but I'd be hard-pressed to try a Rocky Mountain Oyster. I have had alligator and rabbit, but they were in sausage and pasta, respectively. I did try James's ostrich hot dog last year, and I have regrets.</span><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmCT_zaGLapmYHU2lOnJWAexYoIEWwx8CPcYYARfBRxPk29hoW2ngN8xTzO3AAXHLtFz5z-nI928B5_k874Wov6BRWzhpyvS_bB-k2MPUW2m-CN7FZMz6I2UCBnS5iZhp6UGAVnoA9SGot-pPq_5Gv0z39Hbhkw3KrLLlp0D3_djTPsqR2Z_MMiD2Ow/s2048/IMG_3565.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmCT_zaGLapmYHU2lOnJWAexYoIEWwx8CPcYYARfBRxPk29hoW2ngN8xTzO3AAXHLtFz5z-nI928B5_k874Wov6BRWzhpyvS_bB-k2MPUW2m-CN7FZMz6I2UCBnS5iZhp6UGAVnoA9SGot-pPq_5Gv0z39Hbhkw3KrLLlp0D3_djTPsqR2Z_MMiD2Ow/w300-h400/IMG_3565.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shark. 0/10 recommend.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">But the good discoveries just keep coming! Until about a year ago, I thought I didn't like sushi - not because of the raw fish aspect, but because I couldn't handle the seaweed taste. A friend introduced me to the incredible concept of soy paper, and my life was changed. Now I love sushi.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Now that James and I have a tiny person of our own, we're doing our best to expose him to all kinds of food. People have commented that they wouldn't have thought to give whatever kind of food to a kid, but we want him to have a broad culinary experience. Phineas is super into seafood: he loves shrimp more than anyone I know, and he'll dig into salmon and catfish. He likes food pretty spicy, like andouille sausage. He loves Chinese food. He eats whole bell peppers like apples. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95ZaRB15Aj1CwL7x8agGgCFMAErCwprSUE8RGLTpWFiOM1Gkm1o1w7hlRnY4tLCgvsbT7VklngDe39QKvYsZ7aXnrlvHViVGKQoyz0W-bM-niowiOahe6e4S1HcCHdsz7nLEmGS9cBMs6YzX-yeD42gW99N6oY6scNhaSamsmaHGsrEGfbxTQWOEKyQ/s2048/IMG_8484%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95ZaRB15Aj1CwL7x8agGgCFMAErCwprSUE8RGLTpWFiOM1Gkm1o1w7hlRnY4tLCgvsbT7VklngDe39QKvYsZ7aXnrlvHViVGKQoyz0W-bM-niowiOahe6e4S1HcCHdsz7nLEmGS9cBMs6YzX-yeD42gW99N6oY6scNhaSamsmaHGsrEGfbxTQWOEKyQ/w300-h400/IMG_8484%20(1).jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Moral of the story: I was never actually picky - I just didn't (and don't) like traditionally Midwestern-style food. Sorry to all the hotdish aficionados out there.</span><p></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-13951220895597945222023-03-07T12:22:00.003-06:002023-03-07T18:59:41.716-06:00the church cookbook<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We have been in our house for more than three years now, and the process of decluttering is never-ending. I've been thinning out my book collection steadily over the years because - duh - I'm a librarian and can find whatever book I want for free. The books I'm keeping are those that are particularly special or that I know I'll read again and again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Anyway, the latest victim of my book weed was the 100th Anniversary Trinity Lutheran Church cookbook.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkc-AyYVQ6aPc5IAToEoeEYmuMdt3j9l-73gDB41GKoucs4-eqyc5sxpK-xxiTqZR5iHH-LePQKgVEWrGybp8jrYV9uF_1LGwEjL3539EtTrQ3uusZOvQfod0-W39mWtouSAcS2F08SZzv5maiwGYu2BElkDQ1wMjpf8uRu9BgKmUFtZyM0zBXoM9dQ/s2045/IMG_8698.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2045" data-original-width="1537" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkc-AyYVQ6aPc5IAToEoeEYmuMdt3j9l-73gDB41GKoucs4-eqyc5sxpK-xxiTqZR5iHH-LePQKgVEWrGybp8jrYV9uF_1LGwEjL3539EtTrQ3uusZOvQfod0-W39mWtouSAcS2F08SZzv5maiwGYu2BElkDQ1wMjpf8uRu9BgKmUFtZyM0zBXoM9dQ/w301-h400/IMG_8698.jpeg" width="301" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I believe it was published in 2004 or 2005, and I don't think I've looked at it since then for two reasons.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The big one: I don't cook.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The secondary one: the recipes are so adorably Midwestern. So much ground beef, so little flavor.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I did read it cover to cover last night, though, in search of some familiar names. And I found SO much more than that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My mom, who also is not a fan of cooking, did indeed submit one recipe - and it's something she still makes today. It's also one of the only soups/chowders that I like.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnDWox7BcIaitWvzeGgAOSH_7zrTb3MOOZ-AEukuYHjZIY3gr3BT5NIM-mXCLxUqcvjvYaUDEHDaXkaUq8MUuEwvVBQ1V3t1cR12nuENBm8gonnPRaFyXbhs-mUVO05tAIsn0v2ANNVEEBI0dBnJYPxt48Z7C26InA_H3XEEUmgspjU2FsxPI4r8_-g/s1451/IMG_8683.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="1451" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnDWox7BcIaitWvzeGgAOSH_7zrTb3MOOZ-AEukuYHjZIY3gr3BT5NIM-mXCLxUqcvjvYaUDEHDaXkaUq8MUuEwvVBQ1V3t1cR12nuENBm8gonnPRaFyXbhs-mUVO05tAIsn0v2ANNVEEBI0dBnJYPxt48Z7C26InA_H3XEEUmgspjU2FsxPI4r8_-g/w400-h216/IMG_8683.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I also found quite a few recipes from my grandma Sheila, who LOVED to cook. She is best known for her baked goods, of which she shared several:</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAbynUBFi0hQ6lQo4q8JhVFydA877HMMFDXCcFQEldSzffBL2Xe4yqZBPkPlxZjRRBW7ex3Uo12zEqqVZHUDnp4N0WBOH6dhRy86IPLVh4ppPW3NomqT8m8XjkYekPLU2Kpq_hJO4ffNTe4WN9DcLJ0AgQw9zP_Rxvum-oazLavSZa0dKZIMDtu3zRQ/s1467/IMG_8692.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="1271" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAbynUBFi0hQ6lQo4q8JhVFydA877HMMFDXCcFQEldSzffBL2Xe4yqZBPkPlxZjRRBW7ex3Uo12zEqqVZHUDnp4N0WBOH6dhRy86IPLVh4ppPW3NomqT8m8XjkYekPLU2Kpq_hJO4ffNTe4WN9DcLJ0AgQw9zP_Rxvum-oazLavSZa0dKZIMDtu3zRQ/w346-h400/IMG_8692.jpeg" width="346" /></a></div><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBTReDBFrshRVFXtUQN5eY93fo8Pq2gU3U7U2eIj3sNmdpU0RH01bIfiNKUhXwVZLT0_q9Rq70zzMM9niDKelAI2s2lzzja6LhDPfy2O64ioU_JFNGjYl-7Gk6LXywkrOuGDk9--J23NPPwNRlzRlX9HRdOkWhOPE3GQRYxexyePYqCc0iODSdatN-Q/s1529/IMG_8694.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1027" data-original-width="1529" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBTReDBFrshRVFXtUQN5eY93fo8Pq2gU3U7U2eIj3sNmdpU0RH01bIfiNKUhXwVZLT0_q9Rq70zzMM9niDKelAI2s2lzzja6LhDPfy2O64ioU_JFNGjYl-7Gk6LXywkrOuGDk9--J23NPPwNRlzRlX9HRdOkWhOPE3GQRYxexyePYqCc0iODSdatN-Q/w400-h269/IMG_8694.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPN0kqMrJ5PZqu3WRsoJDYYYHM9qLy2g6r1HfDqhMQELLP1lYW2Ht2MLCmywIMvnx7r3S-VNNrf3tyHFeiMClFYD5r7pdTHHcDO2wywWWgEalw1bRUYo9m-Vjj0-xJ0Ofe-6KCBe8aSfTEyizpmmwTGgR55i31rpH3y2B2fhtxIt_JxhtmedAVBQDVDA/s1605/IMG_8693.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1605" data-original-width="1293" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPN0kqMrJ5PZqu3WRsoJDYYYHM9qLy2g6r1HfDqhMQELLP1lYW2Ht2MLCmywIMvnx7r3S-VNNrf3tyHFeiMClFYD5r7pdTHHcDO2wywWWgEalw1bRUYo9m-Vjj0-xJ0Ofe-6KCBe8aSfTEyizpmmwTGgR55i31rpH3y2B2fhtxIt_JxhtmedAVBQDVDA/w323-h400/IMG_8693.jpeg" width="323" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I do have a bone to pick with Grandma: anything with that many ingredients doesn't seem "easy" to me. I do love the exclamations she includes, though ("very yummy!" "outstanding!").</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Funny story: I don't remember having any of these desserts. I was probably more focused in her cinnamon bread.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Grandma also included a couple of meat-based recipes, which absolutely sum up Midwestern flavor.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDb-DjqkJu7A7YMhA6hhjks09LWQurToduit_HFUx1Es32vcKolXqoIU0oOBe3Nsb6KOyo5f_-yjq8X2taqQBRX-yooDB5gjVpTRhEpB6qsIG9E1GEvQ5V4bE6ObkL-BUVxP7Sca4UHM4s7HN_WCtyMCB5rE3w6z09fDtcg8IFlFVoJE2I6FglM8Psg/s1495/IMG_8686.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="1495" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDb-DjqkJu7A7YMhA6hhjks09LWQurToduit_HFUx1Es32vcKolXqoIU0oOBe3Nsb6KOyo5f_-yjq8X2taqQBRX-yooDB5gjVpTRhEpB6qsIG9E1GEvQ5V4bE6ObkL-BUVxP7Sca4UHM4s7HN_WCtyMCB5rE3w6z09fDtcg8IFlFVoJE2I6FglM8Psg/w400-h165/IMG_8686.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJoPmLmLiNyBPeEeGZzTfmgbN9PSqGiuTU5DEwwbR-lT0tgWfOm6sbv8a8kmZsqbofW7iLhYpteHacf1OWN8MXBU2aB1iIeI-SHCNsxg8beHhpE-qf9QoBF3LMOmS8XcQdJoDigw15holGKMvpsj7abFa2_cTKyKnGdug1XP2T5A_xosqp8QsxuCcCyw/s1529/IMG_8685.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="1529" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJoPmLmLiNyBPeEeGZzTfmgbN9PSqGiuTU5DEwwbR-lT0tgWfOm6sbv8a8kmZsqbofW7iLhYpteHacf1OWN8MXBU2aB1iIeI-SHCNsxg8beHhpE-qf9QoBF3LMOmS8XcQdJoDigw15holGKMvpsj7abFa2_cTKyKnGdug1XP2T5A_xosqp8QsxuCcCyw/w400-h221/IMG_8685.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>I love my grandma, and I love the Midwest... but typical Midwestern food is something else.<p></p></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">As you can see from these excellent examples, the base of a typical small town Midwestern diet is ground beef. I don't like ground beef in any form except a burger. I never have. That immediately got me labeled as "picky." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">As a kid, I accepted the label. I didn't enjoy 95% of the food at potlucks, and I didn't go for everything on the dinner table at home. Ground beef, broccoli, cream of mushroom soup, any Jello-based "salad"... not for me. I survived on a diet of cereal and hot dogs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But as I got older, I found out there is a TON of food out there I enjoy. I love seafood. I love all fruit (except melons. melons are a bullshit fruit). I love sushi. I haven't met a cuisine (Japanese, Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese, Argentinian, etc) that I don't like. One of my all-time favorite meals was made with squid ink pasta. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">So I'll let you decide if I'm truly picky.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Besides the endless ground beef-based dishes, there were more treasures to behold - many of which left me shaking my head. I present: the cheesecake with no traditional cheesecake filling.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iYjL-anW2GMxVs02ba0_TJ6phtntIBOW_F9wMQkJ10tdtkxhhEq6cQIrHw0ikUAvFwnCd7hDhLE7YoiF3UjGfE0eYcHhsyjH-YjBALGVXyvDzsI5IWEpe_PXe3SIoqjO2ldc0T7TeGmpfI-VrQ8sdcI10oGJtNePOunhG2ev7nPCNoeX2zXhtbk-yA/s1573/IMG_8689.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="1573" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iYjL-anW2GMxVs02ba0_TJ6phtntIBOW_F9wMQkJ10tdtkxhhEq6cQIrHw0ikUAvFwnCd7hDhLE7YoiF3UjGfE0eYcHhsyjH-YjBALGVXyvDzsI5IWEpe_PXe3SIoqjO2ldc0T7TeGmpfI-VrQ8sdcI10oGJtNePOunhG2ev7nPCNoeX2zXhtbk-yA/w400-h330/IMG_8689.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">(I have removed the submitter's name to protect the less-than-innocent.)</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I read this a couple of times to make sure I didn't miss anything. I'm no purist, but I feel like a cheesecake with no cream cheese isn't a cheesecake. Or mascarpone. Or sour cream. Or Greek yogurt. Or ricotta. Or any of the endless things you can use as a substitute to get the "cheese" in "cheesecake." This is just pudding with coffee in it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Ketchup is a huge part of the Midwestern diet. Or, as the </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Kingsbury County Pork Producers would say, catsup. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnjeeDJllbxvSKcgy0zWb447PJKteWRII_xJhJEfkx3eKvNoEC9PU8v7keBLGjgxK6JdJIAEhjOk-iP51_GtT_Xgvyuj8KHQy8jnPNcQAlC3k_9Ek-p1uobdPbhnS55wsbyi1jkLKGVUJlg3_jBZ9qEGA8LWGw9FR2gIzrOsJXV8m40Pi6-03w0pBaA/s1269/IMG_8696.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="1269" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnjeeDJllbxvSKcgy0zWb447PJKteWRII_xJhJEfkx3eKvNoEC9PU8v7keBLGjgxK6JdJIAEhjOk-iP51_GtT_Xgvyuj8KHQy8jnPNcQAlC3k_9Ek-p1uobdPbhnS55wsbyi1jkLKGVUJlg3_jBZ9qEGA8LWGw9FR2gIzrOsJXV8m40Pi6-03w0pBaA/w400-h159/IMG_8696.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When was the last time you heard someone refer to ketchup as catsup? I forgot that was even a word.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Of course, you can't have a small town church cookbook without some mild racism:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9s09M1M2f7TLLD_6Zg35qWHiXDKfzW9Iy06j4cvBCZHh5ONImTxIjXGEFuDpqvFef7w-RQUDBaPZUv1BDzy9lHotpt-wMhhK5aWAiAKM8sGQn244snvhrhycfWDAX05CV_9PkwX-7Z-mpOCSizDg9UK6FVa5rTnRpj8J_n_nzFtXnvpLpg087ppZ0g/s1394/IMG_8682.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="1394" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9s09M1M2f7TLLD_6Zg35qWHiXDKfzW9Iy06j4cvBCZHh5ONImTxIjXGEFuDpqvFef7w-RQUDBaPZUv1BDzy9lHotpt-wMhhK5aWAiAKM8sGQn244snvhrhycfWDAX05CV_9PkwX-7Z-mpOCSizDg9UK6FVa5rTnRpj8J_n_nzFtXnvpLpg087ppZ0g/w400-h203/IMG_8682.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97X1C-021ncbU9T76DsFlHRYnDdus2I1ZK_eRXbBh2vvDxEtY8jlaXrPgnB0Hq1l6F0KXmZ-TcYMBhvo3rnTq-hJbMRkBnFQGy-8Pzm9qKLEk4clvx8DiKUyx1uhsgdyDEpmz8mC1i9--hbCYY0gCEieahDWcOQe59lPchLTfyRm89YuLKbrtr2_z_g/s1229/IMG_8687.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="1229" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97X1C-021ncbU9T76DsFlHRYnDdus2I1ZK_eRXbBh2vvDxEtY8jlaXrPgnB0Hq1l6F0KXmZ-TcYMBhvo3rnTq-hJbMRkBnFQGy-8Pzm9qKLEk4clvx8DiKUyx1uhsgdyDEpmz8mC1i9--hbCYY0gCEieahDWcOQe59lPchLTfyRm89YuLKbrtr2_z_g/w400-h201/IMG_8687.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Oof. You can say "they grew up in a different time" and "this was 20 years ago" all you want, but I would bet a large sum of money the old ladies who submitted these back in 2004 would see no problem with the names of the dishes today.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My absolute favorite recipes are those submitted by the wedding committee. According to the cookbook, which gave helpful definitions as to what committees did what, the wedding committee was responsible for serving refreshments in the fellowship hall after a wedding. I don't know how many people head to the fellowship hall after their weddings any more, so I don't know if the wedding committee still exists. But their recipes live on.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXF1fx_TnXeUzw5K70gqOftiBF77qnScK07O_RfsqEjqNZilL2bhO3qwx87Lf2JCqsv9W4GT7LnTtAdBbnTqvj8gs0eo1o3FTM3c7THF8OzQDKuHpaBwdCKvaIFSM0C70MNYPeQizd9C6mNLZFxBP8Dk6f3Xkfc2wEdNNbGFmu9w6ZqrvvasQsj7zslg/s1209/IMG_8695.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="1197" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXF1fx_TnXeUzw5K70gqOftiBF77qnScK07O_RfsqEjqNZilL2bhO3qwx87Lf2JCqsv9W4GT7LnTtAdBbnTqvj8gs0eo1o3FTM3c7THF8OzQDKuHpaBwdCKvaIFSM0C70MNYPeQizd9C6mNLZFxBP8Dk6f3Xkfc2wEdNNbGFmu9w6ZqrvvasQsj7zslg/w396-h400/IMG_8695.jpeg" width="396" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Meat salads. My nightmare.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The absolute best, though, was the punch section. There is a LITERAL two-page spread about red punch.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuIaBmPBiFXHnXJFBqfiRPer6BickwbjJWFxLQaKA--uSI-dkQoCuQe3RkRHreEbRqX8ig2ZU4iB_OjlWvDac3oYxWwmI-PSSakIAuB86cpcM3dv4Lo3mw1vggPHRo2-VLIZLlNu0nvxmmnoycTuApSMRLW5aL_-NBRIbE_uvi8_zuFxLB-8TL7fQbA/s1975/IMG_8680.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="1975" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuIaBmPBiFXHnXJFBqfiRPer6BickwbjJWFxLQaKA--uSI-dkQoCuQe3RkRHreEbRqX8ig2ZU4iB_OjlWvDac3oYxWwmI-PSSakIAuB86cpcM3dv4Lo3mw1vggPHRo2-VLIZLlNu0nvxmmnoycTuApSMRLW5aL_-NBRIbE_uvi8_zuFxLB-8TL7fQbA/w400-h276/IMG_8680.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I had no idea of the possibilities.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">It's even funnier when you look at the index:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2O1oGW-xa5Udr8e1bLq8GM8MgFNIfQlCU0rS41F07jsrrsXlGQZ-3hYivHmSog483R-Sg0PzgaOvTQsAyXib_qj-HgxPTTWsAVwjs5vSz25aVXS_p7i0lAXqegfBifNSZwmDR_xlr-iGo3ukgJD-Yn5GLSy4Wxdp6pKutbb42UgsnLsrIg4oy7S0u9Q/s1014/IMG_8697.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1014" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2O1oGW-xa5Udr8e1bLq8GM8MgFNIfQlCU0rS41F07jsrrsXlGQZ-3hYivHmSog483R-Sg0PzgaOvTQsAyXib_qj-HgxPTTWsAVwjs5vSz25aVXS_p7i0lAXqegfBifNSZwmDR_xlr-iGo3ukgJD-Yn5GLSy4Wxdp6pKutbb42UgsnLsrIg4oy7S0u9Q/w400-h248/IMG_8697.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">After reading this cookbook, I don't think I can get rid of it any more. It's too hilarious. I feel like this would be a great party theme: everyone pick a section and a dish from said section, except make it good. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">If you are in the need for some bland Midwestern recipes, you let me know - I've got you covered. Especially if it's red punch.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-67782487813678764332023-02-22T19:36:00.003-06:002023-02-22T19:36:53.798-06:00kids YouTube: a diatribe.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Remember a couple of months ago when I complained a bunch about Paw Patrol?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I take it all back.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I thought that was as close to the bottom of the barrel in the children's entertainment universe I was going to get.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">HOO BOY was I wrong.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I'm talking YouTube.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We've all ventured into YouTube. There is some truly amazing stuff on there - you can watch long-lost TV shows, learn how to do almost anything, listen to music... it's pretty great.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Every video platform has its problems, though - people have been known to post some pretty horrific things. The stuff of nightmares.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I am not what you'd call an avid YouTube user. I'll go on it every now and again, but I'm definitely visiting YouTube just a couple of times a month. James, on the other hand, is a YouTube addict. He watches the most boring videos I have ever come across - watch repair, old toy restoration, trumpets... snore. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Unfortunately, James passed his love of YouTube onto Phineas.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It started off innocent enough. There are all sorts of videos aiming to help kids with colors, numbers, and shapes, so James showed Phineas a few of those. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Once you find something on YouTube you like, you'll get suggestions for other videos in the same vein. </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">That's how you fall down the rabbit hole.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Phineas's color videos came to my attention one day when James pulled up YouTube on the TV and started one of Phineas's favorite videos. This particular video is a part of a massive YouTube channel called Genevieve's Playhouse, which is basically a grown-ass man playing with children's toys and providing narration in his creepy grown-ass man voice.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">This particular video is said grown-ass man feeding gumballs to one of those PlayDoh heads where you make his teeth out of PlayDoh. The premise of the video is this guy eating too many gumballs (his teeth turn a different color for each gumball) and having to have his teeth replaced. This video is like 20 minutes long.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Xn_ivui26NJMB3ljyytSEBOZcCID1IJRX6JBHGGJF0GgHY0myOo4cX3YMyOkrKaks3HBnX7JGYGtlRnzz3FZ32eLYT8i9rmWJhT1p5w73cX7Srinl0JVXY3Fu7yXxoePTWdm-baOKJkfny6erKp51bs4ck5CdZq72NxoAKPNbBL90EfEf2fLehDeVg/s320/mqdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Xn_ivui26NJMB3ljyytSEBOZcCID1IJRX6JBHGGJF0GgHY0myOo4cX3YMyOkrKaks3HBnX7JGYGtlRnzz3FZ32eLYT8i9rmWJhT1p5w73cX7Srinl0JVXY3Fu7yXxoePTWdm-baOKJkfny6erKp51bs4ck5CdZq72NxoAKPNbBL90EfEf2fLehDeVg/w400-h225/mqdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">It's been a downward spiral since then. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have watched one too many of these types of video, and as I'm watching them, I feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience. Like - is this it? Did I finally lose my mind? Am I accidentally on drugs?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas's current favorite is a super long one where various objects get dipped in colors. Eventually, a rather disturbing animated baby shows up and dances.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX7G-D3ZZ66uUQQBC5HiFzwpOsifFwoTOvrTG7pjBLQ2z_VU954mSMt8D89ojrmIfasdas848F7ngtHWKGDwVG2xBl2JRdmfdyD49VFNuxiKG_pIuOB6_FBB0EcnNV7wWIVGImtK912KrWf29VhKh1vyoUmkYUt0PKS2k0XbY6tSCbO44Y6H-aR-NbYw/s320/mqdefault%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX7G-D3ZZ66uUQQBC5HiFzwpOsifFwoTOvrTG7pjBLQ2z_VU954mSMt8D89ojrmIfasdas848F7ngtHWKGDwVG2xBl2JRdmfdyD49VFNuxiKG_pIuOB6_FBB0EcnNV7wWIVGImtK912KrWf29VhKh1vyoUmkYUt0PKS2k0XbY6tSCbO44Y6H-aR-NbYw/w400-h225/mqdefault%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soccer ball ice cream scoops. Makes perfect sense.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Phineas is super into videos with unsettling animated children. They all have gigantic eyes and talk like they are aliens trying to trick us into believing they’re human. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">At first, James was reluctant to heed my pleas to end this kids YouTube garbage. "It's educational!" he said. "So are books!" I said. But even James was driven over the edge by the dancing baby, so we are redirecting Phineas to basically anything but YouTube.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">So... Paw Patrol, here I come. And I will be grateful. </span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-810516408070462542023-01-31T14:36:00.000-06:002023-01-31T14:36:35.909-06:00the perfect last bite.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I'm here today to talk about something dear to my culinary heart. Something that shapes every dining experience I've ever had.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The perfect last bite. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It's when you are enjoying a particularly good meal and you make sure your very last bite of said meal is nothing short of flawless. It could be just the right amount of sauce on a french fry or the perfect bun-to-meat ratio on a burger. It's that last bite you take that makes you close your eyes with pleasure. The last bite that leaves you absolutely satisfied.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It's essential you don't eat anything else after the perfect last bite. You might have the perfect last bite of your steak and then be tempted to pick at those last few mashed potatoes, but this invalidates the perfect bite. The perfect last bite must be just that: last. It's the last bite of your favorite thing in the meal.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The last perfect bite I had was at Crawford's in Sioux Falls.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRde5HPM_Tr_VqO0t-cGF1znFZFMLd3WI1FLS8gTaXdn1PSQWSwZqoDQftrty72X3c0m_NWtPVlcjL0XJjYfPCeokJAdjwBcJIDTQY3LT6_OsjdKLbdrVMZE6_hlzjxSs73qHJmTZDcMNv55ijGhgm8Z2qtCT6o5LCYtzfYvd5GLQvi19bew0YINM_CA/s2048/IMG_7442.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRde5HPM_Tr_VqO0t-cGF1znFZFMLd3WI1FLS8gTaXdn1PSQWSwZqoDQftrty72X3c0m_NWtPVlcjL0XJjYfPCeokJAdjwBcJIDTQY3LT6_OsjdKLbdrVMZE6_hlzjxSs73qHJmTZDcMNv55ijGhgm8Z2qtCT6o5LCYtzfYvd5GLQvi19bew0YINM_CA/w400-h300/IMG_7442.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Every January, downtown Sioux Falls businesses compete in the Burger Battle, which is a freaking delight. The burger at Crawford's had a pretzel bun, tomato pepper jam, jalapeno bacon, and black truffle cheese. It was phenomenal. And the last bite? Nothing but perfection.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I'm wondering if this is something just I do, or is it a universal thing? James hadn't thought of a perfect last bite before I told him it was something I do, and now he is a sworn believer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Clearly, I am of the "live to eat" variety versus "eat to live." Eating delicious food is pretty much my favorite thing to do - the best part about going on vacation is all the new and exciting food options. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">As the great Sophia Loren once said: "I'd rather eat pasta and drink wine than be a size zero."<br /></span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-88930313311494069352022-12-20T19:02:00.004-06:002022-12-21T18:31:36.894-06:00cute shit Phineas says.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Parenthood, man. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYmGMScEEPRfBdrd_6QilnIjXutrYnXbez4QPfSYz15X3KnuJocnuLZEkgyw5QaIm9GVFXWDij7yOgB0EXJYWtn-eWOxWnqUzwA6yOtIWZFiDVnXJ2M1j1csPEkrW22j12iyo6W5BVzeFU0Tbsj8dNUW0WvVGMN5ZNdlsZ_eDEKZ7ib8_wo2B8TRi9g/s2048/IMG_6580.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYmGMScEEPRfBdrd_6QilnIjXutrYnXbez4QPfSYz15X3KnuJocnuLZEkgyw5QaIm9GVFXWDij7yOgB0EXJYWtn-eWOxWnqUzwA6yOtIWZFiDVnXJ2M1j1csPEkrW22j12iyo6W5BVzeFU0Tbsj8dNUW0WvVGMN5ZNdlsZ_eDEKZ7ib8_wo2B8TRi9g/w300-h400/IMG_6580.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't let that sweet face fool you. One second, he was<br />roaring like a dinosaur. The next, he was kicking me<br />in the gut.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas will be three in March, and I feel like we're in the trenches. He's this small person with BIG feelings and not quite the words to express them yet. There's a lot of screaming (from him - I'm only screaming on the inside) and a lot of frustrating days. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Sometimes, though, Phineas will say or do something funny that helps me forget about the bad days. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Here are some of the things he says. </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">TRYING NOT TO GO TO BED</span></div><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You're beautiful!</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(pets my hair) I'm comforting!</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Let’s snuggle just a little bit more.</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">NAMES</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Gramma-rama</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I love Cawwa!</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">OUT OF THE BLUE</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><ul><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You're not a monster.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Your butt is probably tired.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My bones are crackin!</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Let's do this.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Thank you for giving me kisses. I love kisses.</span></li></ul></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">NAMES OF THINGS:</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">mac 'n roni: macaroni and cheese</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">plugger: outlet</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">presso: espresso (he likes to pretend to make espresso for James)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">minty: toothpaste</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">whisker: whisk</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">tormado: tornado/tomato</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">bonker: hammer</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">MISC</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(in reference to farting) My butt burped.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(in reference to my tattoo) That's your pontoon.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(gives me the side-eye) What's up with you?</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(while hiking) I'm DOIN' it!</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(what he thinks is a joke) You work at school! Dad works at library! Hehehehehehe!</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(hearing that my dad's combine got fixed) Go farmer Grandpa!</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(hearing James and me talk about parenthood burnout) I’m burned out, too.</span></li></ul><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas does a lot of things that make us laugh. He eats lemons and limes - just plain. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9zB1WLiiAjnvLb1OkaqPQX1ILB6X5xaE8eG3EGh5PQnnzwlMM1HJfoogGUzqX8dIkYaBeUMFoajcNMA5CHLhK5KKLbixf-WffSBCSbfjiwXSTmBZN0E2BmHJVOVtXipo0tuXceDHkqWkt2wo1wWt4bK-yv3bYCqoV6nFVwNL4YKetFvke43mZ8zUsQ/s2048/IMG_6590.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9zB1WLiiAjnvLb1OkaqPQX1ILB6X5xaE8eG3EGh5PQnnzwlMM1HJfoogGUzqX8dIkYaBeUMFoajcNMA5CHLhK5KKLbixf-WffSBCSbfjiwXSTmBZN0E2BmHJVOVtXipo0tuXceDHkqWkt2wo1wWt4bK-yv3bYCqoV6nFVwNL4YKetFvke43mZ8zUsQ/w300-h400/IMG_6590.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">He plays the recorder, and he's halfway decent. He loves to sweep with the power sweeper, and he loves to help James cook. He sees pictures of me as a kid and says, "That's Phineas!" He sees pictures of my mom in her 30s and says "that's mama!" He loves animals and is obsessed with spiderwebs. One of the best days of his life was when the garbage man waved at him from the truck. His first multi-syllable word was "brewery." </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Now that Phineas's goofy antics are written down, maybe they'll bring me a bit of joy if I reread them on a bad day. Just writing this after a bad week made me smile. These kinds of things are hard to remember in the moment, but hopefully I will remember that they are there.</span></div></div></div><p></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-50267890450233107512022-12-07T19:41:00.003-06:002022-12-07T19:41:55.784-06:00sexist jewelry store ads: a rant.<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">My least favorite store is one I have never been in.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It's a jewelry store in Brookings called Wink's.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">According to their website, it's been in Brookings for 60+ years. From what I have heard, the original owner (whose last name was Winkelman) was a gem. (Get it? Gem?) But the guy who bought it in the 80s? Not so much.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There are a few stories floating around about that guy, and they all revolve around how much one is willing to spend on jewelry. For example: a guy came in looking for a gift for his wife. When he was shown only items outside his budget, he asked to look at something less expensive. The owner said, "Well, why don't you just take her to McDonald's, then, and be done with it?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have never set foot in Wink's because of these stories - my dad has a similar one, so their bad attitude has gone down in Bjorklund family history. Whenever we go to Nick's Hamburgers (which is located just around the corner from Wink's), we all make a point to park in front of Wink's. Dad calls it his "tiny rebellion" - taking up that parking space might make it that much more difficult for business. Maybe, maybe not, but it makes us feel good.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">What really gets me, though, is their advertising.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0Y0G8XpH9eQRgYtAGyo22qkJmdn_94NQztK1F0sPFiNnbiCwejiWn0rNHy51hMAQONcdVhIMzz2a650-TfrB1uUC9r_zoz-tqSAzto2YwMeO-ODLti5a2o1cvWaRS_zJqeYRk6CP_UkETMO4e19t2SX4gJm0fwSYxMEk2PhHDi2dspfTGdVbO9VAAw/s796/Capture.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="664" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0Y0G8XpH9eQRgYtAGyo22qkJmdn_94NQztK1F0sPFiNnbiCwejiWn0rNHy51hMAQONcdVhIMzz2a650-TfrB1uUC9r_zoz-tqSAzto2YwMeO-ODLti5a2o1cvWaRS_zJqeYRk6CP_UkETMO4e19t2SX4gJm0fwSYxMEk2PhHDi2dspfTGdVbO9VAAw/w334-h400/Capture.PNG" width="334" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I have never seen a SINGLE ad of theirs that isn't completely sexist. Only in recent years have I begun to document them, but the true number of these bullshit ads far exceeds my photographic evidence.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">A while ago, I wrote an essay about my wedding ring and how the size of the stone in no way represents James's love for me. Wink's very clearly operates on that premise. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Makepeace in Watertown is no different. I think they must use the same ad agency as Wink's. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Every one of the ads from these two stores operates on the same premise: men are dumb and constantly need to get out of "trouble," and buying a woman jewelry will solve everything and give said man a free pass to do anything. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I'll let the gallery speak for itself:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(you can tell which ones are Wink's ads because I'm flipping them off)</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LR7xbz5dBlSKz9kLyefahw76ESm4MlUbLWAX3TU8xSVyJmjGgqLE7-VSRU_TXmJrQ1dPkQY6Oq6WCOlJcNaJKjUbwRqIBjGotn-7nMcFH4kcUygR-DtgvxEpgakV0H6rRJ7ez2EUWX5g-4NXpt7wnorxnNlARxWusGMv51YVNDyicrJk8pU61ErKMw/s395/billboards-header-new.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="204" data-original-width="395" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LR7xbz5dBlSKz9kLyefahw76ESm4MlUbLWAX3TU8xSVyJmjGgqLE7-VSRU_TXmJrQ1dPkQY6Oq6WCOlJcNaJKjUbwRqIBjGotn-7nMcFH4kcUygR-DtgvxEpgakV0H6rRJ7ez2EUWX5g-4NXpt7wnorxnNlARxWusGMv51YVNDyicrJk8pU61ErKMw/w400-h206/billboards-header-new.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpELJ1GSI_54O27OJIACoivCrhQxASlEfVXCeGZ2jqMVLN14fHk_GnjAb2GgwYSQk5JABTPXyioan8gK4ZJUZYLr5SKwZ9ycWSbwK4wI_Hrijb5ljM72NbU9PhFe3j9PqSKOME9nYOM2rV6SVArhzbVGRUZUcMkQTU6jJdMaGW13a6pcITKZZRyIxaDw/s835/72084810_3437659649607842_2070227468496666624_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="835" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpELJ1GSI_54O27OJIACoivCrhQxASlEfVXCeGZ2jqMVLN14fHk_GnjAb2GgwYSQk5JABTPXyioan8gK4ZJUZYLr5SKwZ9ycWSbwK4wI_Hrijb5ljM72NbU9PhFe3j9PqSKOME9nYOM2rV6SVArhzbVGRUZUcMkQTU6jJdMaGW13a6pcITKZZRyIxaDw/w400-h140/72084810_3437659649607842_2070227468496666624_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaA28NJUjpJJdowr4mYu-XT7bOfHvV17NF3iEh4RvTlIsqJK5nsH_1nVi0stgzP0vV52WswXlT9E9DFNQXKQzoCxTY9vwIe0jgIXX1kYE7n6bAjyLUixeuLYHNqA5uqPnFE3W11TQ274WZuzla38rCtrJ_rP_QNmJ8qkwVrcZLvu77JDjolOmaEkc4Qw/s851/106133745_4359920047381793_4684272925527604912_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="851" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaA28NJUjpJJdowr4mYu-XT7bOfHvV17NF3iEh4RvTlIsqJK5nsH_1nVi0stgzP0vV52WswXlT9E9DFNQXKQzoCxTY9vwIe0jgIXX1kYE7n6bAjyLUixeuLYHNqA5uqPnFE3W11TQ274WZuzla38rCtrJ_rP_QNmJ8qkwVrcZLvu77JDjolOmaEkc4Qw/w400-h148/106133745_4359920047381793_4684272925527604912_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16bEpCSjIru0vnAISRaoWmP4pjHdNJP8VGhJsVFIN6Ucu7GxTgQqybcpmncNOyQ3T45wlnVpNg1XOCsQZUup2zW-dM-Vfq37xjuRQLOwKNpqdvsBnh5AwTlnTC1sAvUJic-fiYutTkUZLnkuWwWwhXP9IyQ3jqGTwXi6wsIFdXrQncNytjpyd4j0bUA/s1667/IMG_6406.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK28jvS7ZpG446n8RGN4VfLnxksWJAK9BOvU4EgEvyvHSvzb-Bxug8GN4Thctl4f0FW0T3YNALgpDMRiTdlLcFwX9WsRtnvGRSMRIv92L4n0toj-FWvhZVJj3HlukMQ-ClwaRQwHE8rXCa2FzwFXM-OBRK6Jdwhwf3_XBavZ63w37jiBxYez60eE9Atw/s1725/IMG_5059.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1725" data-original-width="1241" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK28jvS7ZpG446n8RGN4VfLnxksWJAK9BOvU4EgEvyvHSvzb-Bxug8GN4Thctl4f0FW0T3YNALgpDMRiTdlLcFwX9WsRtnvGRSMRIv92L4n0toj-FWvhZVJj3HlukMQ-ClwaRQwHE8rXCa2FzwFXM-OBRK6Jdwhwf3_XBavZ63w37jiBxYez60eE9Atw/w288-h400/IMG_5059.jpeg" width="288" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NGoZNL62rK8Z0ezVO9f6EtrlzwcwmDZwXQbSWSY0XMGRQ0lHuHEoLcnIx0T-pz4EO1CUtnbL8lx5lG9ytAVVRdA7fWgQ4EAADYkmA2tAuRY83F5BYNBiWrYDMSuM1fOdxv8MfLUF1ssJs1_nlD896F9l4hRF7JU31RdIHjDfHQUP3gRD07MgVhoCmw/s2048/IMG_5058.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NGoZNL62rK8Z0ezVO9f6EtrlzwcwmDZwXQbSWSY0XMGRQ0lHuHEoLcnIx0T-pz4EO1CUtnbL8lx5lG9ytAVVRdA7fWgQ4EAADYkmA2tAuRY83F5BYNBiWrYDMSuM1fOdxv8MfLUF1ssJs1_nlD896F9l4hRF7JU31RdIHjDfHQUP3gRD07MgVhoCmw/w300-h400/IMG_5058.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I also distinctly remember another Wink's ad that said something like "your daughter shouldn't have a bigger ring than your wife."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Ick.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Now, I do feel a little bit bad hating on these stores because they are small businesses. I am a supporter of shopping small and shopping local. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">However.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Being a small business is no excuse for being horribly sexist and outdated.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There are plenty of jewelers who are small business owners and do not have sexist ads. Should I be in the market for fine jewelry (which, let's be honest, will probably be never), I'll choose one of those.</span></div><p></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-77528844246192083322022-11-15T15:00:00.005-06:002022-11-16T10:45:52.193-06:00Paw Patrol: a diatribe.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I have learned an awful lot about parenthood since Phineas was born. Before you become a parent, there's a certain about you know to be true, but there are other things you don't/can't know until you're in the thick of it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">One of those things is how truly fucking awful kids' TV is.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And why would I know this pre-parenthood? The only children's TV I was familiar with was the stuff I watched as a child 30+ years ago. I thought my small child and I would be gleefully watching Sesame Street and Mr Rogers and learning our colors and letters and taking tours of factories.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">What an idiot.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas's TV drug of choice is Paw Patrol.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMFXrCPiYQSKub2uve7xeytNUyflHfZzOcIrlIt-BqOypIMKxy0t9CnlUmwzY_qVfPsfKWzdfgioX5MvHL_DZJyT71FrPlHqUQib2P8qL6D9haF_o9RYr5XgoC1NhdeH39nyZ2Rhq0Do3xHhPUNWGwuqUtYa2v-Ocix4uWaOEvRbZTO1LRm7PNpG60A/s2048/IMG_4990.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMFXrCPiYQSKub2uve7xeytNUyflHfZzOcIrlIt-BqOypIMKxy0t9CnlUmwzY_qVfPsfKWzdfgioX5MvHL_DZJyT71FrPlHqUQib2P8qL6D9haF_o9RYr5XgoC1NhdeH39nyZ2Rhq0Do3xHhPUNWGwuqUtYa2v-Ocix4uWaOEvRbZTO1LRm7PNpG60A/w400-h300/IMG_4990.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had to basically sit on him so we could watch 10 freaking minutes<br />of James's indoor concert before Phineas switched it to Paw Patrol.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I'm imagining parents of children anywhere near Phineas's age are letting out a collective groan.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">For the uninitiated (be SO THANKFUL), Paw Patrol is a kids' show about this kid and his rescue squad of puppies who are constantly saving their town from disasters large and small. Sounds harmless, right?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">NO.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Paw Patrol is some of the dumbest shit I've ever seen, and I've seen a LOT of Adam Sandler movies.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The premise is not terrible, and the puppies themselves are pretty innocuous. The worst part about them is the constant stream of terrible puns.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It's the humans in the show that are the real problem.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You have to be a complete fucking moron to be a human in the Paw Patrol universe.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Every time freaking ANYTHING happens, they're like "better call the Paw Patrol." Flat tire? Call the Paw Patrol. Can't find their glasses? Call the Paw Patrol. Their shoe is untied? OH MY GOD CALL THE PAW PATROL.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Most of the problems arise from the two dumbest mayors in all of the fiction universe. One mayor is the evil mayor from the next town who mostly just wants shit the other town has. Like "they're having a contest to see who has the biggest watermelon and I must steal the biggest watermelon and win muahahaha." Of course, these plots always fail thanks to the Paw Patrol. Somehow, he remains mayor even though he is legit NEVER in his own town doing mayor stuff.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The "good" mayor is the mayor of the town the Paw Patrol is based in, and she is just incapable of everything. She has THE most annoying voice (like opera singer/great aunt combo) and carries around a chicken who is always somehow getting into trouble. Hence - her calls to the Paw Patrol are always about that stupid chicken. This lady can't even hang onto a chicken, let alone run a town. Who elected these nincompoops?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But Phineas EATS it up. He sings the theme song, knows all the characters by name, and gets very concerned with things start to look a little hairy. He hates to watch Paw Patrol alone because he likes to talk it out with a companion, so James and/or I are his faithful couch buddies. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Phineas has been sick this week, so we have been letting him watch more TV than usual. That means more Paw Patrol than usual. He is not interested in any other shows. He's not even interested in the Paw Patrol movie, which is leaps and bounds better than the show (but still sucks). I am losing my mind.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-59247423177809737212022-10-31T19:44:00.003-05:002022-11-01T10:23:23.895-05:00a lifetime of Halloweens: 2022 edition.<p><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">(Editor's note: I originally wrote this just before Halloween 2015. However, as you know, time marches on... and Halloweens keep coming. So I have been adding to this post each year so as not to miss a Halloween. That means we, once again, get to revisit a lifetime of costumes. I can hardly wait.)</span></span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">YOU GUYS IT'S FINALLY HALLOWEEN.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I am excited: per usual. I have had my costume picked out since last Halloween.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My costume is not just any costume. It kicks ass, and I can't wait to show it to you. However, there is a definite downside to having such an awesome costume. After this Halloween, I can NEVER WEAR IT FOR HALLOWEEN AGAIN.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Because I have a policy.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I cannot be the same thing for Halloween twice.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"But wait!" you say. "What about the zombies, huh? YOU ARE LYING!"</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But no! I dress up as a zombie for specific zombie-themed events: not for Halloween itself. Doesn't count. It's the zombie clause in my self-imposed Halloween contract. (Also, I've never been the SAME zombie, so there's that). Same goes for any re-wearing of costumes (as you will soon see in 2018): I'm not wearing the old costume for Halloween ITSELF, so it doesn't count.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I must have decided on my no-repeats Halloween rule at a pretty young age: I have pictures going back to 1988, and you won't find any duplicates (with the special exception of Halloween theme parties that do not fall on Halloween itself). You will, however, find some darn cute pictures of me as a very excited child. </span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I wish I had pictures of every Halloween, but I don't. I don't know what I was for Halloween 1987 - but I was a mere six months old and I am pretty sure that my parents dressed me up in the little skeleton costume you'll see on my sister in 1991 and my brother in 1993. 1992 is also missing, as are 1999 - 2001. While I am unsure about 1992, 1999 - 2001 was a dark time in my life... as I was deemed too old for trick-or-treating. I decided to forgo costumes those years, but I eventually realized that just because you're too old to trick-or-treat does NOT mean you're too old to dress up for Halloween. You're NEVER too old to dress up for Halloween, dammit. The only other year missing is 2009, but that was the year that I was in New Orleans. I was so excited to spend Halloween in New Orleans, but alas, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I didn't know anyone well enough to go out Halloweening with them, and even if I did, I didn't have enough money for a costume or drinks at the bar. I spent that Halloween curled up on my air mattress, watching Halloween episodes of <i>Buffy the Vampire Slayer </i>and sad-eating Halloween candy from my landlady.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On the bright side? Pretty much every Halloween going forward is guaranteed to be better than that one.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So here we go: a pictorial history of Calla's Halloweens!</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1988</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Superman</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVwQwB5CkSFLmlhFuHEM-m_hHuCqnsGgolgoaK0cOxVzfOEa4m01JozwyOzEwh9Lb6LdwjVw6X4OqLJUjjuQSBeP_LeFs_Bk5F8a5hOxw86-moub0cFhMEvyIjxh6Ac9yrsEnz6yQyCAg/s1600/IMG_3394.JPG" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVwQwB5CkSFLmlhFuHEM-m_hHuCqnsGgolgoaK0cOxVzfOEa4m01JozwyOzEwh9Lb6LdwjVw6X4OqLJUjjuQSBeP_LeFs_Bk5F8a5hOxw86-moub0cFhMEvyIjxh6Ac9yrsEnz6yQyCAg/s400/IMG_3394.JPG" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I came across this picture in May when I was digging through a box of ancient photos in search of something embarrassing to post for Mother's Day. (You mean you DON'T share ridiculous photos of your mother from the 1980s on Mother's Day? Shame on you.) I was overjoyed, as 1988 had been one of my mysterious gap years. You have no idea how happy finding this picture made me.</span></div><div style="font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1989</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Mickey Mouse</b></span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-EDdOxQmid4hgyPJebcihvOo5hNxXqXwhhB5ogci2Pi02wuQ1YqbRJ2sPJsOPzvPkJSBOkHw5ABSy0yx-FUURhq7E9ZBTxNGnhQ9wg4h1Etgk7I-YcJeDUS8VG7JcBIWd3yDbwfU4-Ok/s1600/1989.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-EDdOxQmid4hgyPJebcihvOo5hNxXqXwhhB5ogci2Pi02wuQ1YqbRJ2sPJsOPzvPkJSBOkHw5ABSy0yx-FUURhq7E9ZBTxNGnhQ9wg4h1Etgk7I-YcJeDUS8VG7JcBIWd3yDbwfU4-Ok/s400/1989.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="235" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Is this or is this not the cutest damn Mickey Mouse you've ever seen? I was about two-and-a-half, and Halloween was already my favorite holiday. Trick-or-treating in the country always meant that you'd come away with an enormous haul. We just had to hop in the minivan and drive from house to house. As not many trick-or-treaters make it out into the sticks where we lived, any house you went to would reward you with handfuls of candy. Or multiple full-sized candy bars. Or twelve-packs of pop. Country trick-or-treating is the best.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1990</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>pumpkin</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWTHr0bs7MfxMikH9VyCThoZJcpLYtsYKtSLngCFMyID5r2kp4emIL7rl9h9IE-sN75_ZXA15sp9FRIAGHXRk4Owo5Rtp1ZXsxKEl6xUtUeQArDycQ-7lqAbnEz0ufsAfBIcZxUfJPyrB/s1600/1990.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnWTHr0bs7MfxMikH9VyCThoZJcpLYtsYKtSLngCFMyID5r2kp4emIL7rl9h9IE-sN75_ZXA15sp9FRIAGHXRk4Owo5Rtp1ZXsxKEl6xUtUeQArDycQ-7lqAbnEz0ufsAfBIcZxUfJPyrB/s400/1990.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="308" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My pumpkin makeup is a little bit hilarious. I'm not sure which parent was responsible for this, but I would like to know why exactly I have a red mouth instead of a black one. The jack o' lantern face on my sweatshirt has a black mouth - why not me? Am I a flesh-eating jack o' lantern? Or the child of artistically challenged parents? Let's go with that.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1991</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>witch</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzotT8FdNvQc9_w0J9zXt3MhU5X64j3kzC4TVsPoYz7UmcPD271nq9u3qqdrynZG2oVUfd9A-NEQCtHeNu2QK4HJXLvRPkupEvvFMCYLz0ebKWxZ_zE3irfiJ6-OuVPQNB3_hBzZ3elNN/s1600/1991.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzotT8FdNvQc9_w0J9zXt3MhU5X64j3kzC4TVsPoYz7UmcPD271nq9u3qqdrynZG2oVUfd9A-NEQCtHeNu2QK4HJXLvRPkupEvvFMCYLz0ebKWxZ_zE3irfiJ6-OuVPQNB3_hBzZ3elNN/s400/1991.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="400" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You may have noticed that all of my costumes involve long sleeves. Indeed, I live in the Midwest, so many of my Halloween costumes were planned around sweatshirts and winter coats. That's why I look so bulky: under my black sweatshirt was probably another sweatshirt. I believe 1991 was a particularly snowy Halloween, but there's no way that I wasn't going out trick-or-treating.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1993</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>princess</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44XHZyIv4E2j1LQGQ3trrrhrMpcGE-dbD9EYYNHa66RVl2bMNgHWUXld0uHrcjxQCC6zNwepirYgANnoPkZ52yyIII67SDKO2onwrKgblqb9tItXeDPjNO6Wa2ro8EsWqYFZz87JaHxs7/s1600/1993.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44XHZyIv4E2j1LQGQ3trrrhrMpcGE-dbD9EYYNHa66RVl2bMNgHWUXld0uHrcjxQCC6zNwepirYgANnoPkZ52yyIII67SDKO2onwrKgblqb9tItXeDPjNO6Wa2ro8EsWqYFZz87JaHxs7/s400/1993.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="248" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This princess dress came from a huge bin of my mom's old clothes that had been deemed "for dress-up." I played dress-up ALL the damn time, and it was a delight for me to be able to wear this out in public. To top it off, Mom made me glitter shoes: old dress shoes coated in glue and dipped in multi-colored glitter. They were the BEST.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1994</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>dog</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGFxZ0Pli3im1US9J6IUQel-7LX1r_7LqQxeVOeDw_HP5F8LLhusYxwutqiPYVBVi6_F5n5Vvi6BJufjlfyjq-RCKN0NUHdHjHdI636k5fLLVlg4sK8Ar2bvaZ4GuBvKRLpJiWicJoHg4/s1600/1994.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGFxZ0Pli3im1US9J6IUQel-7LX1r_7LqQxeVOeDw_HP5F8LLhusYxwutqiPYVBVi6_F5n5Vvi6BJufjlfyjq-RCKN0NUHdHjHdI636k5fLLVlg4sK8Ar2bvaZ4GuBvKRLpJiWicJoHg4/s400/1994.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="263" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I don't know where this costume came from, but I do remember that it was supposed to be a bunny suit. It more or less a white onesie and had big ears sticking straight up. One of Mom's coworkers sewed spots on it, and presto! I was a dalmatian. However, even though I was clearly wearing a dog collar, I was mistaken for a cow for all of Halloween day.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1995</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>cheerleader</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonpoCkahho7jucCC17hww5BIadTN9lXTVc4X_3HzilEwMO9Fk1RLZb8W5Tshy4Oc9qxHqMOpoFyYZbF9iM4iHmZ79sXfJ0LVmxyjCyD-ielC92hibRXufwsXmIAF-PeHbciGcw1FysOha/s1600/1995.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonpoCkahho7jucCC17hww5BIadTN9lXTVc4X_3HzilEwMO9Fk1RLZb8W5Tshy4Oc9qxHqMOpoFyYZbF9iM4iHmZ79sXfJ0LVmxyjCyD-ielC92hibRXufwsXmIAF-PeHbciGcw1FysOha/s400/1995.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="235" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">1995 must've been a particularly warm Halloween, hence the bare legs. Though I was only eight in 1995, I feel as though my sarcasm was really starting to develop: being a cheerleader for Halloween was the scariest thing I could think of.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1996</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>cat</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKVxWZrILS-5QWGZYkmD5B07SRUc8iyCdBJxsN1TBMtPdz_6kV9iY2cFWwp4nhpuEIZs9e9scTMLS1voi7TPVlLRrhSnP8F856rCwH2DPMqnZZFVb0XG5HIB82WEYgqS0I-Cg5GIHR4bx/s1600/1996.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKVxWZrILS-5QWGZYkmD5B07SRUc8iyCdBJxsN1TBMtPdz_6kV9iY2cFWwp4nhpuEIZs9e9scTMLS1voi7TPVlLRrhSnP8F856rCwH2DPMqnZZFVb0XG5HIB82WEYgqS0I-Cg5GIHR4bx/s400/1996.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="400" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Another cold Halloween, as our costumes were comprised mainly of different-colored sweatshirts. My cat ears are a little droopy, but I felt (at the time) like the stuffed mouse really brought the costume together. Please, though, direct your attention to my brother Mitch, who (at age three) is way too delighted to be Satan.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1997</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Cruella de Vil</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsJpq3FJvS3OhWGceoF0rxhSuSadvl3qi2Xt4AplNfaG0WVI3Gvnxixho7VUE0pEKKL7LdpIASskmLLsvLk7QTV7hjKOeq1XNjIQN02-IwJMmoIZVsibQeJRlekYIIHhw8hHkEyp8XgxE/s1600/1997.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsJpq3FJvS3OhWGceoF0rxhSuSadvl3qi2Xt4AplNfaG0WVI3Gvnxixho7VUE0pEKKL7LdpIASskmLLsvLk7QTV7hjKOeq1XNjIQN02-IwJMmoIZVsibQeJRlekYIIHhw8hHkEyp8XgxE/s400/1997.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="400" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Ah, the year I was Cruella de Vil. Mom (for reasons still unknown) had this old rabbit-fur coat in the back of her closet, and I commandeered it for Halloween that year. My cousin Ethan was a part of the theatre department at SDSU, so he was able to procure (and spray-paint) the wig for me. Another cold-weather costume, but this one was a win. </span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1998</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>gypsy/just-rolled-out-of-bed girl</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFNZ9I-fwHb38ghkyIXu4DOZN2RUZGhgkaDWGVT2i6sgjHJgCaLa7l5xDZlHptUQ7AfxxfOMwixbtkKpIP4Hn33S7NDWy5WDwdpA8x7IjfiU1tfgUfUFCr2MT6rvUg8KVdUTa6CiwYyNU/s1600/1998.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFNZ9I-fwHb38ghkyIXu4DOZN2RUZGhgkaDWGVT2i6sgjHJgCaLa7l5xDZlHptUQ7AfxxfOMwixbtkKpIP4Hn33S7NDWy5WDwdpA8x7IjfiU1tfgUfUFCr2MT6rvUg8KVdUTa6CiwYyNU/s320/1998.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="231" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsPuoO_d9r6NZel0Y-zUzS01QnfnBPxd9JFcW2ARIzoUNydEdd06e9cmwbSr8tpt1kNDpfinj_5JrOBQQ-aGDnsoBnzPJuDk4utBcZZ92KvhyphenhyphenxWSR-icKukaAUYjCyo5ErYkHZPCWsJml/s1600/1998+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsPuoO_d9r6NZel0Y-zUzS01QnfnBPxd9JFcW2ARIzoUNydEdd06e9cmwbSr8tpt1kNDpfinj_5JrOBQQ-aGDnsoBnzPJuDk4utBcZZ92KvhyphenhyphenxWSR-icKukaAUYjCyo5ErYkHZPCWsJml/s320/1998+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="210" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The first year of the double Halloween costume. I dug through the old dress-up box and was a gypsy for the school Halloween parade. (This was around the time Disney released <i>The Hunchback of Notre Dame</i>, and I totally wished I could be Esmeralda.) I came home in my gypsy outfit, all ready to trick-or-treat, and I was informed that it was too cold to wear it. I would have to find something else. I half-heartedly threw together my "person in pajamas" costume, which is 100% lame. Had I realized that it would be my last year as a trick-or-treater, I'd like to think that I would've come up with something better. We'll never know. (Looking back at this in 2018, I realize now that cultural appropriation is not ok, and I regret my costume choice. However, as an 11-year-old, I had no idea what I was doing. Please forgive me.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">2002</b><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Medieval vampire?</b></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0pzmKGATVqZfUnX_KByzbsWTKGXLxKeeDpiSMEEvXQle8Nh4DZ-d4vnXe1SAoVwPYGpCjBzjCFGkc9vPcKC2_7Gs9Sqn1wuXsDJKTFfVYESpteMBVyVRAO4fbiCR7HW5KoU1giZ-U0D3/s1600/017a57b725d20210e52c35e0ea951f7145d35b1c0d.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0pzmKGATVqZfUnX_KByzbsWTKGXLxKeeDpiSMEEvXQle8Nh4DZ-d4vnXe1SAoVwPYGpCjBzjCFGkc9vPcKC2_7Gs9Sqn1wuXsDJKTFfVYESpteMBVyVRAO4fbiCR7HW5KoU1giZ-U0D3/s400/017a57b725d20210e52c35e0ea951f7145d35b1c0d.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="300" /></a></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">Ok, so I'm not 100% sure what I billed my costume as this year. I do know that it involved this dress that I bought at Goodwill, a vampire cape from KMart, and skeleton earrings. Medieval vampire, perhaps? Who knows.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2003</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Count von Disco Bono</b></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ3ikDL2mhpoBriTUwswtoNx-ZWJKNyqjDurBdfmLY2P3Z6NZYvqdDZFOoLz8_o3Ricu24MbketrhCq1RsIJTEPIGaX3Sq_x7bf-is8OsJJ1YTS5db_14Jgg-lcRTUPMWdrKV6zYHoQVP/s1600/IMG_1592.JPG" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ3ikDL2mhpoBriTUwswtoNx-ZWJKNyqjDurBdfmLY2P3Z6NZYvqdDZFOoLz8_o3Ricu24MbketrhCq1RsIJTEPIGaX3Sq_x7bf-is8OsJJ1YTS5db_14Jgg-lcRTUPMWdrKV6zYHoQVP/s400/IMG_1592.JPG" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="237" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Another off-year in my Halloween history. This is the cape that I bought with my friend Allison the year before. The cape itself is pretty awesome - it came from Kmart in Brookings before it closed, and I still have the cape to this day. I also have the skeleton earrings in this picture, which you can see if you look very closely. Anyway, I wanted to dress up for Halloween but was fresh out of ideas, so this is what I got. I called myself Count von Disco Bono: vampire cape + Bono sunglasses + pink plaid bellbottoms. A terrible costume, but a costume nonetheless.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2004</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>reject Charlie's Angel/</b></span></span><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: xx-large;">beat up band kid/ </b><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: xx-large;">generic sock hopper</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkrCJpfCdPO3vuZPEnLh-RhI-ThV5AerUIO-Mf-9b7FWsqOfDInCGxySFCz_gq9IVoGOGUEClDiRvTtjhUFgE_rnnzX22g4DFVBIHGDJqGYwOKIhpMZmwh5NU4GfB4GpEEqV3cBirL9rS/s1600/mmm%252C+Brush-Ups.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkrCJpfCdPO3vuZPEnLh-RhI-ThV5AerUIO-Mf-9b7FWsqOfDInCGxySFCz_gq9IVoGOGUEClDiRvTtjhUFgE_rnnzX22g4DFVBIHGDJqGYwOKIhpMZmwh5NU4GfB4GpEEqV3cBirL9rS/s400/mmm%252C+Brush-Ups.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO5hJp397tNO6YuHNy-G6JdSOob0odql-ON_XXyX1QHWQ0EbglQRwnFVc0lWpSwSjaE1_3wtTBoi3pX_sShVKBKejPrBwpwIwSOCdNzqLwABZ_NjZVw4OT278KRxZOd6TVBUIKVoiqV-F/s1600/band+geeks+with+Halloween+spirit.jpg" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO5hJp397tNO6YuHNy-G6JdSOob0odql-ON_XXyX1QHWQ0EbglQRwnFVc0lWpSwSjaE1_3wtTBoi3pX_sShVKBKejPrBwpwIwSOCdNzqLwABZ_NjZVw4OT278KRxZOd6TVBUIKVoiqV-F/s400/band+geeks+with+Halloween+spirit.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej9dNFX-SqLsiFS6YLZTjm0T24XVGvfw1UDlZeTNrfuGoFPS37Ujj3sViVd2A3XEIQY58PYSoEqG_FX-iOu4sa5NWx0Fn2VXtrsAJRxOhqEhAsBMcoU4wH2W269U0thmqr2zn7SbDvuSn/s1600/0177c8ed5d43fb1d8af2735542b8879d71ed113bc7.jpg" style="clear: right; color: #559099; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej9dNFX-SqLsiFS6YLZTjm0T24XVGvfw1UDlZeTNrfuGoFPS37Ujj3sViVd2A3XEIQY58PYSoEqG_FX-iOu4sa5NWx0Fn2VXtrsAJRxOhqEhAsBMcoU4wH2W269U0thmqr2zn7SbDvuSn/s320/0177c8ed5d43fb1d8af2735542b8879d71ed113bc7.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="222" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Halloween of my senior year of high school was AWESOME. That was the year our high school football team made it to the state playoffs (and won). Halloween was right around said big game, so all of Halloween (which was on a Sunday, so we celebrated early at school) was one big pep rally day. There were games and snacks and absolutely no productivity whatsoever. My outfit was a red one-piece bell-bottomed monstrosity that I got at Goodwill, plus some go-go boots and a shiny scarf. I was a reject Charlie's Angel. I had to work at the Dairy Mart that evening, and there was no way that I was doing so in a polyester jumpsuit. I changed into a dress and saddle shoes and was a generic sock-hopper. On Halloween itself, Bob and I dressed up as beat-up band kids and Meagan dressed up as our band director... and we went trick-or-treating at his house. I recall that he and his wife thought we were hilarious. Or hilariously lame. Either way.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2005</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>band kid</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5tPUqO2xgEj6Vb38-Y9eLXzL1-0CR6pDtY2MHiLodMMwsgVQwr4rsVKmYGTdj0YYE4tbANufc_9ZoWAhxXqBeN805QiV28hs4JktNUzbDZpkw8YNSV2ocaV7Bk0wyv-N7-088tUwx39C/s1600/band+and+ketchup.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5tPUqO2xgEj6Vb38-Y9eLXzL1-0CR6pDtY2MHiLodMMwsgVQwr4rsVKmYGTdj0YYE4tbANufc_9ZoWAhxXqBeN805QiV28hs4JktNUzbDZpkw8YNSV2ocaV7Bk0wyv-N7-088tUwx39C/s400/band+and+ketchup.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="301" /></b></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">(Editor's note: this qualifies as a different costume than the previous year because a.) I was a beat up band kid in 2004 and just a regular one in 2005, and b.) the beat up band kid costume was not my main costume: an honor I'd give to my reject Charlie's Angel jumpsuit.) </span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Yes, friends: this was the first year of the triple costume.</span> M</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">uch to my great pleasure, I found all sorts of people at college who loved to dress up at Halloween. I </span><strike style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">stole</strike><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> adopted my old band uniform - after all, the school had just gotten new ones and was systematically burning/donating/destroying the old uniforms, so I figured that I might as well give mine the loving home it deserved. Anyway, it was the perfect Midwestern costume - made of wool = super warm. And how about that hat? If only I'd had the red plume that goes with it. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2006</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>zombie I/sailor-ish/opposite</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1lNunNoGZSXohDO8K3nmWEnQ8P5n5gQFy-WVDrLD7bFMSy2ZfL05MCcp8MOlpzVMO8turV1O4dCNIL7faKp42sQytFXMumYePxb9sz4H1AP7NBy1Fut5rprvvu6AGkN-fU_1eZvZRi5G/s1600/2006.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1lNunNoGZSXohDO8K3nmWEnQ8P5n5gQFy-WVDrLD7bFMSy2ZfL05MCcp8MOlpzVMO8turV1O4dCNIL7faKp42sQytFXMumYePxb9sz4H1AP7NBy1Fut5rprvvu6AGkN-fU_1eZvZRi5G/s320/2006.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="201" /></a></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ruvKm1f_Q5Od9hFqcSB63UpIO5uuae4ZtR5wUSY-kbvcQIeISmIfZowWMzGX7JgCd0AfU9I2-8mvYMYWod49765Po2_m3XM-p7vgj3oNJ2iKo8IrhDCt334yV4gx2qgRoVV_GpEf2xYh/s1600/2006+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ruvKm1f_Q5Od9hFqcSB63UpIO5uuae4ZtR5wUSY-kbvcQIeISmIfZowWMzGX7JgCd0AfU9I2-8mvYMYWod49765Po2_m3XM-p7vgj3oNJ2iKo8IrhDCt334yV4gx2qgRoVV_GpEf2xYh/s320/2006+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="264" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-1oP3jGvWGTBTBf3dkc0nGxl102jzCEGUBD9rdU0Ci4WVXDYAViOj4FNjt7N_ApjntOlwGFF93kiYxxKOmxdftChy8i8omhg0_I7c4YWaXaPPXqvjY2S7STC8JcrML0urmsvDGhCUJMn/s1600/2006+-+3.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-1oP3jGvWGTBTBf3dkc0nGxl102jzCEGUBD9rdU0Ci4WVXDYAViOj4FNjt7N_ApjntOlwGFF93kiYxxKOmxdftChy8i8omhg0_I7c4YWaXaPPXqvjY2S7STC8JcrML0urmsvDGhCUJMn/s320/2006+-+3.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="235" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The triple costume returns! My friend Sara and I attended UMM's first Zombie Prom: though we look like undead pandas, believe me when I say that we were zombies. Halloween was on a Tuesday that year, so we also needed costumes for the preceding weekend: hence my sailor outfit. It's difficult to see in this picture, but my top is an actual wool sailing uniform that I picked up at an antique store. Points for authenticity. Finally, Sara and I had costumes for Halloween itself: we went as opposites. It's the only time that I've ever dressed as a concept for Halloween, and it was a very liberal arts college thing to do. I totally loved it and still think we were a little bit brilliant.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2007</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Croc</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><b style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehHAqcDKi10Xf0FiWzYCsFQMVey_mTypZmmwDtLu4mPnj3Ujfuh9GOvfAZxmMtnLESLYOD8WswVmHOfhthwZIHwM5GZAp9Elt6waNmyy67F3QO6lrJkw5cOyirrdnLCqXOK3LEcoOo0RK/s1600/croc-tacular.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehHAqcDKi10Xf0FiWzYCsFQMVey_mTypZmmwDtLu4mPnj3Ujfuh9GOvfAZxmMtnLESLYOD8WswVmHOfhthwZIHwM5GZAp9Elt6waNmyy67F3QO6lrJkw5cOyirrdnLCqXOK3LEcoOo0RK/s400/croc-tacular.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="297" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One of my all-time favourite costumes: the year of the Croc. Ever since I first saw those rubbery horrors, I have cursed their existence. Sara had a pair of pink Crocs that she so graciously let me borrow for this costume. This was the year that Halloween was on a Wednesday, and Wednesday nights were the nights that both Sara (the news editor) and I (the arts and entertainment editor) worked late at the college paper. We put in extra hours on Monday and Tuesday of that week in order to be out the door by 10pm Wednesday - instead of our usual 2am Thursday. Halloween is THAT important.</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2008</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Norwegian</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8Aub9695L4IJt82X2fC2hmWQ-KabmtUbjLRYzOh67PEJfJe2vlZw75bmiQE8dLTMS8QKTsbfob5Z1aPWdooTKUIExNKGpQBmj-l_9AJ8ihz7tUb-2Am2c2bBUO33hbWrbKVmXGMpn-bZ/s1600/DSCF4960.JPG" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8Aub9695L4IJt82X2fC2hmWQ-KabmtUbjLRYzOh67PEJfJe2vlZw75bmiQE8dLTMS8QKTsbfob5Z1aPWdooTKUIExNKGpQBmj-l_9AJ8ihz7tUb-2Am2c2bBUO33hbWrbKVmXGMpn-bZ/s400/DSCF4960.JPG" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="338" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Thanks to the leap year, Halloween landed on a Friday in 2008. Theoretically, that was great: but we poor band kids had a concert on HALLOWEEN NIGHT. And not even a fun Halloween concert... a regular concert that no one attended BECAUSE IT WAS HALLOWEEN. After the concert, we all booked it back to our houses to get into our Halloween costumes and catch up to the rest of our non-band friends. My costume is an authentic Norwegian folk costume, given to me by my authentic Norwegian grandma. And made of wool. The best Minnesotan Halloween costumes are wool-based.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2010</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i>Lobster Telephone/</i>skeleton vampire</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCzORjHWEBnCRr33nWaaZpqhICfH6mTQGTekTDfjc8rqTisDsre_HlysJkKxRRpsHTLqF7Nt-eDDibcLTYoipiswUeqlQep_2G_97EGaOAIbc5sbcNZVHw56vr5Fhp-8pWLoeXNnxZ3aj/s1600/100_7944.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1113" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCzORjHWEBnCRr33nWaaZpqhICfH6mTQGTekTDfjc8rqTisDsre_HlysJkKxRRpsHTLqF7Nt-eDDibcLTYoipiswUeqlQep_2G_97EGaOAIbc5sbcNZVHw56vr5Fhp-8pWLoeXNnxZ3aj/s320/100_7944.JPG" width="222" /></a><b style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJx0NYnlwmjUYthzmJfuYW4HAEXZc0rVGzMdCnYyk6Z_0Jsd3N5rpc0B75VDUNstU19xkf-Gd3xg01mcGSyeJfixqY3ccLawBQAkCHtUnpt1mga3CXkPVk9eT_Sd6j59aknz841ApI8LfR/s1600/2010.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJx0NYnlwmjUYthzmJfuYW4HAEXZc0rVGzMdCnYyk6Z_0Jsd3N5rpc0B75VDUNstU19xkf-Gd3xg01mcGSyeJfixqY3ccLawBQAkCHtUnpt1mga3CXkPVk9eT_Sd6j59aknz841ApI8LfR/s320/2010.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="320" /></a> </b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I was living in Minneapolis in 2010, which is an all-around excellent place to spend Halloween. I had finished my tenure as an intern at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, but during my time there, I learned about all sorts of cool events that they sponsor. Example: they do this thing called Third Thursdays where, the third Thursday of each month, they keep the museum open late and have some kind of big event. On this particular Third Thursday, the MIA asked attendees to come dressed as their favorite MIA work of art. I chose Dali's <i>Lobster Telephone </i>because why on earth WOULDN'T you choose <i>Lobster Telephone</i>? That same weekend, James and I went to a performance of <i>Psycho </i>with the Minnesota Orchestra - the movie was playing on a screen behind the orchestra while they played the soundtrack. It was amazing. I had purchased this skeleton shirt at Walmart in college (2007? probably?). It was child-sized and glowed in the dark and I loved it. Oddly, this is not the last appearance of me in child-sized skeleton apparel.</span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2011</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Rocky Horror fail/old-timey teacher</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRejdn-qVQfItCuqZ4hJsBjrrnYRoyhn3OM6bmo4YLMe_AZcpP_zIMbvTeNOZRSSFcpI4KyBaa0lLRGR6EARuir1Ap87awa_NxCNEsWyFUAOBKsa4bv344pr3ptELbzjb_CStPfcOGEcx/s1600/2011.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRejdn-qVQfItCuqZ4hJsBjrrnYRoyhn3OM6bmo4YLMe_AZcpP_zIMbvTeNOZRSSFcpI4KyBaa0lLRGR6EARuir1Ap87awa_NxCNEsWyFUAOBKsa4bv344pr3ptELbzjb_CStPfcOGEcx/s320/2011.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="212" /></a><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGUy3hvAYqAuMoKEb-5daxSmT78RxEERhSZov41vyiBw_IkAO4GEU5woB9MQyOing-Qy60bF3ZYxHHRETpTorcZwNaRf9TA-TWcgNVBvfxiRtdV4UqoZPv7OUlHqoSlY-qxkQGoAbNPao/s1600/2011+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGUy3hvAYqAuMoKEb-5daxSmT78RxEERhSZov41vyiBw_IkAO4GEU5woB9MQyOing-Qy60bF3ZYxHHRETpTorcZwNaRf9TA-TWcgNVBvfxiRtdV4UqoZPv7OUlHqoSlY-qxkQGoAbNPao/s320/2011+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="212" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">By 2011, I had moved to Sioux Falls and had been there for approximately one month. I wore the costume on the left to a midnight showing of <i>The Rocky Horror Picture Show</i>, hoping that it would be as amazing as the midnight showing I had seen in Minneapolis the year before. (Note: it wasn't.) My <i>Rocky Horror </i>outfit was not as risque as a real <i>Rocky Horror </i>outfit should be, but what can I say? It was cold, and I was a chicken. The costume on the left is the one I wore to work at the Department of Labor and Regulation. I was dead-broke, so I had to pretty much phone this one in. I carried a ruler and was an old-timey teacher - the dress belonged to my grandma in the 60s, who was real-life old-timey teacher. Again, points for authenticity.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2012</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Batman</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmCKTlC7_c97PolnamtknYahQ1wmGHc63mnoeAPiv7DIHgJ9KAeZjrqDxZKrLbFeu3BxL2G6CMQO3XnyzvGUxwR1fYAcJI4mPXqhvIGL0LpKjlFaQpQL8loMXS2otlg5jlhRt_zJ5iVox/s1600/2012.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmCKTlC7_c97PolnamtknYahQ1wmGHc63mnoeAPiv7DIHgJ9KAeZjrqDxZKrLbFeu3BxL2G6CMQO3XnyzvGUxwR1fYAcJI4mPXqhvIGL0LpKjlFaQpQL8loMXS2otlg5jlhRt_zJ5iVox/s640/2012.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="372" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">By Halloween 2012, I was gainfully employed at the library and was delighted to find out that nearly everyone at the library dressed up for Halloween. The library costumes were all part of a theme, and the theme that year was superheroes. That worked out perfectly for me, as my brother Mitch had given me this spectacular pair of pajamas for Christmas the year before. And may I say that James's Pee-Wee Herman costume is simply amazing? </span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2013</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>zombie II/Duck Dynasty/Mary Poppins</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNeJIQkbyXYCG999JH_af9CjK1nGPNRPIv8i12vGcPA5S2v7ZBf6jWAAOvfIRBNb-j7VvIA8gUSpjNWOMmgtYWjX_3WMFWVu1rQ8c4gdGB71q1Q7vHMkXUol5lf-3VPpLezeiRRXVqo5I/s1600/2013.jpg" style="clear: left; color: #559099; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNeJIQkbyXYCG999JH_af9CjK1nGPNRPIv8i12vGcPA5S2v7ZBf6jWAAOvfIRBNb-j7VvIA8gUSpjNWOMmgtYWjX_3WMFWVu1rQ8c4gdGB71q1Q7vHMkXUol5lf-3VPpLezeiRRXVqo5I/s320/2013.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="176" /></a><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzxraMyZQd7JmxeItPZyJiCDw5S0_w6oXxjN6JzcDzzvimx7Bl1xMG_ygzflbCU3XnMWZjmtMDqBb12RUmVc7o2qqZDZX_1cciNa32D1qzB7zVzBCitUumZsHn7Fget7FoZzZQZE0R7c-/s400/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="400" /><b> </b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRk2SxCgaFaeHlo8BPof_m2EWy5jgyStdwMWLpDg16rd1Xvs_hWvmXQXN8b8R77LjbzSUIl-ckyJhsNc0qTn0BjKJQiBZsSmJfvsmNoaUf8sH7KTBTQgf7I1AXGuYiO-gTxzYtNrhjfQR/s1600/IMG_9621.JPG" style="clear: left; color: #559099; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVRk2SxCgaFaeHlo8BPof_m2EWy5jgyStdwMWLpDg16rd1Xvs_hWvmXQXN8b8R77LjbzSUIl-ckyJhsNc0qTn0BjKJQiBZsSmJfvsmNoaUf8sH7KTBTQgf7I1AXGuYiO-gTxzYtNrhjfQR/s320/IMG_9621.JPG" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="208" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">2013 was the first year that we participated in the Zombie Walk... and I didn't really even get to be in it. The parade started at 5 o'clock, but I worked until 5... I thought I could quick run over, find James and our friend Nate, and quick get my makeup done and hop in the parade. Alas, by the time I left the library and made it to the zombie area (approx. two minutes), the parade was over. So I found James and Nate at a restaurant, and they did my makeup while we were waiting for a table. For Halloween itself, the library's theme costume was Duck Dynasty (NOT MY VOTE - I need you to know that), but my REAL costume was Mary Poppins - and this was the first (and so far, only) year James and I have had couples' costumes. </span></span><br /><div style="font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2014</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>zombie III/Buster Bluth</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdCq0b_Yi9nvOV9IZfpYie6DbdWvuM6y3lwNRqQ8sx7FLUbim0oMCZzUSJUc5uB_I_LUCmxsbsTsKIIMlUSv4ZWqE9K9T0ER65_8oZ47c42KdhSUiFxhqvY1Ay_BVp51b-D2XYZ4NvjoL/s1600/2014.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdCq0b_Yi9nvOV9IZfpYie6DbdWvuM6y3lwNRqQ8sx7FLUbim0oMCZzUSJUc5uB_I_LUCmxsbsTsKIIMlUSv4ZWqE9K9T0ER65_8oZ47c42KdhSUiFxhqvY1Ay_BVp51b-D2XYZ4NvjoL/s320/2014.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupp2O7dHTS5RighvgwoS_y-tMQt0uYzcRRYnFrjggoh2ldgrreXlrzolGPbJPxJNf5ApAD2dnvXl9G_ZIIpUm5rG5pjqe242_s4GhE6CCnsHF9AY1rOKuMlF1NmRh23elIJFjFPxC_SOG/s1600/2014+-+2.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupp2O7dHTS5RighvgwoS_y-tMQt0uYzcRRYnFrjggoh2ldgrreXlrzolGPbJPxJNf5ApAD2dnvXl9G_ZIIpUm5rG5pjqe242_s4GhE6CCnsHF9AY1rOKuMlF1NmRh23elIJFjFPxC_SOG/s400/2014+-+2.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="225" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We arrive at 2014. Mitch made it for the Zombie Walk, and I feel as though our makeup was much better than the year before. For Halloween, I convinced the library to go with a "TV characters" theme just because I had been dying to go as Buster Bluth. I repurposed the Duck Dynasty jacket from the year before and bought camo pants, a hook, an army hat, wire glasses, and a loose seal - complete with a yellow bow tie. It was the most I'd ever spent on a Halloween costume, and the hardest I'd ever worked on one. And you know what? Almost NO ONE got it. At the bar that evening, one guy yelled out "Motherboy," which was a spot-on Buster Bluth reference and totally made my night.</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2015</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie IV/Maleficent/Marla Hooch</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkgJxIOTr8kg3layfEhWay8WLitz0WoZOat2s2IAqcAM34I8TvJfDU6BGX6E0daRl-eJmgiYzLiQedor69Ra7LD5_uCQipMWhISY2344do4i21AixPKOMyCQUV6No4xyN5CFhJlxMvSLu/s320/10393785_10106810396537680_1218078715029593142_n.jpg" width="232" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRiXLD9d0C6ar7h4KZfF5xnksnv2eMhFCXDn_Ouz-vUefoLDHUyEYPJ3OxALEcJRg7fM79PzYjkryg_fSakvI-Iogitxf0duoZWdPL8z-8kWOQ89azq_k8aluO9Av9CjkyG6ywEBe5u1S/s1600/0141f434f510d223259f856c9f7efea12b2db792d5.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRiXLD9d0C6ar7h4KZfF5xnksnv2eMhFCXDn_Ouz-vUefoLDHUyEYPJ3OxALEcJRg7fM79PzYjkryg_fSakvI-Iogitxf0duoZWdPL8z-8kWOQ89azq_k8aluO9Av9CjkyG6ywEBe5u1S/s320/0141f434f510d223259f856c9f7efea12b2db792d5.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="156" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEwfGjYwEwyooiUvfeNIKav7gSus_Bf94ln8hQEQV9iwscrEjT7vQ7XSTzURDPFtTNmkexiInU7tr8v34OMOBl_EIBjUODrvSC0jTvxdWUHeuwzJIpVYA0iIYnrm8OBKQOtt7drvSzvNm/s1600/016007b64103909d3021c309ab3392484b6a3433cd.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEwfGjYwEwyooiUvfeNIKav7gSus_Bf94ln8hQEQV9iwscrEjT7vQ7XSTzURDPFtTNmkexiInU7tr8v34OMOBl_EIBjUODrvSC0jTvxdWUHeuwzJIpVYA0iIYnrm8OBKQOtt7drvSzvNm/s320/016007b64103909d3021c309ab3392484b6a3433cd.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="144" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">2015 was a particularly strong year for me, and I'm really quite proud of my costumes. Of course, there was the zombie element: I went to both the Minneapolis Zombie Pub Crawl and the Sioux Falls Zombie Walk, so zombie squared. (I'm only including the one picture, though, since my zombie costume was the same.) For work, I dressed as Maleficent. Our work theme was heroes and villains, and I was only one of two villains. I got a lot of great compliments on my costume that day, and no less than three people asked to take a picture of/with me. But what really struck me as hilarious was that for every one person who commented on my costume, there were at least three more who pretended like absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary. On Halloween itself, I dressed as a Rockford Peach - specifically, Marla Hooch. "And then there's Marla Hooch... what a hitter!"</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2016</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie V/zombie David Bowie/Scarlett O'Hara</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6DLkBd6Jhdxw8xe_FEKpzMtoaugEXhfdX4Q26GnQu8OsQP6L_h-jK8_bnfI0bNb33PHT6GW5RhcjSHTBtejzvljo8nchjsB91jZ19yToKNUPgkpS8buKS7eLBOQaE0BUxE6_CFHD44S2/s1600/14720520_10108383820049350_873952955584558202_n.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6DLkBd6Jhdxw8xe_FEKpzMtoaugEXhfdX4Q26GnQu8OsQP6L_h-jK8_bnfI0bNb33PHT6GW5RhcjSHTBtejzvljo8nchjsB91jZ19yToKNUPgkpS8buKS7eLBOQaE0BUxE6_CFHD44S2/s320/14720520_10108383820049350_873952955584558202_n.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="209" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-5eYOi11Cwn6aDAQIpLS6QrIgLo7apzdYUE5_ojjjHy5fccIvvZcFns5KDjeVRmHugxnTOtlbr8tYeJ131jPOOXPYAuwvVQkJs5TPenfAZ6kJJJsjs_DjPc20_u_sJiHvzbdOTO_bHqF/s1600/14656421_10108463221303600_2789273788009551940_n.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-5eYOi11Cwn6aDAQIpLS6QrIgLo7apzdYUE5_ojjjHy5fccIvvZcFns5KDjeVRmHugxnTOtlbr8tYeJ131jPOOXPYAuwvVQkJs5TPenfAZ6kJJJsjs_DjPc20_u_sJiHvzbdOTO_bHqF/s320/14656421_10108463221303600_2789273788009551940_n.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsq3mwZCg5l7krBzE697LIRKqFCOgySYpZ3rRKbaGAHVt1qlKXtUCCGbqv9Kw0b9Ud0pAXw1coeFtdh4MHYsE1gTFNb4B5SQuLninvdCClfYXD-0BLv_J8OBMB6JRoZUpN_gMmPr0w3gz3/s1600/14956629_10108478936565090_173224651763958451_n.jpg" style="color: #559099; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsq3mwZCg5l7krBzE697LIRKqFCOgySYpZ3rRKbaGAHVt1qlKXtUCCGbqv9Kw0b9Ud0pAXw1coeFtdh4MHYsE1gTFNb4B5SQuLninvdCClfYXD-0BLv_J8OBMB6JRoZUpN_gMmPr0w3gz3/s320/14956629_10108478936565090_173224651763958451_n.jpg" style="border: medium none; position: relative;" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Here I am at the 2016 Minneapolis Zombie Pub Crawl, in my child-size skeleton onesie. We had initially planned to go as Zombie Clue (which would've been AWESOME), but two members of our group couldn't come. Instead of looking like idiots when we dressed as just part of Zombie Clue, we went with the classic random zombie horde. I found my costume the day of at Goodwill. Typical zombie behavior. In the middle is my costume for the Sioux Falls Zombie Walk: my FAVORITE event of the year. James went as Zombie Prince, and I was Zombie David Bowie. Too soon. Finally, on actual Halloween, I dressed as Scarlett O'Hara. Hoop skirt and all. </span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2017</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie dinosaur/jellyfish</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSoeNjiMGQnV5MYzMV2yEsd9JUplvHdU0xzN-_xVit5vZsyvL2_lI8PI6Dmnx1Hf2qTRIgBTeNn4VIGbqY4FhLDlkfEIL05UGDQeRwdVaXJxtb1sNFJNQ2Vj0DBjNuES-Uyb7EVGQcSa0F/s1600/zombie+dinosaur.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSoeNjiMGQnV5MYzMV2yEsd9JUplvHdU0xzN-_xVit5vZsyvL2_lI8PI6Dmnx1Hf2qTRIgBTeNn4VIGbqY4FhLDlkfEIL05UGDQeRwdVaXJxtb1sNFJNQ2Vj0DBjNuES-Uyb7EVGQcSa0F/s320/zombie+dinosaur.jpg" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sQWhcy47hOah-r0Etef-ShuM49jZ8KR1tnKfYhHohq3323yuIos8hKhSfbGxjj62oRG6O59Sx687l1SqbUk1Rh3wqsqu0B2DtNzCwrm0M4urU2YobRPIQEwQCoxNVwEjVJrpZSIE5OEB/s1600/jellyfish+and+shar.jpg" style="font-size: 27.72px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1043" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sQWhcy47hOah-r0Etef-ShuM49jZ8KR1tnKfYhHohq3323yuIos8hKhSfbGxjj62oRG6O59Sx687l1SqbUk1Rh3wqsqu0B2DtNzCwrm0M4urU2YobRPIQEwQCoxNVwEjVJrpZSIE5OEB/s320/jellyfish+and+shar.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">2017 was the year I started grad school. My program is set up so that the bulk of it is online, but we do meet in person in Sioux Falls for intensive weekends from time to time. One of the intensive weekends (which are super NOT optional) landed on Zombie Walk weekend. The class went from 9am - 5pm on Friday. Zombie Walk starts promptly at 5 downtown. The second class let out, I bolted to the parking lot, where James was waiting for me with my dinosaur onesie costume, a Zombie Walk entry pin, and a bag of zombie makeup. While he drove us downtown, I did my makeup in the car. Not too bad for hastily applied car zombie makeup, I must say. For Halloween itself, I dressed up like a jellyfish: my most ambitious handmade costume to date. I had a tutu, iridescent leggings, fairy lights wound inside my tutu, glitter glued to my face, and a billion strands of glittery ribbon hot-glued to my tutu. I left a trail of glitter wherever I went (I STILL find glitter in my car), but it was AWESOME.</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2018</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie Marty McFly/Marla Hooch reprise/Beetlejuice/Winifred Sanderson</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Sue Ellen Francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXq6OMnI8HfMxONY01MMXe4VFD3EIp968ipp-GnC8KdLNhecLwgZDZpdn-LpRbh65uLxkr70SScoox-jkEaPHw4O5H0CuJB1j8iHRLT5A3hGey0tWQ6yRQcEjIbbvr1q9Or2yC3GFa5UMk/s1600/marty+and+doc.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1412" data-original-width="825" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXq6OMnI8HfMxONY01MMXe4VFD3EIp968ipp-GnC8KdLNhecLwgZDZpdn-LpRbh65uLxkr70SScoox-jkEaPHw4O5H0CuJB1j8iHRLT5A3hGey0tWQ6yRQcEjIbbvr1q9Or2yC3GFa5UMk/s400/marty+and+doc.jpg" width="232" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqku1LB7sQxSEtvbLWxUQ1u_1HOiP1_CHGv5CiN971M1ds90xmivNWdzionKopUbZ1uGf8gli5OROQatoHlaaUiRhbl5hX-dCH4OxDsEMdx9lGvWtwGN3l6Hovd2UZkcRwKoBMzNOc3C99/s1600/marla+and+maleficent.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqku1LB7sQxSEtvbLWxUQ1u_1HOiP1_CHGv5CiN971M1ds90xmivNWdzionKopUbZ1uGf8gli5OROQatoHlaaUiRhbl5hX-dCH4OxDsEMdx9lGvWtwGN3l6Hovd2UZkcRwKoBMzNOc3C99/s400/marla+and+maleficent.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDTRbXc-X0G85mU9bqxY6V63WEb4lbAyxxS345QPgUJJYzCud7nGbQ_gUtH9S8z2T0NSzDv8UETmq_3Z9eQy36mE3ARBENsh_YXyrcUBUPgGf1iQX5-jMhLfaPTzigl1TCw17T9THCjnn/s1600/Beetlejuice.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="826" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDTRbXc-X0G85mU9bqxY6V63WEb4lbAyxxS345QPgUJJYzCud7nGbQ_gUtH9S8z2T0NSzDv8UETmq_3Z9eQy36mE3ARBENsh_YXyrcUBUPgGf1iQX5-jMhLfaPTzigl1TCw17T9THCjnn/s320/Beetlejuice.jpg" width="275" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFsLLWsi-AVoce61rrpGn12KYuF_1uPciJHvCvfWm7mPYQRtu4uh0uxKtfjLxFfBBowOTS2_BzhtYcKb7mkkivGiexmtgNeVtDAFhLyOXYqXUzd4WPaZESkYTWBwBoOEvw5CjHLJYxEAJ/s1600/2018+-+6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="957" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFsLLWsi-AVoce61rrpGn12KYuF_1uPciJHvCvfWm7mPYQRtu4uh0uxKtfjLxFfBBowOTS2_BzhtYcKb7mkkivGiexmtgNeVtDAFhLyOXYqXUzd4WPaZESkYTWBwBoOEvw5CjHLJYxEAJ/s320/2018+-+6.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">2018 was AWESOME. It was the first year I had QUADRUPLE costumes. 2018 was the first year James and I went as couple zombies to the Zombie Walk, and I have to say, we were a hit. And by that, I mean we got lots of high-fives. Plus, my Marty McFly vest was super warm during the cold and rainy parade, so that was an unexpected bonus. After the Zombie Walk, our friends Bob and Luke hosted a "nevertheless, she trick-or-treated" Halloween party, and you were to dress as a strong woman. So Marla Hooch made a comeback, as did Maleficent (but on James this time). This was James's first time dressing as a woman for Halloween, and he was super into how comfortable Maleficent's robe was. My Beetlejuice costume was for a Halloween-themed murder mystery event we had at the library. My goal as a child was to have a career that allowed me to dress up for Halloween, and I hit the jackpot as a librarian. I got my Winifred Sanderson costume at the Halloween store on November 1 2017- 50% off! I have wanted to be Winifred Sanderson FOREVER, and this year was finally my year. And this was the same year we had a teeny black kitten (named Ned) who could pose as my Binx.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2019</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">zombie Bojack Horseman/Captain Hook/traditional vampire/Willy Wonka/grim reaper</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSpK7XBKypGGCNDtKAgBH5ndhiV_YAQL9Sax3WrCyNYpuXA2ELYSnNiUk9imnjEjCWK3XRJZ-iKVmiKw3XBzlS5_Czqxpgm-uwwakXewrS-ULahTsv0-2my0behAqOLtcH7jUGmBZLdsT/s1600/vampire.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSpK7XBKypGGCNDtKAgBH5ndhiV_YAQL9Sax3WrCyNYpuXA2ELYSnNiUk9imnjEjCWK3XRJZ-iKVmiKw3XBzlS5_Czqxpgm-uwwakXewrS-ULahTsv0-2my0behAqOLtcH7jUGmBZLdsT/s320/vampire.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5EpvsSgzF1rnEOUUvW0e_NeFHyrNAC7EPD2caFzbHiK2lFx05xQOqAu_zjd0iEk4ekx5NmoaKypxv1gvJXcThAOYEe-bUHwMNi2ta5NAcP6ZuSi2iYKmGPrRx8fXlLdLznq2pCwW6H_D/s1600/IMG-8757.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVEdvPM_jhwNAGQSx-DK23rUKULD5D6LT0hIWT7AZmahlkXXthyphenhyphenJzZHOCGHnURxqGfKigDmPlQUgmjtSKUAIMtQtqBvpkpsnJjUN3YWgluHFmNEl0erutPfQjs-yT4M6U8uCizuVT3vdC/s320/IMG-8755.JPG" width="180" /> <img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5EpvsSgzF1rnEOUUvW0e_NeFHyrNAC7EPD2caFzbHiK2lFx05xQOqAu_zjd0iEk4ekx5NmoaKypxv1gvJXcThAOYEe-bUHwMNi2ta5NAcP6ZuSi2iYKmGPrRx8fXlLdLznq2pCwW6H_D/s320/IMG-8757.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7pT5YlEKtVHtZUX3ce2FvXMKAsPcoNotJUKN4RdDuoFocbdYnt-yI59xUU2zddTxtzKryjVx-IL9ZErYtFmReZ35g1JNwq0nYYQcQDqGmbwAivHpIWgVp00rrMBpMmD67MnEw1byHm75/s1600/ww.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="914" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7pT5YlEKtVHtZUX3ce2FvXMKAsPcoNotJUKN4RdDuoFocbdYnt-yI59xUU2zddTxtzKryjVx-IL9ZErYtFmReZ35g1JNwq0nYYQcQDqGmbwAivHpIWgVp00rrMBpMmD67MnEw1byHm75/s320/ww.jpg" width="182" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qeyAZSPhBurRTxEBdt2BfsEppUUOIoRen4opyy2RYnHLXafMKDYODOM1QH09O91N0_Q4j7mpNZdJSHY7J3fSVK4XAN-lRodssCdKQnH0fVqAsIfe8pQX4rq3qkBVRhb81u0qMsaKqc8Q/s1600/reaper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qeyAZSPhBurRTxEBdt2BfsEppUUOIoRen4opyy2RYnHLXafMKDYODOM1QH09O91N0_Q4j7mpNZdJSHY7J3fSVK4XAN-lRodssCdKQnH0fVqAsIfe8pQX4rq3qkBVRhb81u0qMsaKqc8Q/s320/reaper.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You guys. Five costumes, one Halloween season. A personal best. This was made possible by having two Halloween library programs instead of just one. 2019 saw the sixth year of me as a zombie - this year, I was zombie Bojack Horseman and James was zombie Todd. The horse head mask was impossible to see in and stunk like disgusting rubber, so this picture was the only time I actually wore it over my head. I had actual zombie makeup on under there; I promise. That same evening, we went to a Halloween party at our friends' house, at which I won the popular vote for best costume. I've never worn a fake mustache before, and let me tell you, it's not for the weak. The library had our Halloween murder mystery a few days later, and this had a vampire theme. I dug out my vampire cape from 2002, but I was a more traditional vampire - not to be confused with whatever medieval vampire I was in 2002 or Count von Disco Bono in 2003. I even had fangs. On Halloween itself, I dressed as Willy Wonka: a costume that had been on my to-do list for ages. It turns out all I had to do was buy the hat, the bowtie, and the blazer, and a costume was born. The blazer is some cheap polyester thing from Amazon, but I ended up actually liking it, so it already has a home in my business casual rotation. Then, on Halloween night, the library had a haunted pumpkin patch story time. It was AWESOME. We decorated the pumpkin patch, read scary stories, and had staff scaring children. I was the Grim Reaper, and it is my favourite library program to date.</span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">2020</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b style="font-size: xx-large;">Landshark/Ursula/Brienne of Tarth</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: 27.72px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_H2VzcWwZ1KuaOBv94iBqNMNr-CqLjfpZamfCIdbKKqsZBiymWrI3PLkEn-cOs87ApCzTLaOei80FnTPiV7inIP45qqeJFkv1xgZXy2yH5qsEp81hMtpsknsZ2_Bsw79pkDRbM0lj2YcT/s2048/IMG_9361.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_H2VzcWwZ1KuaOBv94iBqNMNr-CqLjfpZamfCIdbKKqsZBiymWrI3PLkEn-cOs87ApCzTLaOei80FnTPiV7inIP45qqeJFkv1xgZXy2yH5qsEp81hMtpsknsZ2_Bsw79pkDRbM0lj2YcT/s320/IMG_9361.jpeg" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2pHjib1ZdkIJCkBdHFd-wON-QQ7ONiwyruvs9CvE2ko-dN6wxrJ6F-u5IrfJ7zGbr7Fz8bArasUVeSn1BKmZqCDqbTWAvkHFDdAhQ0muJsylow12-KNQs8oYWbF6Ad0nZpJDsNpgioKU/s2048/IMG_9443.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2pHjib1ZdkIJCkBdHFd-wON-QQ7ONiwyruvs9CvE2ko-dN6wxrJ6F-u5IrfJ7zGbr7Fz8bArasUVeSn1BKmZqCDqbTWAvkHFDdAhQ0muJsylow12-KNQs8oYWbF6Ad0nZpJDsNpgioKU/w240-h320/IMG_9443.JPG" width="240" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9HTvaAGKeV-M3YplEhE1u4zKC81p_KaDDvL22eEPlj4W9WA9spPJwEn156yCQbhgh215t-wLs1t7y11PvRcy2LUxpchhtDqa3fNC9GF2l8ZMWbzIYa3S256BZwfngfHZuOdLL3xUqiXR/s2048/IMG_9477.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9HTvaAGKeV-M3YplEhE1u4zKC81p_KaDDvL22eEPlj4W9WA9spPJwEn156yCQbhgh215t-wLs1t7y11PvRcy2LUxpchhtDqa3fNC9GF2l8ZMWbzIYa3S256BZwfngfHZuOdLL3xUqiXR/w320-h240/IMG_9477.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /></div></div></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; text-align: left;">Ah yes... COVID-ween. I've been some kind of zombie every year since 2013, and COVID forced me to break my streak. Zombiewalk was canceled, and rightly so, but I couldn't help but be a little bummed out about it. We also couldn't have a Halloween program at the library. I started off as Landshark on the Friday before Halloween - that's when us working folks dress up, after all. I volunteered to work at the library on Halloween day, mostly so I could wear another costume. I am a huge fan of Disney villains, so I chose Ursula and put my costume together thanks to a mishmash of things I ordered on Amazon. Finally, it was Phineas's first Halloween, so James and I had to make it count. It was also essential to put him in awesome costumes when he's young because he doesn't have any say. So we were Tormund Giantsbane, Brienne of Tarth, and a dire wolf. (If you're not familiar with Game of Thrones, I apologize.)</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>2021</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>bcat-cbat/snail/Buttercup</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeepQ82gBp2_f6rtOheKi7pL3Zx-NOt3AnuqszgUZfYO53gHwI6eOtdLX8colQcOwuyPPqOT2tyt1wLWERxKrHh7x0i47_eVTTXSgyG0j3uNGjkswRilJDM6zl8Fiq3T4mjp_P5a3E-RG/s2048/A312E5B6-876E-4D69-B3AC-ADBB625C136D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeepQ82gBp2_f6rtOheKi7pL3Zx-NOt3AnuqszgUZfYO53gHwI6eOtdLX8colQcOwuyPPqOT2tyt1wLWERxKrHh7x0i47_eVTTXSgyG0j3uNGjkswRilJDM6zl8Fiq3T4mjp_P5a3E-RG/s320/A312E5B6-876E-4D69-B3AC-ADBB625C136D.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ea3KxeU8Ltv9tKDM7EDobkh-JfK12PELWfNJzKrJiHRQsM66TSzl-uFk9BCEhyphenhyphenm4fPIamYlItZdUDHlprSChmgWdPgAPqvogm8Ahf5eUiL8gufleotNqsrkk5FJffhXpSCPVMW-N1QSK/s2048/87E16AC2-06DE-4AF7-A3F1-65683B076995.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1638" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ea3KxeU8Ltv9tKDM7EDobkh-JfK12PELWfNJzKrJiHRQsM66TSzl-uFk9BCEhyphenhyphenm4fPIamYlItZdUDHlprSChmgWdPgAPqvogm8Ahf5eUiL8gufleotNqsrkk5FJffhXpSCPVMW-N1QSK/s320/87E16AC2-06DE-4AF7-A3F1-65683B076995.jpeg" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sr1JCrjAUJMgx-y_uLWn8kmHZfKoz1ClsFiZLwmLVh2DiAEUXVgmE1JjVT_8O5tjXI2O3xhjCdssRz3x9h2Mg7YyYRX2oQoDjxhAe23ou5nPVi11X0gZtyp9AyaWeWSKsyhb_D4fcSbD/s1467/DBC33C39-90CD-4720-A646-8DEFFB6001F8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sr1JCrjAUJMgx-y_uLWn8kmHZfKoz1ClsFiZLwmLVh2DiAEUXVgmE1JjVT_8O5tjXI2O3xhjCdssRz3x9h2Mg7YyYRX2oQoDjxhAe23ou5nPVi11X0gZtyp9AyaWeWSKsyhb_D4fcSbD/s320/DBC33C39-90CD-4720-A646-8DEFFB6001F8.jpeg" width="314" /></a></div><br />My first costume is actually a bat, but I kept getting mistaken for a cat, so here we are. My snail costume is made out of library packaging material and a metric ton of hot glue. Our big family costume this year was Buttercup, Westley, and a Rodent of Unusual Size (who would not wear his cute mouse hat).</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>2022</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>zombie Winifred Sanderson/Maleficent reprise/ Instagram/Golden Gate Bridge/Oscar the Grouch</b></span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ca2Dq-DCPvXSNnPM9QZABqCsSgy5eS5Kf5KYpOBW_9_vHa2VSb4dvYm9ihEm4AjIDWlQEOHtWmYPCsC2jcYu1UpTcyEOBIqWEtWDkI_M5nMFa6fQVCEUDKP2cxbKptFlbf7QgScsAhNmdYsAWkuH0M519JqR4Id2PtITXMbE_WOOGrzTRyiGfTOZNg/s2040/image000000%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ca2Dq-DCPvXSNnPM9QZABqCsSgy5eS5Kf5KYpOBW_9_vHa2VSb4dvYm9ihEm4AjIDWlQEOHtWmYPCsC2jcYu1UpTcyEOBIqWEtWDkI_M5nMFa6fQVCEUDKP2cxbKptFlbf7QgScsAhNmdYsAWkuH0M519JqR4Id2PtITXMbE_WOOGrzTRyiGfTOZNg/s320/image000000%20(1).jpg" width="241" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKJtVyiaUk37FyYkppZFEbEFSBImzjjeCkoYhrmPn3coGCt-t2bhsgDY5Ekdaag_V_7ONUIAXsZ5LFAJ073Kdwv7aOdHGi-CvWPCzgJ5CScAwOSUIG21RXT7PiQNu4AA3FwwgpJ4WzAZcFaHvSuyUd6VGbfCiHIotf4MvZfGjVSvBLy2F8NVv9ZZy-Q/s2048/IMG_5168.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am SO delighted to be back to my five-costume rotation. The library had a zombie program a couple of weeks before Halloween, and zombie costumes were encouraged. The local brewery has bingo every month, and this month included a costume contest. I won for "scariest." (There were like five people dressed up, but a win is a win.) The "Instagram v Reality" costume was a great last-minute costume which I find more hilarious as I look at it. Every year, I have a costume I am particularly excited about, and this year, it's the Golden Gate Bridge. Some of my favorite costumes of all time have been inanimate objects. Lastly, the three of us dressed up as Sesame Street characters for trick-or-treating with Phineas. </span></div></div><span style="font-family: sue ellen francisco;"> </span></div></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: "sue ellen francisco"; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>---------------------</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; font-family: "sue ellen francisco";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And there's my lifetime of Halloweens! Rest assured I will continue adding to this list as the years go on, because you're never too old for Halloween. NEVER.</span></div>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-21700377845918040332022-10-15T11:32:00.001-05:002022-10-15T11:32:15.249-05:00a recipe for the perfect Halloween.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">As I have stated time and time again, Halloween is my favorite holiday. Once September hits, my brain is in full Halloween mode.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Ten years ago (whoof), I wrote about my Halloween essentials. In a nutshell, they are a costume (duh), candy, Halloween music/TV/movies, Halloween events, and friends with whom to enjoy this most special of all holidays.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">All of this remains as true in 2022 as it was in 2012. However, allow me to adjust the details a little bit.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>MOVIES</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I am not super into scary movies - as the proud owner of a haunted house, I don't need anything artificial to scare the living shit out of me. However, I do love a good suspense film, and I REALLY love a good cult film. These are my choices for Halloween viewing:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Beetlejuice</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Or really any Tim Burton film will do. Beetlejuice is my favorite, though - I have a soft spot for irreverent horror-ish movies.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Coco</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Coco is hands-down my favorite Disney movie. It's an absolutely gorgeous film, and like all Pixar movies, it gets you right in the feels.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Hocus Pocus</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Obviously. While the sequel was good, I'm all in for the original. I was a cat lady pre-1993, but Hocus Pocus solidified my love for black cats in particular.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Misery and/or The Shining</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Stephen King is the master, we all know that. The scary movies that really get me are those that could actually happen. We all could be held hostage by a deranged fan. We all could lose our minds in total isolation (ahem, COVID).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Nosferatu</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">If you want to be thoroughly creeped out, watch this one. It's a silent vampire film from 1922. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Rocky Horror Picture Show</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I don't know how this movie became the cult Halloween phenomenon that it did, but if you can go to a midnight showing, DO IT. The audience participation is spectacular.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Shaun of the Dead</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My favorite zombie movie. It's an Edgar Wright comedy with Simon Pegg. You know it will be great.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>What We Do in the Shadows</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It's a mockumentary about vampires living in New Zealand. And one of the funniest movies of all time.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Young Frankenstein</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I actually have never watched Young Frankenstein around Halloween, but that's going to change this year. It's a Mel Brooks masterpiece.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>MUSIC</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Excuse me while I just type out what I have in my Halloween playlist:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"This Is Halloween" - Nightmare Before Christmas</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"The Monster Mash" - Bobby "Boris" Pickett & the Cryptkeeper Five</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Werewolves of London" - Warren Zevon</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Dead Man's Party" - Oingo Boingo</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Re: Your Brains" - Jonathan Coulton</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Witch Doctor" - Alvin and the Chipmunks</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"The Time Warp" - Rocky Horror Picture Show</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">"Thriller" - Michael Jackson</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(there are so many more, but these are the highlights.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>EVENTS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There are SO many Halloween events now, and I am HERE for it. I am always up for a ghost tour (any time of the year, of course), and I love that basically every event in October wants you to come in costume. There are zombie walks, Halloween bingo, midnight showings, costume contests, pumpkin patches, concerts, you name it. If I could take October off and do nothing but go to these events, I absolutely would.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>TRUE GHOST STORIES</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I love few things more than a good ghost story. I love to tell about my haunted house, and I love to hear about others' experiences. I go on ghost tours whenever possible, and one of my big dreams for Luverne is to start a ghost tour here. So if you have ghost stories, PLEASE tell me. I will be your best audience.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>COSTUMES</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">One of the things I think about the most is what to be for Halloween. I've mentioned that my career goal as a child was to have a job where I would be allowed to dress up for Halloween. CHECK. But it's been YEARS since I only needed one costume. This year, I have a Zombie Appreciation event at the library, Halloween bingo/costume contest at the brewery, the Sioux Falls Zombie Walk, and of course, Halloween itself: one for work and one for family. (There's also a spooky supper club event that we may or may not go to because you know $.) I never repeat a costume on actual Halloween, but I do allow myself to mix and match from years past for the other events. (You should see my costume stash.) I have a separate costume for work so I can be whatever the hell I want. For family Halloween, I am totally going to get as many years out of a group costume as I can. That's the point of having kids, right?</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs73Q3Wc75EINdSRMd_s8PRVn6yCOXzv86BGScffORilCLLZX4_hZl6iSmaZQvagFzZtbwkSDgp53f6POznNPL7TwGJIYBDYPbqZEGOXmsfVJ4-legoZDai2YWW8Y0HinDDzsvg_FxGOwck6dNByWAzhQnleNdVUetHbcbrVRMADz8jsf0yEMgzcn0qA/s2048/IMG_9477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs73Q3Wc75EINdSRMd_s8PRVn6yCOXzv86BGScffORilCLLZX4_hZl6iSmaZQvagFzZtbwkSDgp53f6POznNPL7TwGJIYBDYPbqZEGOXmsfVJ4-legoZDai2YWW8Y0HinDDzsvg_FxGOwck6dNByWAzhQnleNdVUetHbcbrVRMADz8jsf0yEMgzcn0qA/w400-h300/IMG_9477.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>FRIENDS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Of course, none of this is really any fun if you don't have anyone with whom to enjoy it. We have a solid group of friends and family with Halloween spirit, and that amplifies the fun. If you have to pick just one thing off this Halloween list, pick the friends. You will never regret it. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSvcy9OGNynhVTFw2Bv2EwQm3UysBlqJze8p3UaxoNg96T1FKThDuMHntEw9MnwmzLKweWtDUwvoMM9fLsYKLE7-dn6_KDH00PWagfFnMONGqomlt_NhPbjE7Q7bBJgpwzwD5ZGEz5GWz4IBqJHdTeSlWWSAm4nOyHjX-iFA727mj95emMvGszK9XyA/s2048/A312E5B6-876E-4D69-B3AC-ADBB625C136D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSvcy9OGNynhVTFw2Bv2EwQm3UysBlqJze8p3UaxoNg96T1FKThDuMHntEw9MnwmzLKweWtDUwvoMM9fLsYKLE7-dn6_KDH00PWagfFnMONGqomlt_NhPbjE7Q7bBJgpwzwD5ZGEz5GWz4IBqJHdTeSlWWSAm4nOyHjX-iFA727mj95emMvGszK9XyA/w300-h400/A312E5B6-876E-4D69-B3AC-ADBB625C136D.jpeg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWqtAPz139tLkAUXuwvuZqkrDbtlg3r23O0M9m47ZzNf_UfzggRaejBaedldL1WW_glVbTvhyKnIXXwJLqOGlStLPvc1nE4CLbdcX1hM1-6k4NYZiGakmZRT6BMQX0spVpMduPw0A--IiNw3aQHl-G4EULQm_CGsWmtIae7w2Zq81HrtuSFBT-XiJmw/s960/14720520_10108383820049350_873952955584558202_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="634" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWqtAPz139tLkAUXuwvuZqkrDbtlg3r23O0M9m47ZzNf_UfzggRaejBaedldL1WW_glVbTvhyKnIXXwJLqOGlStLPvc1nE4CLbdcX1hM1-6k4NYZiGakmZRT6BMQX0spVpMduPw0A--IiNw3aQHl-G4EULQm_CGsWmtIae7w2Zq81HrtuSFBT-XiJmw/w264-h400/14720520_10108383820049350_873952955584558202_n.jpg" width="264" /></a> </div></div><p></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-72624144088285682862022-09-20T15:10:00.000-05:002022-09-21T13:53:49.487-05:00an airport saga.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I've talked before about how air travel is so incredibly painful. You pay exorbitant amounts of money to be treated like a criminal. Or livestock. Or criminal livestock.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I attended the Association for Rural and Small Libraries annual conference in Chattanooga, Tennessee this last week. (It's way more fun than it sounds.) My trip there was nothing but smooth sailing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My trip home was anything but.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I'm looking at YOU, United.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>In the wee morning hours the day I was supposed to leave Chattanooga, my flight from Chicago to Sioux Falls was canceled for bad weather. What this bad weather was, I couldn't tell you. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>As I was flying back to the teeny tiny Sioux Falls airport, a direct flight was out of the question. I was initially supposed to fly from Chattanooga to Chicago at 12pm, then head from Chicago to Sioux Falls and be home by 4pm. With that cancellation, I was rebooked to go from Chattanooga to Chicago to Denver to Sioux Falls and arrive home at midnight. Trash.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>The Chattanooga airport is about the same size as Sioux Falls, so I arrived at the airport none too early and went through security. Wouldn't you know it, I was flagged. They showed me the screen, and the area that was flagged was my bra. Great. So I had to have a pat down. (I still don't know what it was - I don't wear bras with underwire.) After the groping, the agent swiped my hands with some kind of pad. My hands then set off another alarm. (I would love to know what I touched to set off all these alarms so I can avoid it like the plague.) That meant I had to have a FULL BODY pat down AND they searched my luggage. The agent who did my pat down noticed my RBG "I dissent" pin on my backpack, and she told me she liked and then she had a giant tattoo of one of RBG's collars on her arm. Clearly, I was in good company. (And RBG supporters tend not to be the kind of people who want to hijack flights.)</span><span><br /></span><span>Obviously, they didn't find anything. I got to my gate, only to find out the flight had been delayed. Again and again. We finally took off an hour after we were intended to leave. My connection in Chicago was suppose to take off at 2:24, and with this new delay, our plane from Chattanooga wasn't supposed to touch down until 2pm. Gulp.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>On top of that, they gate-checked my carry on, so I couldn't just take my suitcase and go once I got off the plane - I had to wait until they hauled up our bags from wherever they were. </span><span><br /></span><span>Once I got my bag, I took off running. We landed at Terminal F, and of course, my connecting flight was at terminal C. I read it's about a mile between those terminals, and of course I didn't have the pleasure of a train or a moving sidewalk. I ran through the airport Home Alone-style and made it to my gate in nine minutes - at 2:20pm. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzm1Yjf_w-9tBR0mVOli_JLj7tAE8M2mttkPnorR4nXYoYxxeMId99m-D7l0aHAZBU4CY2l6K45OBedKiv8DG0MbhHcg3zcdQQebLXuhcBQEkyS6za2MVu4rpVHKge-LwFUtDv11nEjn8Vabdr96Rvva-FxS65PdTo7LL1vQljhsahCc5Y4oE8bLQwFQ/s826/IMG_3823.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="826" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzm1Yjf_w-9tBR0mVOli_JLj7tAE8M2mttkPnorR4nXYoYxxeMId99m-D7l0aHAZBU4CY2l6K45OBedKiv8DG0MbhHcg3zcdQQebLXuhcBQEkyS6za2MVu4rpVHKge-LwFUtDv11nEjn8Vabdr96Rvva-FxS65PdTo7LL1vQljhsahCc5Y4oE8bLQwFQ/w400-h308/IMG_3823.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice how low my battery was. Another topping on the shit sandwich.</td></tr></tbody></table><span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>Of course, the plane was still sitting there, but the doors had already closed. No one was letting me on that plane.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>The gate attendant rebooked me on the next flight from Chicago to Denver, which was to leave in an hour. When the flights initially got messed up with the cancellation that morning, I was supposed to have a four-hour layover in Denver. I made lemonade out of the lemons and talked to my friend Kim. She lives nearby, so we were going to grab dinner while I was there. This new delay cut into our time, but we could still make it work.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>The flight to Denver was on one of those gigantic airplanes with ten seats across. I, of course, was sitting in the middle of the middle row - aka, the worst seat. That was the exact same seat I was sitting in when I drug my hungover ass from Reykjavik to Copenhagen and then proceeded to get lost via the train system. Flashbacks.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>The flight was fine, but actually getting off the plane in Denver was a different story. Once we landed on the tarmac, they WOULD NOT LET US OUT. Finally the pilot announced it was because another plane ahead of us was having trouble getting its doors open (?!), so we were waiting for either that plane to move or for us to get assigned to a different gate. We sat on the tarmac for AN HOUR before we could finally get off. And, of course, my bag was gate checked AGAIN.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>Cue me running through the airport AGAIN. I did make it to see Kim, but we had to rearrange our plans so she would meet me at a restaurant near the airport because I now only had an hour and a half layover. She had ordered my meal so it was ready when I got there. I scarfed it down and then rushed back through security (no alarms went off this time), but seeing Kim (though briefly) was easily the best part of this wreck of a day.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>At the gate, my group was the last one to be called to board. I approached the desk and scanned my boarding pass - only to be met by a blaring red light. The woman at the desk looked at the message and said, "You're not on this flight."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>By this time, it was 8:30pm mountain time. I had begun traveling at 9am eastern time with something going wrong every step of the way. I thought I was going to melt into a puddle.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>I assured her I was on this flight. The flight number and takeoff time on my boarding pass matched. But no - I was not listed as a passenger on that flight to Sioux Falls.</span><span><br /></span><span>After a little research, it turned out because I missed my original connection in Chicago, the following flight to Sioux Falls automatically canceled. I was rebooked from Chicago to Denver, but I actually needed to be rebooked from Denver to Sioux Falls as well.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>Thankfully, there was one seat left on the plane to Sioux Falls - and that seat was in first class! I have only traveled in first class once before, and that was more than 20 years ago - the very first time I flew. We were going to Las Vegas when I was 14 years old, and we all got upgraded to first class because of similar issues. I have to say, that is THE way to travel. (If you feel like spending an extra thousand dollars or so, that is.) I had more leg room than I knew what to do with, and the flight </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">attendants served us beverages in REAL glasses. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvtHip6QGCUDuGnAs1TQZu2DH4IdebnmYeeNXk2g8wwxUgssCOq1YYGF2kO2dPftn7MxJp2OotZH_mLqbXJcOX47EDiIM5qelOCYXhikk_rxUgR5P6HTpFUk6WpUp-XmTPkkEvoqTbr_9d-u1OEGrTm4r4AK-D9PANCkwv9LXEXAe8ghkJ_b0UHLLbg/s2048/IMG_3832.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvtHip6QGCUDuGnAs1TQZu2DH4IdebnmYeeNXk2g8wwxUgssCOq1YYGF2kO2dPftn7MxJp2OotZH_mLqbXJcOX47EDiIM5qelOCYXhikk_rxUgR5P6HTpFUk6WpUp-XmTPkkEvoqTbr_9d-u1OEGrTm4r4AK-D9PANCkwv9LXEXAe8ghkJ_b0UHLLbg/s320/IMG_3832.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fancy bitch.</td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">It's amazing how much more attentive they are when they think I've paid the extra money to be there.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span>By the time we landed, I got my (once again) gate-checked bag (what's the point of carry-on anyway if it's always getting taken away from you?), found my car in the parking lot, paid for parking, and drove home, it was about 1230am. If I had rented a car in Chattanooga and driven home, I would have arrived at approximately the same time.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Many of my mishaps come with some kind of well-earned lesson, like "always take your emergency brake off" or "don't rent apartments through Craigslist." This one doesn't have much of a lesson - air travel sucks, but I'm not about to give it up. I've got too many places to see.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Oh! Here's the lesson:<br />Always bring an extra book.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You never know when you're going to get stuck on the tarmac.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-50304987514074376772022-08-29T17:57:00.001-05:002022-08-29T20:07:51.048-05:00the bucket list.<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Lately, I've been thinking about bucket lists.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Not because I'm concerned about dying. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Because of my dad.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(He's not dying either.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My siblings and I were chatting via text one day this spring, and my sister said something about how the three siblings should go skydiving together. Mitch and Darrah had done it, but I had been wanting to do it for ages. Our dad also has wanted to do it for ages, so the lightbulb collectively came on. Father's Day was coming, so the three of us bought him a gift certificate to go skydiving in Luverne. Of course, I wanted to go as well. The four of us ended up doing it just yesterday, and it was easily the most insane thing I've ever done. I loved it.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5ZtWzHq4AouIFLElak7PDUfWqRRcRnXE_UsFdI37bjD0GyDsZc3v72ONjHWtHYdzIVTBJujumLicuv5pqiF40oPa6zcvrwd6DphxS4LS8M9kFOrWRzpwVMAv8kTQ6yI9bxDXwbnEzL7_L3vHKNcBxzXM3mXtC8qY4nlBJuQFoP-a56lRHxguTfPNSg/s1464/301441228_10119907232767890_3166300931778521121_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1464" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5ZtWzHq4AouIFLElak7PDUfWqRRcRnXE_UsFdI37bjD0GyDsZc3v72ONjHWtHYdzIVTBJujumLicuv5pqiF40oPa6zcvrwd6DphxS4LS8M9kFOrWRzpwVMAv8kTQ6yI9bxDXwbnEzL7_L3vHKNcBxzXM3mXtC8qY4nlBJuQFoP-a56lRHxguTfPNSg/w394-h400/301441228_10119907232767890_3166300931778521121_n.jpg" width="394" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">The week before, Mom, Dad, and I did a "scuba 101" type class. That had also been on Dad's list of things to try, and he and I both loved it. We're planning to work towards getting our scuba certifications.</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrjbNkhZBcgk3kY5QJtcLKUYR7KRu5CM_tTrTupJ-j1TCB_C_z4S2EY16W-O5DIoOlLa1ytnPKs8DtzzllM0NsFnhXK-v1wyJFi_GSXwwlstIrjX-MXfVmWTbyuUafFtgFA7DenuskBDQUfnPpzY3so_wfN0M7cQ7K7_1bPVf7tHRN9Con_C0sVIlZQ/s1437/300570617_10119876032558360_7213462075333570748_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1437" data-original-width="1149" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrjbNkhZBcgk3kY5QJtcLKUYR7KRu5CM_tTrTupJ-j1TCB_C_z4S2EY16W-O5DIoOlLa1ytnPKs8DtzzllM0NsFnhXK-v1wyJFi_GSXwwlstIrjX-MXfVmWTbyuUafFtgFA7DenuskBDQUfnPpzY3so_wfN0M7cQ7K7_1bPVf7tHRN9Con_C0sVIlZQ/w320-h400/300570617_10119876032558360_7213462075333570748_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">So that's why I have been thinking about bucket lists. I knew I had one, but I'd never written it down. As your classic type A, few things please me more than making lists and checking things off.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Most bucket lists can be divided into experiences, skills, and accomplishments. Mine is no exception. My bucket list is probably typical of most others, but here it is.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">EXPERIENCES</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">visit all 50 states (30 down)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">visit as many countries as possible (only seven down)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">visit all the National Parks (11 down)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">visit every Minnesota State Park (23 down)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">go parasailing</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">swim with dolphins and/or sharks</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">see the Northern Lights</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">try as much weird food as I can</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">read as many books as I can</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">SKILLS</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn Tae Kwon Do</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn to draw/paint</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">become scuba certified</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn to waltz</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn to speak Spanish</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn sign language</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn to surf</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn yoga</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">learn ukulele</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">ACCOMPLISHMENTS</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">earn my PhD<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">publish a book</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">do a TED Talk</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">become a park ranger (when I retire)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">become a clinic escort for abortion providers </span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">become a Master Naturalist</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There are a good amount of things I have done that have been on a bucket list and are now checked off. There are also things I have done in the moment that were not on a bucket list, but in retrospect, they would have fit right in.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">EXPERIENCES</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">ate fermented shark</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">rode in a hot air balloon</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">tried scuba</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">went snorkeling</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">went skydiving</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">swam in all five Great Lakes</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">hiked a few mountains</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">helicopter ride in Sedona</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">ziplined alongside Niagara Falls</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">SKILLS</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">can drive a stick shift</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">can swing dance</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">can plan a killer off-the-beaten path vacation</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">can play mediocre clarinet and alto/tenor saxophone</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">ACCOMPLISHMENTS</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">kayaked from the US to Canada</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">contributed articles to a sculpture catalog (so sort of a published author)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">published photographer</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">own two arts-based small businesses</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">earned my Masters Degree</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">found my dream job</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">have an amazing crew of family and friends</span></li></ul><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You know how everyone knows somebody (or several somebodys) they dread seeing? Like "oh that person's coming; I better pretend to be busy"? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Another bucket list item is to NOT be that person. </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The number one most important thing on my bucket list, though, is to live a good life. My great hope is to be a good person and leave my corner of the world a little better than I found it. I want to make the most of my time with family and friends. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">So far, I think I'm doing ok.</span></div><p></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005972366009104216.post-19626430516092153482022-08-22T20:03:00.004-05:002022-08-22T20:03:33.164-05:00my portrait.<p><span style="font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">ere's one of my favorite conversation starters: I own an oil portrait of me painted by my ex-boyfriend... given to me nearly a year after we broke up.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J5-gg5NPdkcjKMjV-PASA5MYQnL70iNmxGes916XAhlEIcUCyjFkCOcI90o35G_yntcp0uEgd8oy5LIJM04fuHkj2DVIRCE-Yo3kHhkPJmHxGsY9CbJwkuh43lECtEh-_4PWBsTzf5X6ynU64yeBrJMp8qEQ0FxUJg5WNLTtcf86sZ6lFhtowFCLwQ/s1600/61F60305-85A2-4031-BBF2-1836CC9D2495.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J5-gg5NPdkcjKMjV-PASA5MYQnL70iNmxGes916XAhlEIcUCyjFkCOcI90o35G_yntcp0uEgd8oy5LIJM04fuHkj2DVIRCE-Yo3kHhkPJmHxGsY9CbJwkuh43lECtEh-_4PWBsTzf5X6ynU64yeBrJMp8qEQ0FxUJg5WNLTtcf86sZ6lFhtowFCLwQ/w266-h400/61F60305-85A2-4031-BBF2-1836CC9D2495.jpeg" width="266" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><p>Allow me to explain.</p></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When I began college, I was an 18-year-old who had never had a boyfriend. I'd kissed a couple of duds, but that was it for my romantic life. You know how John Cusak in High Fidelity was concerned about dying alone at age 27, and he knew 27 was too young for that? At 17, I was already convinced I'd die alone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Then college came along.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I was not at all used to boys liking me, but they did. It was weird and awesome. I had kind of an ugly ducking thing going on up until the very beginning of my senior year of high school when I started to take more an interest in how I looked. Apparently I looked like someone the college boys might like.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWu0v1SJl-fkS4kD7pWum28A5rDOxMApCH4p6sa1c28paVzSJN-DhniInNEOZV1pE-VCkYcLTqnd76eaVxGXF0KrTseq0s03q9YyEAiaPoSnk4XYDfSV8ulufCE9Nn_uepY9giK3_0BTkgjMvjRvImHLph4mEP6n-lmQCHUbBlhR0YGHKAIYgXij2ltw/s316/EE978D4E-F4CE-4982-8F2A-70363C764A7E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="316" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWu0v1SJl-fkS4kD7pWum28A5rDOxMApCH4p6sa1c28paVzSJN-DhniInNEOZV1pE-VCkYcLTqnd76eaVxGXF0KrTseq0s03q9YyEAiaPoSnk4XYDfSV8ulufCE9Nn_uepY9giK3_0BTkgjMvjRvImHLph4mEP6n-lmQCHUbBlhR0YGHKAIYgXij2ltw/s1600/EE978D4E-F4CE-4982-8F2A-70363C764A7E.jpeg" width="316" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me about a month before college. This was during <br />the “very serious artsy photograph” time of my life.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Here's what I didn't yet know: you don't want ALL boys to like you. Some boys are bad for you.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Enter: the Tormented Artist.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It was April 2006, and I got a message on Facebook (back when it was just for college students) from him. I had never met him, but I'd seen him around campus. It said something to the effect of "you seem cool; can we hang out sometime?" </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">After nearly nine months of college douche dudes, I still hadn't learned my lesson. I said sure, and we met up. I really liked him at first. He had great taste in movies, and he opened the door to all sorts of fantastic music. He was also a talented artist, which I found impressive and fascinating. We started officially dating that June - my very first boyfriend. (I was also his first girlfriend.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The summer was great, as we were dating long distance. Once school began, things went south pretty fast. He had severe untreated depression, which I (a naive 19-year-old) was not equipped to deal with. He also spent a week in a hospital and about a month out of school late September/early October. When he returned, he expected me to spend every spare moment with him. For a while, I did. He skipped his classes and urged me to do the same. (I didn’t, but my grades suffered from the stress.) I missed out on weeks of gorgeous fall weather, shuttered in his room and barely seeing the light of day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Halloween finally broke me out of my prison. Halloween is my favorite holiday, and I spent the days around Halloween with friends. The Tormented Artist was incensed, accusing me of not caring about him and his well being. That line had worked before, but not for Halloween.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Things continued to deteriorate between us as the school year wore on. He made me cry on my 20th birthday. He said things I would later recognize as emotionally abusive. He manipulated and demeaned - one such occasion culminated in a fight on live radio. (We DJd a show together on the college radio station. It was awful. Our only listeners were my parents, who really enjoyed hearing this spat on air.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My parents thought I should break up with him. My friends thought I should break up with him. It took me until July - just over a year of dating - to actually break up with him. A year of isolation and cruel comments had beat me down.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But then: I was free.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The next two years of college were some of the best years of my life. I started a double major in English and my newly discovered love, art history. I killed it in both disciplines. I went on a jazz band trip to New Orleans. I made friends that I still have today. I started dating the man I would marry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Life was good.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">In April of my junior year, the Tormented Artist was a senior. I managed to avoid him for most of that year, besides some notes exchanged in school PO boxes asking for my books and DVDs back. (I never got them back.) </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But one day, I got a note in the box saying I had a package. I wasn’t expecting anything, so I didn’t have a clue what I was in for.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I turned in my slip at the post office window and waited. The lady behind the counter reappeared with a funny look on her face… and a giant canvas. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The color drained from my face. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It was a portrait of me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">By the Tormented Artist.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The portrait made me look dead. My skin was a sallow whitish green, and the background was bleak. It lined up exactly with the Tormented Artist’s style: muddy and devoid of joy.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkbXofzhgmvqv9BDg4E4yiQWwFDEEOhCTX8YMfLyJig-2pSGnWQYYrxjVY8rDjFlfU9ScxhvjmYJP0rsQuzeCYKm9d0DnPnJ08h2ORDVx73IvLrDJwwnL2imGp0MUfO1dITmeb0Zgy3ZRn-7SBZ9d26Ux8iLNTXJFbpVmXp4S-RGMmH6AtY5AOvm2TA/s1600/DA0CA6BC-7C4D-4C45-ACA1-A3C5F30E9B2D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkbXofzhgmvqv9BDg4E4yiQWwFDEEOhCTX8YMfLyJig-2pSGnWQYYrxjVY8rDjFlfU9ScxhvjmYJP0rsQuzeCYKm9d0DnPnJ08h2ORDVx73IvLrDJwwnL2imGp0MUfO1dITmeb0Zgy3ZRn-7SBZ9d26Ux8iLNTXJFbpVmXp4S-RGMmH6AtY5AOvm2TA/w266-h400/DA0CA6BC-7C4D-4C45-ACA1-A3C5F30E9B2D.jpeg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here it is again for good measure.</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The worst part?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The school day wasn’t over, so I had to haul that painting along with me to my last class.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And I had ridden my bike that day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I had to ask my current boyfriend (who had driven to campus) to transport the big-ass painting from my ex-boyfriend.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">James - the boyfriend - laughed until he cried.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That portrait is hanging in my parents’ house and has been since 2008. (It’s on the upper level where no one really goes except overnight guests. It’s too creepy to hang on the main level for the general public.) No one has the heart to throw it away, but no one really wants to look at it either. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">In every bad situation, one is supposed to be able to find the silver lining. One silver lining of this relationship manifested in a spooky portrait that in turn is a great story.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My relationship with the Tormented Artist lasted just over a year, but the Dead Calla portrait will last forever.</span></p>callahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147947165198323239noreply@blogger.com2