-- Table structure for table `wp_d8mand_posts`
--

CREATE TABLE IF NOT EXISTS `wp_d8mand_posts` (
  `ID` bigint(20) unsigned NOT NULL auto_increment,
  `post_author` bigint(20) NOT NULL default '0',
  `post_date` datetime NOT NULL default '0000-00-00 00:00:00',
  `post_date_gmt` datetime NOT NULL default '0000-00-00 00:00:00',
  `post_content` longtext NOT NULL,
  `post_title` text NOT NULL,
  `post_category` int(4) NOT NULL default '0',
  `post_excerpt` text NOT NULL,
  `post_status` varchar(20) NOT NULL default 'publish',
  `comment_status` varchar(20) NOT NULL default 'open',
  `ping_status` varchar(20) NOT NULL default 'open',
  `post_password` varchar(20) NOT NULL default '',
  `post_name` varchar(200) NOT NULL default '',
  `to_ping` text NOT NULL,
  `pinged` text NOT NULL,
  `post_modified` datetime NOT NULL default '0000-00-00 00:00:00',
  `post_modified_gmt` datetime NOT NULL default '0000-00-00 00:00:00',
  `post_content_filtered` text NOT NULL,
  `post_parent` bigint(20) NOT NULL default '0',
  `guid` varchar(255) NOT NULL default '',
  `menu_order` int(11) NOT NULL default '0',
  `post_type` varchar(20) NOT NULL default 'post',
  `post_mime_type` varchar(100) NOT NULL default '',
  `comment_count` bigint(20) NOT NULL default '0',
  PRIMARY KEY  (`ID`),
  KEY `post_name` (`post_name`),
  KEY `type_status_date` (`post_type`,`post_status`,`post_date`,`ID`)
) ENGINE=MyISAM  DEFAULT CHARSET=utf8 AUTO_INCREMENT=564 ;

--
-- Dumping data for table `wp_d8mand_posts`
--

INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(4, 1, '2007-06-12 15:14:00', '2007-06-12 19:14:00', '<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpeouqG4laI/AAAAAAAABlg/pb9Fvhg9qro/s1600-h/fields.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086719823668876706" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpeouqG4laI/AAAAAAAABlg/pb9Fvhg9qro/s320/fields.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Technically, I''ve always lived in the Midwest, although I like to argue that my home state of Michigan is The North. However you see it, in 2001 I moved to the true Midwest—to a place our local meteorologist refers to as "East-Central Illinois," to be exact. It doesn''t get more cornfield than this.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Halfway to Normal is actually where my friend Dorie lives, if you''re starting at my house and driving due west on I-74. About 25 miles into the cornfields, you see a couple of grain elevators and a small racetrack and a restaurant called "Restaurant." That''s the exit for Farmer City. If you keep driving for another 25 miles, you''ll be in Normal, Illinois. Not that we have a particular reason to ever go there.</span></span>\r\n\r\nWhich is the point of this blog, really. Being halfway to Normal, or somewhere in the vicinity, I''ve discovered, is just about the right place to be. At least it''s the place where I''ve found myself, and balance for my life, and love. It''s the place where my life has become entwined with the lives of people from all over the country and the world—people of many skin colors and backgrounds. It''s the place where I''ve become family with my husband''s ex-wife and her partner. It''s the place where I''ve found Christian community that thrives in the bar and around the dining room table as well as in the church on Sunday mornings. It''s where my daughters have experienced their first Passover and Hanukah celebrations, just a stone''s throw away from a grain elevator in a place that couldn''t be less Jewish. Each day, life here in this small part of the Midwest presents the most surprising combination of exactly what one might expect and <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> expect. In other words, I have stories to tell.', 'Halfway to Normal', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'halfway-to-normal', '', '', '2008-09-23 01:08:40', '2008-09-23 05:08:40', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=4', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(2, 1, '2008-07-03 14:22:47', '2008-07-03 21:22:47', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_mys3.jpg"><img class="alignright size-thumbnail wp-image-38" title="img_mys3" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_mys3-150x150.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="150" /></a>\r\n\r\nI''m a book-writer, three-girl-mother, Jason-lover, question-asker,   party-thrower, prairie-dweller, and hope-defender.', 'About Kristin', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'about', '', '', '2008-07-23 00:02:05', '2008-07-23 04:02:05', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?page_id=2', 0, 'page', '', 0),
(3, 1, '2008-07-03 18:27:10', '2008-07-03 22:27:10', 'This blog is a collection of very real (and, I hope, funny and touching) stories about living a life in between.\r\n\r\nThe stories revolve around topics like divorce, parenting, community, new love, sexuality, forgiveness, the ups and downs of freelancing, and the art of learning to live in the moment. But ultimately these stories tell about my efforts to strike a balance—between my Christian and "secular" lives, my professional and personal lives, and my outer and inner selves—while staying true  <span class="nfakPe">to</span> this complete person I am slowly becoming. And if I can do it all with humor and grace, encouraging others along the way? All the better.\r\n\r\nI love getting your comments on the blog and am always craving more dialogue. Please share! If you wish to contact me directly, you can email me at ktennant@gmail.com', 'About this blog', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'about-this-blog', '', '', '2008-11-06 14:50:55', '2008-11-06 18:50:55', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?page_id=3', 0, 'page', '', 0),
(5, 1, '2007-06-14 16:02:00', '2007-06-14 20:02:00', '<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5qqo7DRYI/AAAAAAAABiI/toBRazHqL1s/s1600-h/ellen.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084118310120015234" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5qqo7DRYI/AAAAAAAABiI/toBRazHqL1s/s320/ellen.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The first thing you need to know about the phrase “This town is <span style="font-style: italic;">this big</span>â€ is that it must be accompanied by a visual: hold your thumb and index finger about a half inch apart, and squint your eyes ever-so-slightly, as if you''re straining to see something quite small. The other thing you should know about the saying is that it''s inextricably tied to my best friend, Ellen. It’s her saying, and whenever any of the rest of us says it, it’s a known and accepted fact that we’re borrowing from her act.</span></span>\r\n\r\nThe phrase was coined for reasons that are obvious to anyone who lives in Champaign-Urbana. Although there are nearly 100,000 people here, the town has a way of feeling about one quarter the size. Everyone knows everyone and is somehow tied up in one another''s business—usually in a convoluted rather than obvious way. The ties here aren''t one-dimensional, either. For it to be a quintessential C-U knot it must have several layers. Examples of this are at the heart of many Halfway to Normal tales. (In the future, I''ll simply refer to it as "The This Big Phenomenon.")\r\n\r\nThe first and most important "<span style="font-style: italic;">this big</span>" story I''ll tell is fittingly about how Ellen and I met. Ellen is very distinctive. Not only is she tall and beautiful, but her coloring and curly hair often prompt rude people to ask "What are you?" (For the record, Ellen''s dad was African-American and her mom is white, but Ellen could easily be Latina or Caribbean or from a number of other exotic locales. Yes, I''m harmlessly envious.) I mention Ellen''s looks to point out that she''s noticeable, which is at the root of how we met. I noticed her everywhere. At one cafe, then at another. At the park or the pool. At the grocery store and the bar. I began to wonder if she was trailing me. (I guess I''m noticeable, too, because Ellen tells the same story about seeing me everywhere.) Finally, one day, after seeing her at Cafe Paradiso in the morning, Aroma Cafe in the afternoon, and the swimming pool in the evening, I marched right up to her and demanded friendship. Actually, I said something like "I think we''re living parallel lives, and it''s time to meet." Within a week we were together all the time, with or without our kids and Ellen''s husband, Gabriel. It''s been that way ever since.\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I met Ellen during a difficult but on-the-upturn time in my life. It was in 2005: four years after moving here, two years after C and I ended our marriage, and a couple of months after I ended my first post-divorce relationship. I was full in the throes of single parenthood and keeping my freelance writing business thriving, and frequently found myself in some not-advisable dating scenarios. I had also recently decided that I was going to root myself East-Central Illinois, and be happy about it. No more feeling sorry for myself about being "stuck" here because of my ex-husband''s career. In the span of a month, I met Ellen and bought myself a house, which marked the beginning of the upswing. I also changed churches and, a few months later, met Jason, who''s now my husband (of two weeks!).</span>\r\n\r\nI’ve been upheld and supported by many wonderful people since moving here, but Ellen has single-handedly rescued me more times, more consistently, than anyone else. Jason, of course, is the obvious super hero, but he and Ellen own different roles. Jason essentially relocated my entire home, so to speak, to higher ground. But Ellen is the one who came paddling out when I was flailing—dragging me in, or sometimes just treading water with me for a while, keeping me company. She still does, although the need, I''m glad to say, is much less frequent.', '&quot;This town is this big,&quot; Part I', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'this-town-is-this-big-part-i', '', '', '2008-09-23 01:10:17', '2008-09-23 05:10:17', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=5', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(6, 1, '2007-06-15 13:19:00', '2007-06-15 17:19:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Here''s one reliable sign I''m in a good place: I''m always happy to come home after being away, whether I''ve been up in Chicago or visiting Portland, Oregon. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This glad-to-be-back maxim was really put to the test last week, when Jason and I returned from our 10-day honeymoon in Greece. It''s very, very beautiful and delicious in Greece—I can''t stress that enough—but home was still sweet home. Several people I know who still can''t believe they live in East Central Illinois fall into deep depressions upon returning to town. Whatever it is they long for—the big city, mountains, oceans, an extended family—</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">just isn''t here</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">.</span>\r\n\r\nFor me, the good feelings don''t hinge on geography as much as they do people. Which is really just another way of talking about love, isn''t it?\r\n\r\nJason and I have a love story that  I''m pretty sure can stand up to just about any other. Back when I was in the midst of my despair about being "trapped" in Champaign-Urbana, my hopelessness had a tendency to hover annoyingly around the unlikelihood of meeting the man of my dreams in this isolated, limited pool.\r\n\r\nThink about it. I''m in my 30s, divorced, with two young children. I''m a Christian, and my faith is important to me, but I also thrive on being a bit of a bad girl (in other words, I''m not looking for a good boy). I like to party, have fun, put back some drinks. I love music and live shows and dancing. And I''m "stuck" in Champaign-Urbana, so I have to meet someone who''s okay with that.\r\n\r\nIf you put all those factors together, throwing in a few extra hopes along the way, here''s the singles ad you would get: "Thirty-something woman with two young children seeks handsome, tall, dark, thirty-something man who loves kids, wants an instant family, goes to church, knows how to have fun on a Saturday night, and is generally a social, successful, hip, big-city type who is perfectly happy to remain in a small Midwestern town for the next 10+ years."\r\n\r\nCan you imagine my hopelessness? If you subtract the old, married, tenured professors from the equation, you''re left with a town full undergrads (read: frat boys) and people just passing through. I began to systematically think through which dream man requirements I could do without. Christian, but not a whole heck of a lot of fun? Smart and fun but agnostic? Smart and successful, but scared to death of kids? Handsome and great with kids, but not too bright? I didn''t want to sacrifice anything, but I figured that was my lot.\r\n\r\nThen Jason walks into my life. We meet at church, no less. (For a few months, Ellen and Dorie knew Jason simply as "the cute boy from church.") He''s miraculously all the things specified in my hypothetical singles ad, PLUS he cooks, dances, and has a wonderful extended family. The most surprising and mysterious blessing of all is Havah, Jason''s daughter, who is two years older than my oldest, and looks as much like a biological sister to my two girls as any true biological sister could.\r\n\r\nThis is my love story, of course, so I''m particularly fond of it. But after hearing it, can you possibly doubt there is a God in heaven? I rest my case.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5vCo7DRZI/AAAAAAAABiQ/zT8fcyzFEYg/s1600-h/kiss.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084123120483386770" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5vCo7DRZI/AAAAAAAABiQ/zT8fcyzFEYg/s320/kiss.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Love in unexpected places', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'love-in-unexpected-places', '', '', '2009-05-26 10:20:05', '2009-05-26 14:20:05', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=6', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(52, 1, '2008-08-21 15:18:55', '2008-08-21 19:18:55', 'I have some updates to recent posts, just in case you''re curious.\r\n\r\n- Last month I wrote about an old friend I tried connecting with on Facebook (<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=45">Facebook and the drama of new-old friends</a>). She responded with silence. I''m happy to report that she has since sent me a note. It''s not like we''ve reestablished our friendship or worked through any of the "what happeneds," but she did say "I hope you, too, are happy and well," and that''s a big improvement over silence.\r\n\r\n- In <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=48">Moving on might be easier than writing about it</a>, I asked for your thoughts about an essay proposal I was submitting to an anthology called <em>Ask Me About My Divorce: Women Open Up About Moving On</em>. I collected some helpful feedback, some on the blog, and some via email and conversation. In the end, I submitted the second concept, dealing with the parallel themes of being "trapped" in a marriage and a church, and then "freed" from those confines. Here''s a bit from my proposal (I''m still waiting to hear from the editor):\r\n\r\n<em>...the freeing process did not simply involve cutting ties and walking away from the institutions that confined me. The freeing process, as it turned out, involved embracing those institutions again, in different forms and new ways. I eventually found a church where brokenness was something to be valued because it helps create a path to wholeness. And it was at that church, of all places, that I met my second husband, embracing the concept of marriage again—even though I had been quite certain I never would. In the process, I was finally able to embrace my true self.</em>\r\n\r\n- I hesitate to even mention the <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=49">squirrels</a>, but one reader recently asked for an update. We still have not harvested a single big tomato, but I''m going for a Zen response to the squirrels'' antics in my yard and garden. My girls, on the other hand, have picked up my earlier anti-Zen approach: The other evening, after we ate dinner on the patio, they began throwing black walnuts (which are EVERYWHERE) at the squirrels. It was kinda funny, kinda not (don''t worry, their aim isn''t good). The abundance of black walnuts reminded me that I was blogging about squirrels last summer, too (<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=25">The sky is falling</a>). How sad is that?\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_8584.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-53" title="img_8584" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_8584-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="259" height="194" /></a>\r\n\r\n- Finally, I want to affirm, again and again, the healing power of sharing a meal. Last night, two good friends—we think of them as our local substitute parents—refreshed us with a delicious summer meal and lots of good conversation about life. By the time we walked home, we felt like we were emerging from the best kind of counseling session, with food and drink as an added bonus. We were light in our spirits and pleasantly heavy in our bellies. Tomorrow night we''re hosting a meal at our home, looking forward to sharing that kind of restorative experience with R and B (<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=51">particularly in light of our recent resolution</a>), and a handful of other friends. Here''s to throwing food at life''s problems, as often as possible.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_1260.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-54" title="img_1260" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_1260-225x300.jpg" alt="" width="207" height="274" /></a>', 'Bits & pieces', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'bits-pieces', '', 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=45\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=48', '2008-10-07 15:57:55', '2008-10-07 19:57:55', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=52', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(7, 1, '2007-06-21 12:36:00', '2007-06-21 16:36:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Perhaps no one in my life sums up the Halfway to Normal concept better than Dorie and Elie ("Eliezer," if you happen to be his former Yeshiva teacher or his mother on a bad day). Even before Dorie and Elie moved to that literal halfway geographical location, Farmer City, they were halfway normal in a number of other healthy ways. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">One of my favorite things about them is how they conducted their relationship in an almost scientifically "backwards" fashion: they met one summer during college, got pregnant, had a baby (Eva), moved in together, got to know each other, bought a house together and moved from New Jersey to Farmer City, and <span style="font-style: italic;">then</span> got married, five years after the baby. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Elie is post-punk, Dorie''s crafty, he''s Jewish, she''s Protestant, he''s serious and earnest, she''s bubbly and fun. And it all really works. It''s Halfway to Normal at its best.</span>\r\n\r\nFor the past couple of years, Elie and Dorie have hosted Hanukah and Seder dinners at their brick Victorian farmhouse, which they''re painstakingly restoring. Jason and I were both raised in Christian families who have a lot of respect for Jewish traditions, and make a point to be more aware of how Christians and Jews are alike in our beliefs, not different. We think being able to take our kids to a "real" Jewish holiday meal is a great thing.\r\n\r\nIt''s a bit surreal, though. Farmer City is a town of 2,000 people (at four, Saskia asked if there was only one farmer there). There seem to be many farmers, as you might expect, but only 1.5 Jewish residents. When you''re driving into town, toward the grain elevator, humming your Jewish tunes, you get the feeling you''re going to some illicit gathering of a secret society. Like maybe we should hide the car in the brush and pull the curtains before Elie dons his yamaka and lights the candles, and we drink our four large goblets of sweet red wine.\r\n\r\nWe gulp most of it down before we eat much of anything besides some horseradish and matzoh, so as the night wears on, the singing of the Seder order (Kaddesh, Urechatz, Karpas, etc.) grows increasingly robust. Our kids are delighted. They can only begin to understand how normal and yet <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> this whole scene is.\r\n\r\nBeing Jewish, specifically, and just different, in general, isn''t easy in a place like Farmer City. For those who like to perpetuate stereotypes about the Midwest, this lack of openness to anyone who is different from you is, unfortunately, a real issue in many smaller towns. (I imagine it''s more of a small town issue than a geographical one, although I''ve never lived in a small town on either coast, so I can''t be sure.)\r\n\r\nWhen Elie and Dorie first moved to Illinois, they suspected  they were being judged by their neighbors—in part because they came from the East Coast, in part because Elie is Jewish, and in part just because they had big plans to fix up their house and yard. (You see, if your plans are too big in a town that small, it only proves you think you''re better than everyone around you.)\r\n\r\nTheir suspicions about their neighbors'' feelings were confirmed when one day Elie got into it with the neighbor, who claimed they hadn''t mowed the lawn recently enough. Elie, who is studying plant biology at the university, tried to explain the broader vision for their yard—that they were growing wildflowers in one part of their yard, were going to plant hostas over here, etc.\r\n\r\nThe neighbor wasn''t buying it. Before retiring, he had worked for some lawn chemical company, and his yard consists of plain, very green, short grass, right up to his fence. He started accusing them off being moneyed people from the East with unconventional, fancy ideas. When things escalated, and the neighbor said he was going to report Elie, he went as far as to add that he was sure "you people have plenty of lawyers in the family." Take that, Jewish boy.\r\n\r\nDorie and Elie did the only thing one can do in response to such a situation. They threw a party. To be exact, it was a "Get Off My Lawn Soiree," complete with silver script-inscribed napkins, croquet, fancy-schmancy cocktails, and a whole bunch of friends wearing formal wear. We were all as fancy as possible and had a wonderful time celebrating who Elie and Dorie are, and where they are. Whether the neighbors like it or not.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5veI7DRaI/AAAAAAAABiY/p43FG8KLsdY/s1600-h/elie.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084123592929789346" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5veI7DRaI/AAAAAAAABiY/p43FG8KLsdY/s320/elie.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Seder in Farmer City', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'seder-in-farmer-city', '', '', '2009-01-09 16:23:26', '2009-01-09 20:23:26', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=7', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(8, 1, '2007-06-22 13:20:00', '2007-06-22 17:20:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Today is the last day of sleepover camp for my stepdaughter Havah, and Quillin, my oldest daughter. It''s her first time away from home like this. Jason and I dropped the girls off at Mennohaven camp in Tiskilwa, Illinois, last Sunday, and today I''m catching a ride with R and her partner B to help bring the girls home. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">While the title of this post probably generates mild to extreme discomfort for most people, for me, thankfully, six hours in the car with my husband''s ex-wife and her partner is a breeze. I''m even looking forward to it. It''s a perfect bonding opportunity for Havah''s three moms.</span>\r\n\r\nFor anyone who longs for better relationships with the exes and stepparents in their life, don''t get your hopes up. We have no magic formula. Our situation thrives on some fairly unique factors that would be nearly impossible to fabricate. R and B, for starters, go to the same church as we do, and are a part of the same core community of friends. We eat together regularly, help raise each other''s kids, celebrate birthdays together, and generally act as family away from family.\r\n\r\nBut I should back up to when I met R and B, which was essentially the same time I met Jason. This was back when Jason and I were well aware of how cute the other was, but we didn''t know much of anything about each other. One Sunday after church, Jason approached me to ask if the girls and I wanted to join a group of people for lunch. I was thrilled.\r\n\r\nThen I was immediately bombarded with a string of critical information. My mind couldn''t adjust fast enough. Right after the invitation, while we were still standing together, Havah came up to him saying "Papa, where are we going for lunch...?" I was shocked—I hadn''t known he was a dad!\r\n\r\nJust as I was getting used to this good news, Havah said, "Where''s Mom?" I was horrified—I had a crush on a married man!\r\n\r\nBut not five minutes later, as we were walking down the sidewalk from church to the restaurant, I asked who the two women half a block ahead of us were. He said, "Oh, that''s my ex-wife and her partner." I struggled to wrangle my brain around this information: "So I <span style="font-style: italic;">don''t</span> have a crush on a married man, but I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> going to lunch with his ex-wife!" I was still digesting that one long after the hamburger.\r\n\r\nThat''s how it all began, and essentially continued. Jason and I were "just friends" over the next few months, and I became friends as well with R and B and others in the group.\r\n\r\nAbout six months later, after Jason and I had been together about a month, the status of our relationship with R and B became poignantly clear.\r\n\r\nIt was B''s birthday, and we gathered to celebrate at Jubal and Renee''s house, where Jason cooked B''s birthday request dinner. After the kids left the table, and the six of us—three couples—sat nursing our wine and beer, I looked around the table and my heart jumped. It was so natural, yet so impossible. My boyfriend had just cooked a gift of love for his ex-wife''s partner. Later we all danced together with abandon in the dining room. I felt awe-struck the entire evening, like I was witnessing an event I knew would one day be seen as historical.\r\n\r\nAbout a year-and-a-half later, Jason and I and the girls, plus about 75 other family members and friends, gathered in the garden of mutual friends for R and B''s wedding ceremony. Once again, I was very moved (after getting past the strangeness of sharing a table with Jason''s ex-in-laws during the meal).\r\n\r\nSeveral people stood up to share stories after the meal, and I felt so full of love and hope I couldn''t help myself. I said something like this: "Earlier this evening, R introduced me as ''Havah''s dad''s girlfriend,'' which isn''t something you hear at many weddings. I think it says everything that needs to be said about God''s grace and his provision in bringing us all to this strange but wonderful place. I''m not here because it looks good. I''m here because I truly love and support R and B."\r\n\r\nThen R got up and said something like this: "Only good things have happened since Kristin has come into our family''s life. We''ve been so blessed by her."\r\n\r\nI know—kind of chokes you up, doesn''t it? Mostly, I think, because it says a whole lot about the kind of grace and forgiveness human beings need...and can muster. It''s the kind of moment when the stuff of dreams is realized.', 'A road trip with my husband''s ex-wife', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-road-trip-with-my-husbands-ex-wife', '', '', '2009-01-09 16:31:12', '2009-01-09 20:31:12', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=8', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(9, 1, '2007-06-25 14:39:00', '2007-06-25 18:39:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When I began working solely as a freelance writer, in February of 2002, my biggest fear wasn''t finding work—it was a fear of too much solitude. I''m a classic extrovert. I honestly enjoy some good, regular time alone, but all of my best ideas and problem solving and wound-licking and energy come out of interactions with others. So...freelancing. Not the best choice for someone like me. But the freedom and flexibility, and being able to do what I love even in East Central Illinois, were too attractive to not give it a go.</span>\r\n\r\nCafes with wireless Internet access have saved me. I often begin my day working at the dining room table or on the porch, but eventually that run of focus and energy begins to fade, and I pack up for a cafe. I like the activity. I like seeing people I know, and having the little "water cooler" moments I''m not getting in an office. I like watching the other characters who are drawn to cafes, and tracking the narratives they unknowingly spin. I like that at the cafe there are no dishes to put away or laundry to fold—my computer needs to be babysat, so I''m in essence chained to it (and my work). The easy supply of caffeine is another good thing.\r\n\r\nRight now I''m sitting in Caffe Paradiso. It''s just a four-block walk from our house, and is my favorite cafe. All of the bread and pastries are from Mirabelle, a wonderful French bakery in town, and all the soups are made from scratch. The space is large and open, with an old pressed tin ceiling, lots of natural light, and a hodge-podge of random tables and chairs (some of them <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> bad) are scattered about. The music played is far from generic and predictable.\r\n\r\nThat pretty much describes the crowd here, too—far from generic and predictable. If I was writing fiction, this is where I would come to be inspired to develop characters and their stories. Plenty of expected things happen here—studying, dissertation writing, lunch eating, and newspaper reading—but there are many interactions and conversations that I catch just enough of to be astounded. (As Ellen and I like to say, while sitting in the cafe, "This place is full of freaks." Ahem. Case in point, some might argue.)\r\n\r\nHere''s a good cafe story I can tell in detail because I was actually a character. Awhile back I agreed, as a favor to a friend, to meet with someone he knows who was new in town and needed some "professional networking opportunities" (ie: he was looking for a job). This guy, Todd, and I exchanged some emails and agreed on a time to meet at Caffe Paradiso. In the final email I described myself so he could identify me: Longish dark hair, dark-framed glasses, and working on a Powerbook.\r\n\r\nSo Todd enters the cafe through a doorway out of my vision, gets a coffee, and approaches the first person he happens to see who is a 30-something year old woman with dark hair, dark-framed glasses and a Powerbook. "Are you Kristin?" he asks. "Yes," she says, so he sits down, saying something like, "It''s good to meet you. I don''t even know exactly what kind of writing you do."\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nThis Kristin, looking confused but not wanting to be rude, says something like "I''m a PhD student, so I''m just writing my dissertation, but I hope to turn it into a book." They chat a bit more, but it''s incredibly awkward. She soon makes up an excuse, packs her stuff and leaves. Todd is left thinking, "That was really strange."\r\n\r\nShortly after that I notice him because he''s sitting alone without books to study or a computer or anything, and I wonder if he''s Todd. I think it''s odd he hasn''t approached me, but I walk up to him and ask "Are you Todd? I''m Kristin. I was beginning to think you weren''t coming." He turns pale and says, "The strangest thing just happened to me," and proceeds to tell me about the <span style="font-style: italic;">other</span> Kristin.\r\n\r\nThe whole set of circumstances leaves me amazed at how bizarre real life is. Somehow I quite regularly find myself in situations that seem too coincidental to be real, or with people who come across as too caricatured to be taken seriously, or in conversations where the people involved are so "on"—so witty, insightful, and quick—that you think "there must be a script for this scene somewhere."\r\n\r\nThe incident with Todd left me feeling like I was in a scene from a movie, but if this <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> a scene in a movie it would seem so contrived. Funny how that works. Life is, indeed, stranger (and more wonderful) than fiction.', 'Two Kristins walk into a cafe', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'two-kristins-walk-into-a-cafe', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:29:10', '2009-01-09 21:29:10', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=9', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(36, 1, '2008-07-15 15:30:46', '2008-07-15 19:30:46', 'When I started this blog the <em>first</em> time, last summer, I saw it as a way to motivate myself to plow through the book I felt compelled to write. Because even though the book was "in me," as writers like to say, writing it down wasn''t going to be as simple as just opening the tap and letting it flow. I knew if I tried putting all of my words into an endless scroll of blank Microsoft Word pages—saving my bits of progress each day, closing the document, then starting all over the next day—it would seem as overwhelming and futile as tossing my stories into an abyss.\r\n\r\nI needed an audience, even if it was just my husband and a few friends. I needed my audience to expect something new and fresh from me, which kept me moving rather than over-thinking and over-working everything. I needed a format that looked nice and could include headlines, photos, tags and categories. I''m one of those people who is easily fooled: when things <em>look</em> put together I imagine they <em>are</em> put together. Looking at my writing in a blog format would help me understand more clearly my structure, and, ultimately, what I needed to say.\r\n\r\nSo, I set myself up on Blogger, and turned my blogging practice into my own little writing course syllabus. Story by story, I put them down, sending them out into the virtual world where a dozen or so people would read them. Eventually, a few months later, I realized I had the meat of the book there, ready to expand and polish. I abandoned the blog to turn the best posts into a book, feeling my little system had worked quite nicely. After all, I never wanted to be a blogger.\r\n\r\nAbout six months later, when my book proposal was being reviewed by a couple of publishers, I first heard the phrase "author''s platform." As in: "We love your book but what''s your author''s platform?" Go ahead—Google it like I did. The <a href="http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/50404/build_an_authors_platform_its_how_to.html?cat=31">first hit</a> you''ll get says having a platform "is so important...that many experts recommend that you start to build your platform long before you''re ready to submit your book for publication." Umm, nice to know. <a href="http://ezinearticles.com/?How-to-Build-Your-Authors-Platform-From-Scratch&amp;id=163517">Another article</a> I found says "Some new authors focus solely on writing their books, thinking they can work on their platform after the book is published. Unfortunately, the business doesn''t work that way." Right. Some new authors. Like me, for example.\r\n\r\nThe more I''ve learned about author''s platforms, the more I''ve worried about losing myself while I''m in the process of branding myself. That first article I referenced goes as far as to say "What you need is an angle, a gimmick if you will, that helps you reach out to your target readers." It''s ironic, because what I do for a living is help clients develop brands and reach audiences. Finding that angle and boiling things down to the essence is key to making the whole effort effective. But the thought of doing that for myself leaves me cold.\r\n\r\nPart of the problem is I just don''t have the time to blog the way I want to, and I can''t imagine who has the time to read yet another blog. But the bigger issue is that the idea of creating a brand for myself goes against the very point of my book, whose subtitle is "Living a Life In Between." That "in between" refers directly to my efforts to avoid hard and fast categories like Christian and secular or professional and personal. I don''t want to chose between stories of the heart and ideas of the mind, or between private matters and public ones. I don''t want to figure out who my primary audience is going to be—not even by age and gender, let alone by a life experience like divorce.\r\n\r\nI spent the first 30+ years of my life trying to fit into the right category, with the right angle or gimmick. Trust me, it didn''t work. For the past few years I''ve worked hard to "un-define" myself, while at the same time gathering up all the random aspects of who I am into one cohesive person—one I can embrace and stay true to. One that can tell stories others will be drawn to—stories that can become a blog about this life in between. In the process, I hope the un-defined me will have luck gathering a random assortment of others striving to find that happy balance of living in the grey. It will be an anti-platform-platform, so to speak. A rag-tag group of people that I imagine will roughly mirror the richly diverse, somewhat random community of people I''ve gathered in my life. When I think about it this way, I''m excited to get started.\r\n\r\nWelcome to Halfway to Normal, take two.', 'Blogs and ulterior motives', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'blogs-and-ulterior-motives', '', '', '2008-07-17 23:01:00', '2008-07-18 03:01:00', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=36', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(10, 1, '2007-06-26 11:49:00', '2007-06-26 15:49:00', '<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5zVY7DRhI/AAAAAAAABj0/q_UajWU7ID0/s1600-h/jasoncooks.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084127840652445202" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5zVY7DRhI/AAAAAAAABj0/q_UajWU7ID0/s320/jasoncooks.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">As I write, there''s an eight-pound hunk of organic-fed pork butt slow cooking on the grill; it''s just getting settled into its ten-hour roast. Recipes for spicy cilantro slaw and buttermilk cornbread are at the ready on the kitchen table. I guess we better invite some people over to help eat all this food.</span>\r\n\r\nJason, as I mentioned in an earlier <a href="http://halfwaytonormal.blogspot.com/2007/06/love-in-unexpected-places.html">post about him</a>, is a superb cook. A significant portion of his skill comes from his pure love for good flavors and his willingness to do what it takes to create them. Last night at 10:30 he was trimming the pork and making the marinade; this morning he was up before work firing up the grill and smearing the homemade rub on the meat. I''ll take care of the slaw and cornbread this afternoon, and...viola! Tuesday dinner!\r\n\r\nEating this way on a regular Tuesday, I''m happy to say, is not that big a deal. Being friends with people who eat like this on a random weekday is also just the way things are. In order to really share the love we all have for making delicious things, we''ve started a little cooking club with Ellen and Gabriel, and Laurence and Paige.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nOn the surface, we probably sound less-than-humble as we''re eating and talking about our collective creations. We thrive on the drama of putting a morsel in our mouths and then making some visible or audible demonstration of culinary rapture (the eyes might open extra wide, or gaze up in ecstasy, or some seemingly sexual moan of pleasure might escape our lips). Gabriel, upon taking a bite of something tasty, is known to almost shout, "This is ri-DI-culous!" We also like to say things like "I forget—what''s the best Mexican (or Indian or Italian) restaurant in town? Oh yeah, your house or our house." (I know, not much of a punch line, unless you''re one of us.)\r\n\r\nAll this love for our own cooking, though, is endearing (really!), because it''s all about surprise and delight and heaping praise on one another. We can''t believe there are ingredients in the world that can have this kind of effect on our taste buds, and that we are friends with people who can combine ingredients in such exquisite ways. The pleasure is all rooted in a love for flavors and creativity, and the opportunity to give our favorite people delicious gifts. (Plus, of course, it''s about making sure the wine or mojitos or beer doesn''t have its way with empty stomachs.)\r\n\r\nWhen it came time, a few months back, for Jason and I to plan a wedding eve dinner for family and friends, no restaurant or caterer would do. Tables and chairs for 30 were set up in Laurence and Paige''s endlessly interesting garden, and Gabriel and Laurence took charge of the kitchen, with Ellen and Paige baking all the breads and desserts. This meal consisted of five courses of over-the-top ri-DI-culous taste treats. Talk about love.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5zyI7DRiI/AAAAAAAABkQ/JO2Zy17UIFg/s1600-h/gabrielcooks.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084128334573684258" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5zyI7DRiI/AAAAAAAABkQ/JO2Zy17UIFg/s320/gabrielcooks.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Backyard gourmets', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'backyard-gourmets', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:26:33', '2009-01-09 21:26:33', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=10', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(71, 1, '2008-09-24 17:31:08', '2008-09-24 21:31:08', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_1638.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-72" title="img_1638" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_1638-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="351" height="263" /></a>\r\n\r\nSince getting married a little over a year ago, Jason and I have reveled in how alike we are, and how much easier married life is when you share your spouse''s perspective and priorities. We both believe deeply, for instance, that the preparation and consumption of really good food is one of life''s most noble causes and one of the budget''s most deserving line items. If we had a budget, that is.\r\n\r\nThat''s the problem with being so like-minded. We don''t always balance each other out so well. Our shared love for good food and our common approach to finances can spell "trouble" in addition to "bliss." The rising cost of everything doesn''t help our cause.\r\n\r\nLast week we decided to get our finances in order. Jason is not only a fabulous cook, he''s a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quicken">Quicken</a> expert—a talent I hadn''t yet tapped. It was time. He sat at the dining room table to set up our budget and enter August''s expenses.\r\n\r\n"You don''t want to see how much we spent on food last month," he said a while later. I, of course, went immediately to look over his shoulder. It was staggering. Even for a family of five. We vowed to plan more and splurge less.\r\n\r\nAs we pushed our cart out of the grocery store Monday night, we were feeling frugal and pleasantly sacrificial. It''s good for us, we said. It can even be a fun challenge. And we''ve done it before: We each had to be incredibly frugal when we got married to our first spouses.\r\n\r\nAs we were leaving the store, though, a poster caught my eye. To be more exact, these three words reached out and grabbed me: "$1,000 Free Groceries!" Maybe frugality wouldn''t be necessary after all. We picked up a brochure.\r\n\r\nTo enter the free groceries contest, you simply need to share a "family favorite" original recipe. We started brainstorming right away. (Once we figure out what to submit, I''ll share it with everyone here.) Can you imagine how great $1,000 of groceries would be?\r\n\r\nBut there is also a very sobering aspect to this contest. It''s a gimmick designed to raise awareness about "Family Day: A Day to Eat Dinner with Your Children." The brochure goes on to describe "Family Day" as "a national effort to promote family dinners as an effective way to help keep kids substance-free." Then it spouts a variety of statistics about teens who have "fewer than three family dinners per week." The gist is they''re significantly more likely to abuse prescription drugs and to use tobacco and alcohol.\r\n\r\nMy first reaction is that the idea of setting aside <em>one day</em> each year to eat dinner as a family is absurd. It''s akin to Earth Day—a single day to respect our planet and think twice about recycling. It makes me crazy, even though I know the idea is to raise awareness and develop good habits in more people throughout the year.\r\n\r\nMy second reaction? Profound sadness in knowing just how many kids <em>don''t</em> sit down at a table with their families on a regular basis, let alone eat food that''s healthy and interesting. There are a lot of big, global issues weighing on me, but there''s perhaps nothing that tugs at my heart more than this when it comes to local, individual, day-to-day problems.\r\n\r\nLast night, Jason made what''s a fairly typical family meal in our house, even for a week day (although trust me, sometimes it''s hamburgers and chips): seared salmon over lentils with sweet potatoes, spinach and fresh herbs. The girls gobbled it up. They also gobbled our attention, as they each shared stories from their day. Q showed us a research journal she''s keeping; H explained the plan for the middle school band to play at the football game Friday; S could hardly contain herself as she waited her turn (she even had her hand raised persistently in the air, until I made her put it down, assuring her she could talk next).\r\n\r\nAs far as Jason and I are concerned, the food matters—it <em>really</em> matters. But ultimately we''re fed more deeply by the experience of being around the table as a family, watching our kids grow healthy in body, mind and spirit as a result. Even if setting aside a national day to eat dinner as a family seems like a feeble step, I deeply hope and pray it''s one that many, many families take.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0664.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-73" title="img_0664" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0664-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="345" height="259" /></a>', 'Calculating the value of dinner', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'calculating-the-value-of-dinner', '', '', '2009-02-17 12:01:52', '2009-02-17 16:01:52', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=71', 0, 'post', '', 2);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(11, 1, '2007-06-27 15:45:00', '2007-06-27 19:45:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I''ve always wanted to write about my faith, but it''s by far the biggest, scariest writing challenge for me. I''m at a tricky place: I can honestly say every aspect of my life is interwoven with my faith and belief system, yet at the same time, I am adverse to most things labeled or thought of as "Christian." Makes it kind of delicate to write about, without immediately turning off one crowd or pissing off the other.</span>\r\n\r\nForget delicacy, though. I''ll risk pissing some people off (and maybe eventually turning others off too, but I hope not). Here are some of the things labeled or thought of as "Christian" that I tend to react against:\r\n\r\n1. Contemporary "Christian music," "Christian art" and  <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">"Christian fiction," especially the concept of Christian romance or end-of-time novels. (I don''t think I need to explain the quotation marks.)</span>\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">2. The Christian </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">political </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">right and neo-conservatism.\r\n3. The facade of happiness and wholeness that most Christians have perfected, particularly on Sunday morning.\r\n4. Pro-abstinence and pro-life advocates who don''t address the societal and personal problems that come with unwanted children and STDs.\r\n5. Gay bashing from people who are sure homosexuality is a sin, and are also sure they personally don''t sin in any comparable way.\r\n6. General intolerance, and the idea that issues can be black and white.</span>\r\n\r\nAfter my divorce, when I lost many of my Christian friends and was asked by the leaders of the church I was attending to not take communion, I knew first-hand why so many people hate (or at the very least, dismiss) people of faith and religious institutions. I had pretty much had it, and my soul shut down for a while.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nBut then I met a few people from this place called New Covenant Fellowship. My most faithful Christian friend, Becca, was also bugging me insistently to leave the church that was at the heart of my stunted growth, and find a place where I could find myself and grow.\r\n\r\nI finally put it all together and started going to New Covenant<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">, which in physical terms is a group of quirky, wonderful pilgrims who gather in a refurbished old warehouse building. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In that community and place, I''ve connected—in some cases reconnected, and in other cases discovered for the first time—with the things about God and my faith that have a deeply rooted hold on me. Here are just a few:</span>\r\n\r\n1. When I study Jesus'' life, it''s clear to me that his way—of living and treating others and doing justice—is the best way.\r\n2. God created me to be <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> who I am, so my goal is not to struggle to change that essence, becoming an <span style="font-style: italic;">idea</span> of Christian perfection; my goal is to become even more fully who God created me to be.\r\n3. God created us to be in community with one another, helping each other and learning about love and forgiveness along the way.\r\n4. God truly loves me and wants to bless me, in spite of all the ways I screw up daily—I have evidence of his blessings everywhere I look.\r\n5. There is important work to be done for God''s kingdom, and even regular people like me—not a missionary in Africa or Haiti, but a writer and mom in East Central Illinois—are called on to find our own way to do the work.\r\n\r\nThis is what it comes down to: When I was very far from God and my faith a few years ago, my whole life was out of balance. Everything felt wrong or quickly turned sour, no matter how hard I tried to make it work. Since I''ve begun worshiping in this warehouse, I feel a foundational harmony in my life—in my relationships, in my waning sense of want and need and restlessness, and in my true self. Whether I''m at the bar or church or home.\r\n\r\nOddly enough, we have t-shirts that sum up this wholeness. They were made from the illustration on our wedding invitations. The shirts, which we gave to friends who helped with the wedding in all kinds of ways, are screen-printed with a continuous single-line drawing that first outlines the New Covenant building, where we were married; then Soma, the "lounge" where we ate and drank and danced after the wedding; and finally our house, where we lead our day-to-day lives, learning to love and forgive and live even more in the light.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RoSkTY7DLnI/AAAAAAAAAyI/aao3GSJIXQY/s1600-h/Tennant-Berg-Wedding.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081366932595355250" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RoSkTY7DLnI/AAAAAAAAAyI/aao3GSJIXQY/s400/Tennant-Berg-Wedding.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Worship in a warehouse', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'worship-in-a-warehouse', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:25:31', '2009-01-09 21:25:31', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=11', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(106, 1, '2008-10-21 14:45:44', '2008-10-21 18:45:44', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/leftovers.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-108" title="leftovers" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/leftovers-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="365" height="273" /></a>\r\n\r\nSometimes I love leftovers. Like when I am craving a quick, warm, homey lunch and remember there''s some butternut squash soup and chicken masala and rice in the fridge (that was yesterday). Certain things just taste better, too, after they''ve had a couple of days to mellow and refine (like the lemony spinach-tomato-feta-orzo salad I''m enjoying for lunch right now—it''s always better 48 hours after it was made).\r\n\r\nAt other moments, I hate leftovers. Like when I really want an excuse to eat lunch out or to make a big, fresh, gooey grilled cheese, but I know there''s something in the back of the fridge that must get eaten in the next 24 hours or it will have to be dumped.\r\n\r\nThat''s one of the special talents of leftovers: inciting guilt. Especially when what''s left over wasn''t very good to begin with. Or when it''s right on the edge of possibly going bad. That''s the worst. You don''t have any strong evidence that it <em>shouldn''t</em> be eaten, but just the process of trying to remember how many days old it is has made you lose your appetite for it. In both of these cases, my default response is to shove it a bit further back in the fridge and wait a few days, until it <em>clearly</em> shouldn''t be eaten. (My punishment for such behavior is the nastiness of the disposal process.)\r\n\r\nWhen I was growing up, my mom was the master of creating an appetizing feast of leftovers, maybe about once a week. Before we had a microwave, she had special techniques for reheating tricky foods. She would make patties out of leftover mashed potatoes, for instance, and pan fry them in butter. It was like a whole new food. My mom is smart with her planning and the food budget, plus she''s careful not to waste. On top of that, pulling out all the leftovers gave her something like a day off her cook duties.\r\n\r\nI''m lucky to have that model (even though I can guarantee you my mom never pushed something questionable deeper into the fridge). I''m also lucky to have a husband who never seems to tire of cooking. I love to cook, too, so we have a nice tag team approach to meal planning and I don''t have a chance to get burned out. Jason isn''t a fan of leftovers, though. He''s not sure why. Sometimes when he comes home for lunch he can enjoy certain leftovers, but they never grace our dinner table. Never.\r\n\r\nLeftovers have been on my mind more than usual since Jason and I took a closer look at our food budget last month (I wrote about it in <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=71">Calculating the value of dinner</a>). We really can''t afford to be wasteful right now. It doesn''t matter that our finances haven''t changed. It''s still a good time to adjust our lifestyle.\r\n\r\nI started thinking about leftovers as a metaphor last night. I was commenting on <a href="http://eliacin.com/2008/10/07/ideas-request-for-alternative-calendar-of-activism-observances-and-celebrations/">a post</a> by Eliacin Rosario-Cruz, on his blog <a href="http://eliacin.com/">Kingdom Praxis</a>. He and <a href="http://www.msainfo.org/">The Mustard Seed Associates</a> team are putting together an alternative calendar of activism, observances and celebrations. The purpose of the calendar is "to highlight ways to celebrate the ordinary events of life...giving them a Christian focus." He then writes "Imagine fellow conspirators all over the world celebrating Kingdom alternatives together." Such a cool idea.\r\n\r\nSo...what about a day to Thank God for Leftovers? I know, kind of strange, but bear with me. Invite a group of friends over for dinner, telling them to clean out their fridge before they come. Together, create a banquet of leftovers. Serve everything right in the Tupperware. Let go of your need to have everything perfect when you have people over. Try a bit of this and a bit of that. Eat Mexican and Chinese and American all on the same plate. Celebrate foods that don''t go together perfectly, and find new tasty combinations. Compliment one another''s cooking. Enjoy some leftovers you didn''t make and therefore aren''t eating for the second time.\r\n\r\nMost importantly, be thankful that you have enough to have some left over in the first place. And recognize that even when you gather up the crumbs and scraps of all we''re given, there''s enough to make a satisfying feast.', 'Learning to love leftovers (again)', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'learning-to-love-leftovers-again', '', 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=71\nhttp://eliacin.com/2008/10/07/ideas-request-for-alternative-calendar-of-activism-observances-and-celebrations/', '2009-01-24 22:54:18', '2009-01-25 02:54:18', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=106', 0, 'post', '', 4),
(100, 1, '2008-10-16 17:37:22', '2008-10-16 21:37:22', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_0828_2.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-101" title="img_0828_2" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_0828_2-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="369" height="276" /></a>\r\n\r\nToday, as I was checking out the two dozen or so blogs I read regularly these days (and thinking again how I need to get some link love going on my site), I had this conversation with myself. It was rapid-fire, the way  conversations in your head can be.\r\n\r\nMe 1: I love how much I learn about myself when I''m reading other people''s blogs.\r\n\r\nMe 2: Nice. So everyone else''s blogs are all about you, too?\r\n\r\nMe 1: That''s not what I mean!\r\n\r\nMe 2: But that''s what it sounds like, so don''t bring it up. People will get the wrong idea.\r\n\r\nI thought about it some more, though, and decided this: I hope my blog is all about all of <em>you</em>. Sure, I write about myself a lot, because those are the stories I know best. But I hope those stories help you think about your own life in different ways. That''s what first-person writing is all about. Let''s be honest—you aren''t reading my blog because you really want to know everything about <em>me</em>. How dull. No, you''re hoping you might find out something about yourself. Reading personal narratives is like going to the therapist, but free, and you don''t have to worry about parking.\r\n\r\nSo with that in mind, I''m going to share with you a few things I learned about myself, thanks to a few others.\r\n\r\n<strong>Lesson 1: I need to stop blaming the people around me and focus on creating the world I want. </strong>\r\nI was reading <a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/20081015/sacred-spaces-to-all-the-gods/">this post by Magpie Girl</a> yesterday, and it gave me an opportunity to ask myself, What Would Kristin Do? In the post, Magpie Girl writes about recently visiting the Pantheon in Rome, which was filled with noisy tourists. Even when a choir began filling the awesome space with Gregorian chants, the people kept jabbering away. So WWKD? I would sit there and simmer angrily, glaring at people and wondering how they could be so resistant to quiet moments of wonder and awe. In other words, I would allow the world around me to dictate the kind of experience I was going to have. Not cool. It''s something  I need to work on. (In case you''re wondering, that''s not how Magpie Girl responded.)\r\n\r\n<strong>Lesson 2: I need to laugh more and clench my teeth less.</strong>\r\nSure, times are stressful. There''s a lot to worry about, as both presidential candidates reminded us several times in last night''s debate. But times full of worry don''t call for <em>less</em> laughter, they call for <em>more</em>. We don''t need to give Worry the same respect we give Death at a funeral. Sometimes we need to laugh in its face. It was <a href="http://belz.wordpress.com/">the blog of my poet friend Aaron Belz</a> that reminded me of this today. He''s amazingly thoughtful <em>and</em> funny, proving that poetry can be both. Life can be, too. (Make sure you scroll down enough to read all three of his most recent poems: "<a href="http://belz.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/pennies/">pennies</a>," "<a href="http://belz.wordpress.com/2008/10/08/beard/">beard, beard</a>," and "<a href="http://belz.wordpress.com/2008/10/03/debate-results/">debate results</a>," which had me laughing into my computer enough that people at the cafe were looking.)\r\n\r\n<strong>Lesson 3: I need to keep learning, but also engage in the conversation <em>now</em>, even before I get it all figured out.</strong>\r\nBecause the figuring it all out part isn''t going to happen. I wrote about this a couple of weeks ago in  <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=85">Post-polite post on digging deeper</a>, and I was inspired to ponder it again from a slightly different angle when I read <a href="http://dagsempire.blogspot.com/2008/10/kitchen-is-sort-of-closed.html">this post on Dagny''s Empire</a>. It really isn''t a post about full freezers as much as it''s a post about White Privilege, and how most people just don''t get that concept. What I learned from Dagny is that, well, I''ve got a lot more to learn about many of the topics I like to think and blog about. I need to read as much as I can. But she also affirmed this: Achieving change requires open dialogue. And we can''t wait until we have it all figured out to have those conversations. That''s like waiting until you have life figured out to have children—a sure strategy for negative population growth.\r\n\r\nAnyway, thanks Magpie Girl, Aaron, and Dagny, for helping me learn some important things about myself. I hope I can return the favor here, from time to time.', 'Learning about me by reading you', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'learning-bits-of-me-from-reading-you', '', 'http://www.magpie-girl.com/20081015/sacred-spaces-to-all-the-gods/\nhttp://belz.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/pennies/\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=85\nhttp://belz.wordpress.com/2008/10/08/beard/\nhttp://belz.wordpress.com/2008/10/03/debate-results/', '2009-01-24 22:56:46', '2009-01-25 02:56:46', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=100', 0, 'post', '', 5),
(12, 1, '2007-06-28 15:38:00', '2007-06-28 19:38:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Last night, Jason and I went with Nic and Heather to hear a 14-piece psychedelic rock </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">band called Dark Meat. They were playing upstairs at Mike and Molly''s, and we had to stuff pieces of bar napkins in our ears to combat the regular screaming into the mike and general chaos on the ears. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">While I was downstairs fetching materials for the hand-crafted earplugs, I figured it was a good time to use the restroom. The regular need to pee is, I''m pretty sure, the bane of my existence, so I take preventative measures whenever possible. A handful of other women apparently had the same need, so we stood together outside the single-toilet ladies'' room, waiting our turns.</span>\r\n\r\nWomen are unpredictable in many ways, but one thing I''ve begun to count on is a certain "restroom camaraderie." I find the <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">phenomenon</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> really fascinating. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Women, who might otherwise feel threatened or suspicious or simply shy around one another, seem to let down defenses and find reasons to connect when they have to pee. It''s like an acknowledgement that we all have something in common. We''re sisters. We tend to pee more often than men, and we need a stall to sit down in, and we have our purses with us because we need lipstick or tampons or mints while we''re in there. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Strangers fix each other''s bra straps and tuck in shirt tags and compliment one another''s haircuts or shoes. It''s like the need to pee is a social lubricant. Once we''ve gathered in the bathroom with a bunch of other women, we seem to know just what to do.</span>\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nThe other, more commonly-known social lubricant probably plays a part too, since I notice this phenomenon more often at bars, late at night. And if there''s music, the sense of connection seems to be even stronger, like we''re going through some larger experience together—we have a common starting point because we all chose to come listen to the same music.\r\n\r\nLast night, when I joined the three women waiting for the restroom, the camaraderie set in immediately. At first, two of the women were talking about their height: if they were wearing heels, how they felt about heels, and so on. When I walked up, I smiled and made some comment about how using the bathroom was such a popular concept. They turned to me, smiled, and asked how tall I was. Boom. We were off.\r\n\r\nOur conversation found its way to the band—how loud and amazingly short all 14 members were—then to my homemade napkin earplugs, before turning back to the topic of our own heights and how glad we were to have found tall men.\r\n\r\nOne woman took her turn in the bathroom, almost reluctant to leave the conversation, then another person joined the line. I showed them my shoes, sandals with a three-inch wedge, and we talked about shoes for a while—where we buy them, how we hate sacrificing comfort, heels versus wedges, and so on.\r\n\r\nThe woman at the end of the line got impatient and went to use the men''s room; upon opening the door she discovered a man peeing (the lock was broken), so we all shared for a moment in that trauma/hilarity. Finally, she and I made a pact to take turns guarding the door of the men''s room for each other, as soon as the peeing guy was finished. We were suddenly in cahoots, recklessly peeing in a men''s room without a lock.\r\n\r\nWhen it was all said and done, probably a grand total of eight minutes later, this trip to the bathroom had netted not only bladder relief, but four new friends. It''s the kind of small moment that makes me happy to be a woman in the friendly Midwest.', 'Camaraderie in the ladies'' room', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'camaraderie-in-the-ladies-room', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:36:52', '2009-01-09 21:36:52', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=12', 0, 'post', '', 2),
(13, 1, '2007-07-02 12:13:00', '2007-07-02 16:13:00', '<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5wUY7DRdI/AAAAAAAABiw/OBIevcZAunw/s1600-h/expedition.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084124524937692626" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5wUY7DRdI/AAAAAAAABiw/OBIevcZAunw/s320/expedition.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">For a short while this weekend</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">, a bright red Ford Expedition was parked in the driveway next to my silver Toyota Prius. It didn''t go by unnoticed, especially in our liberal, tree-hugging neighborhood. Jason''s line became "We''re trying a new kind of carbon offsetting, to make up for driving a Prius for so long." Mine was "We like irony."</span>\r\n\r\nThe real story is this: Jason''s car, which comfortably seats all three girls in the back seat, was unexpectedly spending the weekend at the dealership, waiting for a brake part. We had plans for a Sunday daytrip up to Michigan, where we were meeting my parents and my aunt and cousin, who are visiting from New Zealand. It was pretty clear that we weren’t going to manage five people, a big cooler and all kinds of beach gear in the Prius for a six-hour drive, so we called a car rental company Saturday morning.\r\n\r\nThe only vehicle they had left that gave us any more room than the Prius was a Ford Expedition. With somewhat guilty consciences (weighing the gas guzzling problem against the fact that we don''t drive an SUV on a daily basis), we went with it. In the rental car lot it seemed somewhat average-sized. Only after we arrived home and parked the two vehicles side by side in the driveway did we realize what we had done.\r\n\r\nLet me put in this perspective. A Ford Expedition has a V8, 300 horsepower engine (that''s 365 pound-feet of torque, if you''re curious). It''s capable of towing over 9,000 pounds of <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span>, which is the equivalent of three Priuses and an average sized cow. It''s nearly two feet taller than my little 4-cylinder, 44 horsepower "scooter" (our affectionate name for the Prius).\r\n\r\nTo make matters worse, it was bright red. As we know when it comes to fashion sense, dressing a very large woman in a bright red dress does <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> make her look smaller. Frankly, it was embarrassing.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nMy Prius, in contrast, is the automotive equivalent of a sensible shoe. It''s not much to look at but it sure makes you feel good when it''s all said and done. It goes without saying that the environmental connotations of driving an Expedition were big on our list of reasons to be embarrassed. We take some pride in our 40 mpg vehicle, so to be driving a beast that guzzles nearly four times the amount of fuel to travel the same distance seems excessive, like wearing stilettos to the park.\r\n\r\nBut we''re not <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> exemplary when it comes to our use of natural resources. We don''t ride bicycles to the grocery store or collect rainwater to later use on the garden. We''re a two-car family, and Jason''s isn''t exactly an economy car. We freely air condition our house when we begin feeling uncomfortably warm, and we don''t enforce military showers (although we''ve considered it...at least for the girls). So we really can''t say we''re environmentally above driving a 300 horsepower thug.\r\n\r\nI think what made us so uncomfortable in the Expedition was the sheer, overarching excess the vehicle represents. Everything about it is bigger and stronger than it needs to be.\r\n\r\nBefore we even left the house, it encouraged packing sprawl: We had so much space we were tempted to bring all manner of things we didn''t need just for a day trip to the beach. <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">At the gas station, it took over $80 to fill it up (that''s a 28 gallon tank).</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Once on the road, the Expedition took on a certain "get out of my way" attitude that really doesn''t match our personalities. I felt somehow apologetic the whole time. And Jason was seated so far away from me, that it was difficult to comfortably hold hands. I guess a man driving something that big typically doesn''t want to hold hands. </span>\r\n\r\nThe girls, however, were thrilled. We knew they would be. Riding in an SUV, for them, is the equivalent of getting to watch movies all day or drink as much pop as they want. And, I must admit, we made it to the dunes with less complaining than we generally hear from the back. Three skinny girls were spread out over enough space for six adults, so I should hope they were comfortable.\r\n\r\nBut the experience, unfortunately, urged them do what excess tends to urge one to do: Want more. Next time, they want to rent a really big SUV—with a DVD player.', 'An excessive expedition', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'an-excessive-expedition', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:43:00', '2009-01-09 21:43:00', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=13', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(14, 1, '2007-07-03 14:18:00', '2007-07-03 18:18:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Last night on "The West Wing" (season six, via DVD), the Republican National Convention was in full tilt, with a clear party nomination for Vinick. The Democrats, on the other hand, were in disarray, with three candidates still battling for a nomination. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Today, in real time, Barack Obama, who just announced he''s raised over $32.5 million, is beginning a five city swing in Eastern Iowa, while Hillary and Bill are making tracks through the west side of the same state. President Bush, on the other hand, whose approval ratings are in the 30 percent range, commuted Lewis Libby''s 30-month prison sentence. What will he think of next?</span>\r\n\r\nThis is the first time in several years of watching "The West Wing" during the Bush presidency that I wouldn''t have gladly traded the political reality with whatever''s happening with the Bartlet administration on TV. Typically, if I''ve been watching the show the night before, I wake up somewhat disoriented in the mornings, hoping my memories of last night''s WW episode are reality, and the news on NPR''s Morning Edition are the remains of a bad dream.\r\n\r\nIt''s a strange thing to say, when the state of our country is at an all-time low, but at this moment it''s more exciting to be following Barack and watching the current administration repeatedly shoot itself in the foot. WW is stressing me out. Bartlet, my hero, is on his way out, and there aren''t any characters capturing my interest and heart the way Obama does.\r\n\r\nI distinctly remember the first time I heard the name Barack Obama. It was in 2003, when I was getting ready to vote in the Illinois Democratic primary election. This candidate''s name certainly caught my attention, but so did everything I read about him. I remember telling my dad, in Michigan, how excited I was about this unknown candidate.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When he gave the keynote address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, suddenly everyone was talking about him. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">As it turned out, Obama was the only thing to be excited and hopeful about in the 2004 election, which made me proud to live in Illinois and to have helped send him to Washington.</span>\r\n\r\nNow, as he gets closer to a Democratic presidential nomination than anyone just a couple of years ago thought he might, it''s still very hope-inducing to have the most exciting Democrat in the country to be from Illinois. <span style="font-style: italic;">And</span> to have the most exciting Democrat to be<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> African-American. <span style="font-style: italic;">And</span> for his name to be Barack Hussein Obama (a name many conservatives have all kinds of fun with, for sure: Barack Osama bin Laden, Osama-Obama, etc.). </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">It''s exciting to see thousands of people pour their souls and money into this kind of hope, and to see young, hip people like my rock star friend Ryan all excited about Barack and, therefore, politics. (Ryan was the first person I know to have a <a href="http://www.chicpolitique.com/product?y=13">Barack-n-Roll t-shirt</a>.)</span>\r\n\r\nIn my enthusiasm, I don''t want to ignore how slow and backward our country is when it comes to race and politics. It''s really sad and downright <span style="font-style: italic;">wrong</span> that only <span style="font-style: italic;">one</span> of our current 100 U.S. Senators is black (and that he''s just the fifth African-American U.S. Senator ever). But if we have to start somewhere (again and again and again) to bring unity—to show how we''re more alike than we are different—Obama is an exciting place to start. A taste of his 2004 Democratic National Convention speech says it all:\r\n\r\n"The pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats. But I''ve got news for them too. We worship an awesome God in the Blue States, and we don''t like federal agents poking around in our libraries in the Red States. We coach Little League in the Blue States and yes, we got some gay friends in the Red States. There are patriots who opposed the war in Iraq and patriots who supported the war in Iraq. We are one people, all of us pledging allegiance to the stars and stripes, all of us defending the United States of America."\r\n\r\nAmen, my Illinois brother. Let it be so.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5fiY7DRWI/AAAAAAAABh4/lSb6RXpFJ-I/s1600-h/13.1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084106073758188898" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5fiY7DRWI/AAAAAAAABh4/lSb6RXpFJ-I/s320/13.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Barack-n-Roll', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'barack-n-roll', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:33:43', '2009-01-09 21:33:43', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=14', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(15, 1, '2007-07-05 11:39:00', '2007-07-05 15:39:00', '<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5w3I7DRgI/AAAAAAAABjI/gc2BwShx9ys/s1600-h/girlsparade.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084125121938146818" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5w3I7DRgI/AAAAAAAABjI/gc2BwShx9ys/s320/girlsparade.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">What do the National Rifle Association, Chicago Cubs fans, and the Green Party have in common? A place in the lineup of the Champaign-Urbana Fourth of July parade. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They each have their fans lining the parade route, too, as do the gay and lesbian group and the Cub Scouts packs and the United Church of Christ softball team. In this small town, the July 4 parade is a wildly drawn exercise in contrast.</span>\r\n\r\nCelebrating our great nation is not at the top of my list of things to do right now. Jason and I, however, managed to do some reverse engineering of this holiday, coming to the conclusion that we <span style="font-style: italic;">could</span> feel good about celebrating our nation''s independence. It is, after all, what this holiday is supposed to be about.\r\n\r\nSo we told the girls the story of the Declaration of Independence and the great characters involved in the first Independence Day. By the end, we actually felt a small surge of something like hope or excitement in our veins. We went along with the girls'' enthusiasm for the holiday (any holiday, really), and their ideas to dress all in red, white and blue, and to make patriotic streamer sticks and barrettes. To make the whole thing more palatable for the grownups, we invited Ellen and Gabriel and Dorie and Elie, with kids in tow, over for a pre-parade brunch. (A few mimosas never hurt.)\r\n\r\nAs our troop—<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">a grand total of 13 of us—</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">paraded its way down Oregon Street toward the actual parade, I confided in Ellen that I would probably never go to the parade if we couldn''t walk to it from our house. Putting people into the car and driving somewhere and trying to park just wouldn''t be worth it. She agreed, pointing out how we''ll be stuck going to this parade for the next ten years. First the kids are young enough to actually be entranced, then they start to see people they know in the parade, and get all excited about that aspect. Eventually, they''re in it themselves, playing the clarinet, doing taekwondo, or singing with the theater group. Sigh.</span>\r\n\r\nEach of the four or so times I''ve been to this particular parade, I''m simultaneously entranced and bored by the spectacle (or lack thereof). On the whole, it''s really nothing to get excited about. A handful of high school marching bands, fire trucks from surrounding townships I''ve never heard of, some veterans from various wars, some politicians, and a few scout troops.\r\n\r\nBut there are a few expected and unexpected parade entries that never fail to amuse or even thrill me in small but deep-seeded ways. For amusement: The Knights of Columbus driving around in their funny little cars, wearing crazy hats and ridiculous long earrings. What is that about? What otherwise unmet need is satisfied for <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">these men </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">through this bizarre ritual? </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I also love the Champaign librarians, who walk in the parade with book carts, periodically doing actual drills as called out by a drill sergeant with a whistle. It''s a <span style="font-style: italic;">bookcart drill team</span>, which never ceases to amuse me in concept or execution. The Chicago Cubs fans are pretty funny, too, with their collection of self-deprecating signs like "The Cubs: Keeping us humble since 1905."</span>\r\n\r\nWhat gives me chills are the groups who pepper the otherwise bland, expected fare: You get a couple of tractors followed by AWARE, the Anti-War Anti-Racism Effort (why <em>not</em> throw all your anti''s into one pot?). They played on this year''s parade theme, "America Salutes Free Enterprise," with the counter "The Cost of America''s Salute to Free Enterprise," and "Justice, not Just Us."\r\n\r\nThen you have your typical old man parade Grand  Marshall and Miss Champaign County sitting on the backs of convertibles, followed by amazingly large contingents from the Green Party, and Gay and Lesbian family rights groups. Nothing gets a rise out of people like a political party that doesn''t use a red, white and blue color scheme...except male couples holding hands and pushing baby strollers (especially when they directly follow the Champaign County Republicans).\r\n\r\nFor us, it''s a thrill to be able to clap and cheer wildly for the far left groups, as the retired farm couple sitting next to us in their lawn chairs applaud for the 90-year-old woman on the NRA float firing off her ancient rifle. It''s good for all of us to be reminded that we can''t just preach to the choir.\r\n\r\nI look at our kids, taking it all in. I wonder, as I often do, what they''re thinking and how they''re processing it all. I know what I''m thinking: how glad I am that this parade is exactly one-half the kind of July 4 celebration I grew up with in my small hometown, with the other half being something entirely more progressive. If this isn''t a good taste of America—and ultimately what we''re supposed to celebrating—I don''t know what is.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5wk47DReI/AAAAAAAABi4/LR65YtyhpTA/s1600-h/scoutsparade.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084124808405534178" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5wk47DReI/AAAAAAAABi4/LR65YtyhpTA/s320/scoutsparade.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>\r\n<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5wtI7DRfI/AAAAAAAABjA/BIjhPI0ZGqQ/s1600-h/gunsparade.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084124950139454962" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Ro5wtI7DRfI/AAAAAAAABjA/BIjhPI0ZGqQ/s320/gunsparade.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'More than one way to do a small town parade', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'more-than-one-way-to-do-a-small-town-parade', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:20:58', '2009-01-09 21:20:58', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=15', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(16, 1, '2007-07-06 12:56:00', '2007-07-06 16:56:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">My friend Lisa just returned from a big trip up the West coast with her Mexican-Mormon long-distance boyfriend. She''s always good for a story and conversation, so it was a treat to run into her the other day in front of the piano teacher''s house, where both our daughters take lessons.</span>\r\n\r\nOf the stories she told me as we sat on the stoop catching up, my favorite was about how she and Ricardo ended up at a gas station on an American Indian reservation, checking their email.\r\n\r\nLisa said they were on their way through the Redwood National Forest on Highway 101, one of those beautiful yet endless and winding two-lane highways along the West coast. Suddenly traffic, which didn''t seem to exist before that moment, stopped. Completely.\r\n\r\nAfter a while, people started turning off engines and getting out of their cars with coolers and camp chairs, ready to wait out the unknown delay. Eventually they learned, by word of mouth, that a big accident had taken place about five miles up the road. I love this image of news traveling along a winding road of stuck strangers without cell phone service—it''s the ultimate version of the classic game "telephone".\r\n\r\nAlthough there was nowhere to go (at least nowhere that could be called progress in the desired direction), Lisa and Ricardo managed to get off on a road leading to a <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Yurok</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> American Indian tribal-owned </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">gas station, across the street from the tribe''s administration offices and community center</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">. They bought something cold to drink and decided they might as well dig out their laptops and get some writing done. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Suddenly, one of them realized they had a wireless connection. A miracle! They spent the remainder of their delay catching up on emails. When the highway was cleared of the accident, they packed up their computers and continued on their way through the forest.</span>\r\n\r\nThink of being surrounded by trees that are hundreds of years old, in a place where Native Americans have lived for more than 4,000 years. Now think of sitting in that place, sending emails. Surreal.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nThis whole idea of Lisa finding a wireless connection on an American Indian reservation is not only surreal, it''s poetic. Lisa is part Native American herself (one-quarter Cherokee and one-quarter Canadian Indian), and her two vocational passions are technology and minority groups. When you put those loves together, in someone like Lisa, you get a person who is perfectly positioned to discover and implement ways to utilize computers to give minority kids more opportunities and more of a voice.\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">\r\nLisa moved to town from Philadelphia late last summer, and we met either through Ellen (who met Lisa and her daughter Lana at the park) or at Leal Elementary, where Saskia and Lana were in the same first grade class. (It can be difficult to pinpoint exactly how you know someone in this town.) Lisa is as sweet and generous as can be, which is the frosting on her smart and interesting cake. She got her PhD at Northwestern University from the School of Education and Social Policy, and writes things like "The case for considering cultural entailments and genres of attachment in the design of educational technologies." Take that to your nearest American Indian reservation and send an email about it.\r\n</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">\r\n</span><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpMGN47DRmI/AAAAAAAABk4/_H6qbqXqjw4/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085415239919552098" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpMGN47DRmI/AAAAAAAABk4/_H6qbqXqjw4/s400/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Wi-Fi on the rez', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'wi-fi-on-the-rez', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:45:35', '2009-01-09 21:45:35', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=16', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(17, 1, '2007-07-09 14:43:00', '2007-07-09 18:43:00', '<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">OK, here are a couple of classic This Town is This Big interludes. (See my <a href="http://halfwaytonormal.blogspot.com/2007/06/this-town-is-this-big-part-i.html">second post</a> for Part I, which includes an explanation of the This Big Syndrome.)</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-weight: bold;">Part II</span>\r\n<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">On Saturday, this past weekend, we went to a dessert potluck at Jim and Lisa’s house, where you can always count on an eclectic crowd and a big spread of food. Lisa, who is all about gardening and local produce and home-baked goodness, was responsible for what must have been a ten-pound, still-warm peach cobbler, made with local peaches she bought that morning at the farmer’s market.</span></span>\r\n\r\nThe next day, we (okay, mostly Jason) helped Nic and Heather move into the house they just bought. Keep in mind that nearly 100,000 people live in the CU area, but Nic and Heather’s new house happens to be one block away from Jim and Lisa’s house. I told Nic he needs to meet these great people we know in the neighborhood (I love introducing people—I''m the local non-romance matchmaker). When I said Jim and Lisa’s names and mentioned where they lived, Nic said "Oh yeah, I met them. We happened to borrow a ladder from them for a few days.â€ Apparently Nic already knew one person in the neighborhood who didn''t have a ladder but knew someone who did. Nic, meet Jim. Done, minus the matchmaker. “They seem really nice,â€ Nic added. “When I brought the ladder back yesterday they invited us to a dessert potluck party. I guess it was last night, but we couldn’t make it with the move."\r\n\r\n<span style="font-weight: bold;">Part III</span>\r\n<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This one''s from last week. On Thursday I saw this guy at the cafe—he''s one of the many people in this town I <span style="font-style: italic;">sort</span> of know, but not really. About three years ago he and his family visited the area because he had been offered a job teaching at the university. While they were visiting, they came to the church I used to go to, and I met their family. Probably a year later, after he had apparently accepted the job offer and moved to town, he and his family visited my <span style="font-style: italic;">new</span> church. (Were they tracking me?) Then, last Fourth of July, when we were at the <a href="http://halfwaytonormal.blogspot.com/2007/07/more-than-one-way-to-do-small-town.html">parade</a> with the girls, I ran into some random old friends of mine. <span style="font-style: italic;">They</span> were at the parade with this certain church-visiting man and his family! Apparently they have become best of friends through their kids. Now I occasionally see this man at the gym (he and his wife, of course, belong to the same one we do), the grocery store, and at cafes (like at Paradiso on Thursday). The very next day, last Friday, I walked into my other favorite cafe, Aroma. Guess who was sitting by the door? It gets almost awkward, after a while....\r\n</span></span>', 'This town is this big, parts II &amp; III', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'this-town-is-this-big-parts-ii-iii', '', '', '2008-07-14 23:11:59', '2008-07-15 03:11:59', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=17', 0, 'post', '', 0);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(18, 1, '2007-07-10 11:48:00', '2007-07-10 15:48:00', '<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpPNqY7DRqI/AAAAAAAABlY/e1-I_-ET80w/s1600-h/81135_NW0552.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085634532359751330" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpPNqY7DRqI/AAAAAAAABlY/e1-I_-ET80w/s200/81135_NW0552.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I am sitting at Caffe Paradiso. All alone. Missing Ellen, who used to join me all the time, back in the good ol'' days when she was <span style="font-style: italic;">studying</span> to become a midwife, rather than <span style="font-style: italic;">being</span> a midwife. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I know I''m being selfish—being a midwife is more satisfying (and lucrative) for her. And I realize we''re parents and well into our 30s, but it still feels bittersweet, like she''s all grown up and got herself a real job.</span>\r\n\r\nWe like to joke about real jobs among our friends. The premise is that "real jobs" aren''t just defined as "skilled work that pays the bills." A "real job" is one that involves getting up early five mornings a week, putting on something other than jeans, and going to an office to do important things until 6:00 or so in the evening.\r\n\r\nReal jobs involve wearing clothes that require changing out of when you come home from work. Real jobs mean you have to schedule lunch dates rather than just spontaneously heading to the Thai restaurant at a random, hungry moment in the middle of the afternoon. When we''re joking about real jobs, the joke naturally extends to Jason: that he''s the only person we know in this town who has one. (He''s Vice President of a good-sized illustration studio with big clients, like McGraw-Hill.)\r\n\r\nTo be more accurate, Dorie has a real job like Jason, minus the tie but plus a commute from Farmer City into the Real City. (When Dorie and Elie moved here from the East Coast, they thought a 25-minute commute on a nearly empty highway was a walk in the park; we think having to drive anywhere for more than 10 minutes is torture.) So after you separate out the handful of real jobbers we know, what remains?\r\n\r\nThe rest of us do things like go to Australia for a few months of research, take our kids to the pool in the middle of a weekday afternoon, do woodworking, restore people’s houses, drum or dance or make art, have summers off, and generally sit in cafes typing into our computers. (Yes: We are those people who mysteriously sit in cafes at 10 a.m. or 3 p.m. Some envy us; others assume we''re lazy and privileged. I can assure you that most of us, while we''re very happy to have access to this small life luxury, are working hard to earn our own livings.)\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nThere are a few explanations for how I can possibly have a collection of friends with such an odd assortment of daily routines and vocations. One is simply the nature of living in a university town: People can actually make decent livings being a dancer, artist, ethnomusicologist, or plant biology graduate student. Professors and students have atypical schedules, and often need a place like a cafe to pass the time between classes, where they can get something to eat and a bit of work done.\r\n\r\nThe affordability of our town is another explanation: You can get by here rather nicely on a partial salary, or a family can do well on a salary and a half. (Let''s hear it for the Midwest!) That means half of many couples we know can do things like make fine wood cabinets, play drums, do freelance writing or teach voice lessons, and still contribute to a mortgage on a nice home and drink decent wine.\r\n\r\nFinally, Jason and I just happen to know an odd assortment of people with wonderfully interesting talents, who have fallen into an odd assortment of vocations.\r\n\r\nAt least Ellen''s new schedule, as a real midwife, is kind of funky. I can console myself in the fact that certain days she''ll be able to sit in a cafe with me at some unexpected hour, and the other day she sent me a text suggesting I pick her up at the clinic for a quick lunch at the Thai restaurant, before her 1 p.m. appointment to feel the next pregnant belly.\r\n\r\nWe''re all proud and a bit in awe of how serious and important her work is. She deals with life and death situations every week, not to mention dealing with the dangerously ripe hearts and emotions of mommies-to-be and new parents.\r\n\r\nEllen''s husband Gabriel, who teaches ethnomusicology—primarily jazz—at the university, once said something like this about Ellen''s real job: "What Ellen does is no joke! People could die! The worst thing I could be accused of is giving a student some wrong information that later causes embarrassment at some cocktail party."\r\n\r\nTrue ''nough. Here''s to each of us, and whatever kind of profession the world will trust us in.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpPNL47DRpI/AAAAAAAABlQ/hP1Xu5_MfcE/s1600-h/tiepop.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085634008373741202" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpPNL47DRpI/AAAAAAAABlQ/hP1Xu5_MfcE/s320/tiepop.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Get a real job', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'get-a-real-job', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:48:49', '2009-01-09 21:48:49', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=18', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(19, 1, '2007-07-11 13:11:00', '2007-07-11 17:11:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">During S''s bedtime prayer last night, Jason thanked God for, among other things, our community. After his "amen," Miss Always Full of Questions (especially at bedtime) asked "What is that one thing you said, community?"</span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> Maybe it''s the writer and word-lover in me, but this is one of my favorite things about parenting—being asked to explain or define things that seem so obvious and simple to adults, but are actually complex concepts we have to do some thinking about before we can articulate. It''s like being asked what "empathy" means, or what a mortgage is. The answers don''t just roll off the tongue.</span>\r\n\r\nCommunity is one of those words that means more than one thing, depending on who you are and what kind of experiences you''ve had. Many people just think of it as a synonym for "town," as in "we live in the Urbana community," or as in "this looks like a nice community" as you''re passing through a place on a trip. But Jason and I think the key factors are human beings, not buildings, so we told S that, in its most basic sense, community means the people around you.\r\n\r\nThe community Jason explained he was thanking God for, though, was our Community. These are the people who eat meals together, and help each other move, and take care of each other''s kids, and who you celebrate birthday and holidays with.\r\n\r\n"They''re like our aunts and uncles and cousins, except they live near us and are a regular part of our lives," I explained to S. "People used to live right by their relatives, and always ate Sunday lunch together and pitched in to help each other. Now we have to make our own community, or we''re on our own."  That certainly gave her something to mull over until sleep won.\r\n\r\nAs it turns out, in our early 20s Jason and I were each individually big on the idea of Community with a capital C. My friends and I were reading lots of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendell_Berry#Ideas_in_Berry.27s_work">Wendell Berry,</a> growing vegetables together, and talking about things like Living Simply and buying property together.\r\n\r\nJason, after high school, moved into a community house with ties to his church in Chicago, where he learned how to cook for large groups. Later, after he and R got married and H was born, they shared a house in Virginia with Jubal and Renee. Meals and groceries were all shared, with each of them taking on different responsibilities each week (except for Jubal, who everyone deemed better at doing dishes and general maintenance than cooking).\r\n\r\nEventually, though, we all split off on our own, buying our own homes with our own money. It''s the American way, after all, and it''s easy to see why. Sharing money and space and property with one other person—your spouse—can be challenging enough. Keeping communications open and good feelings flowing takes a lot of work all on its own.\r\n\r\nBut where does that leave most Americans? Pretty alone when it comes time to move house or build a deck or get someone to watch the kids for the weekend...for free, that is. In many ways, a general lack of community today keeps the economy alive. It''s just not the barn raising era, anymore.\r\n\r\nAt least community is one of the good old fashioned traditions that''s still alive in most churches today (and one of the best reasons to go to church, if you ask me). Even though church goers don''t all practice day-to-day community in the fullest ways, they still plan potlucks and picnics, and tend to come to the rescue for each other in emergencies or general times of need.\r\n\r\nEvery church I''ve ever gone to showers new mothers with delivered meals after the baby is born. Jason''s dad has leukemia, and has really seen his church community come together around their family as people shuttle him between home and the hospital, and deliver dinners every evening.\r\n\r\nI''m learning that this is what the first church in Acts was all about. Our small group has just started studying Acts, which isn''t the dull history of the early church that I thought it was. As it turns out, it''s more an example of a radical, counter-cultural group of people who were determined to demonstrate a new way of living together, in spite of the Caesars. It was all about generosity and taking care of each other and sharing everything they had (<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts%202:42-47">Acts 2:42-47</a>). Pretty exciting stuff.\r\n\r\nA small taste of that kind of community was what stirred up the topic with little S in the first place. Last night, 15 or so adults and their gaggle of kids shared a meal at Jubal and Renee''s new home. They provided all the wine and prepared all the food, offering it to everyone as a gift of thanks for helping them move their massive amounts of belongings a couple of weeks ago. There were people and loads of food everywhere. Everyone felt cared for and appreciated as we christened the new home with our conversation and laughter.', 'Community with a capital C', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'community-with-a-capital-c', '', '', '2009-02-17 12:11:13', '2009-02-17 16:11:13', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=19', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(20, 1, '2007-07-13 12:32:00', '2007-07-13 16:32:00', '<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpfUvaG4lfI/AAAAAAAABmI/3AB44-PGCTY/s1600-h/sidney+sign.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086768215065400818" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpfUvaG4lfI/AAAAAAAABmI/3AB44-PGCTY/s320/sidney+sign.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">If you take County Road 1600 east from Urbana for about seven miles, then turn north on County Road 1000 and drive for another five miles, you''ll land in Sidney, Illinois, population 1,100. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">From what I can tell, Sidney''s main attractions include the homemade soft serve and shakes at the Dairy Bar (or Barn, depending on which sign you look at); the grain elevator (which is really only an attraction if you have grain to sell); and Bues Accounting. This last attraction is why I trek to Sidney—to get my taxes done. A malt at the Dairy Bar(n) is just an added bonus.</span>\r\n\r\nDriving to a village one percent the size of your town to get your taxes done is, I''ll admit, a bit backwards. But after just one visit to Jim Bues'' office, I could never go back to the sterile, impersonal services of H&amp;R Block.\r\n\r\nMr. Bues'' office is in the back end of a brick building on Sidney''s main street. (The front half of the building, which you have to walk directly through, is in use by a person who does something crafty, from what I can tell). The accounting office is one big open space, with an original pressed tin ceiling and <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> original wood paneling on the walls and worn carpeting on the floor. Boxes of paperwork and files are piled everywhere, as are what appear to be the leftovers from countless yard sales and a few lunches and snacks.\r\n\r\nJim''s desk is piled high with papers and framed photos and brick-a-brack, like a clay jar labeled "Ashes of problem customers." A clock on the wall next to his desk sounds out various bird calls on the hour. Everyone coming and going is full of cheer, good humor and small-town matter-of-factness. This atmosphere is, I''ve learned, exactly what I need when I''m told how much I owe in taxes.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpfUSKG4leI/AAAAAAAABmA/DeXqDsQVJL8/s1600-h/bues+building.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086767712554227170" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpfUSKG4leI/AAAAAAAABmA/DeXqDsQVJL8/s320/bues+building.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I found out about Bues Accounting at tax time 2006, after shelling out thousands of dollars in self-employment taxes and then paying an entirely dry H&amp;R Block employee $400 to calculate and deliver such grim news. A few days later I was bemoaning this annual spring torture at my hair salon (which is worthy of its own post). The salon''s owner, Rebecca, overheard and told me I just <span style="font-style: italic;">had</span> to go see Jim Bues in Sidney. It was almost an order.\r\n\r\nRebecca is very young and edgy-tough-sweet all at once. Her haircut, not surprisingly, changes monthly. I could imagine Rebecca in an H&amp;R Block office even less than I could ever believe I myself was in one, so when she raved about her accountant, I took notice. (Who raves about an accountant, after all? It''s about as common as raving about a dentist.)\r\n\r\n"Everyone uses him," she told me. "Everyone," it turns out, translates to all of the young owners of non-traditional businesses in town, like the vintage clothing store, the music label, and my very own Caffe Paradiso. Rebecca wrote Jim Bues'' number on a small Post-It note, and I managed to keep track of it long enough to put it to use almost a year later, when I made my first appointment.\r\n\r\nRebecca had already warned me that Jim was one of the oddest characters she had ever met, and that he might come across as gruff and almost rude, when really he is as sweet and well-meaning as can be.\r\n\r\n"Don''t let him scare you," she said. I like hearing in advance that a person I''m going to meet might be challenging in some way. Not only does it give me a chance to prepare a strategy, but I enjoy challenges that involve human interactions, and I tend to rise to the occasion.\r\n\r\nEven being prepared for Jim, though, doesn''t prepare you for Jim. It''s difficult to put into words, which is why I like knowing other people who know him—we''re not alone in that alternate universe.\r\n\r\nWhen Jason and I were there yesterday he said, gruffly, "So you went and got married, eh? Now you''ve gone and made a mess of everything. Well, there''s not much you can do about it now. You''ll just have to suffer through it."\r\n\r\nWhen I finished writing a check to the Secretary of State to keep my I-corp status alive for another year, Jim said "You might as well keep that checkbook out. That''s why you work your butt off, right? So you can sign away everything you''ve made." When I asked him how much I owed him at the end of our appointment he said "Well, I''m about to go on vacation. I could use some extra spending money."\r\n\r\nSo why on earth do I go to Jim Bues in Sidney, Illinois, to keep my financial records in order? For one thing, when our 45-minute meeting was all said and done, he wouldn''t let me write him a check for anything. I like the bird call clock, and how the entire feel of the place doesn''t say the first thing about money—making or spending it.\r\n\r\nHe gives me good advice, too, like he genuinely wants me to make a good living doing whatever it is that I do, without getting in trouble with Big Brother. And, of course, since tax time and all money matters for me inevitably come with doses of pain, the least I can do is be entertained and have a few stories to tell—and a chocolate malt on my way back to the city.\r\n<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpfTvaG4ldI/AAAAAAAABl4/1yuqjxajDIs/s1600-h/dairy+bar.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086767115553773010" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RpfTvaG4ldI/AAAAAAAABl4/1yuqjxajDIs/s320/dairy+bar.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Tax time in Sidney', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'tax-time-in-sidney', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:56:26', '2009-01-09 21:56:26', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=20', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(21, 1, '2007-07-16 12:48:00', '2007-07-16 16:48:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This story begins with what you might call a disclaimer/confession combo: I''m not proud that I was a scheming sneak this past Friday night...but I''m not exactly sorry, either. The more I think about it, the more I''m sure that most of us feel this  internal conflict—somewhere between feeling pleased with ourselves and ashamed—on a regular basis.</span>\r\n\r\nFirst let me set the stage: For several years, Jason has loved the band Spoon. When we met, he transferred that love to me (it wasn''t hard—it''s a great band). Jason has been waiting to see them live for years. The problem is, they only seem to ever play on the coasts and overseas, never in Chicago or Indianapolis or St. Louis.\r\n\r\nFinally, one day rather recently, he receives the email he''s been waiting for from the band. Spoon will be playing in Chicago, at a great 300-person venue, on a Friday night. The snag? You can''t purchase tickets. You can only win them in a raffle from a radio station, and you have to be at the radio station event, in Chicago on a weekday night, to actually win and claim tickets.\r\n\r\nTo add salt to the wound, we already had plans to be in Chicago <span style="font-style: italic;">the very evening of the Spoon concert. </span>Our plans involved hanging out with our friend, Stephen, who called mid last week to tell us he wouldn''t have much time to hang out because his friend Carrie had won tickets to see Spoon. Carrie, of course, hadn''t heard of Spoon before the night she won the tickets. That''s like throwing some coarse Kosher salt on the wound, for good measure.\r\n\r\nFast forward to Friday. We''re going to Chicago anyway. Right about halfway there, at Kankakee on I-57, Stephen and Jason talk and decide we will meet for a drink at Schuba''s, the bar where the Spoon concert is being held. At least we will be able to catch up for a half hour or so before Stephen and Carrie go into the concert. Yes, sitting outside the venue of the concert you really want to see is a bit painful, but I can honestly say, at that point, I was resigned to missing out.\r\n\r\nWas Jason resigned? Not so much. Maybe that''s a sign of a true fan, or a trait of someone who grew up in a big city.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nWhen we arrived at Schuba''s, we sat outside and ordered beer and some food. Soon we were joined by Stephen and Carrie, who had already turned in their free tickets and had their hands stamped for the concert. Jason, suddenly inspired, licked the back of his hand and pressed it on Stephen''s stamped hand. It may have been a desperate joke, but it was one that worked. There, on his very own hand, was a stamp that matched Stephen''s.\r\n\r\nGreat, I thought. I''ll be sitting out here alone all night. Carrie''s stamp was already smudged, and Stephen didn''t have enough ink left on his hand to share. This is when the plotting, as it were, thickened. It eventually involved Stephen and I sitting in the car while he drew the rather complex stamp design on my hand with a pen, which I smudged <span style="font-style: italic;">just</span> enough to make it look less fine tip pen-like and more rubber stamp-like.\r\n\r\nWe all had "stamps." Now to get into the bar, past the ticket-collecting, hand-stamping door guy who might realize he had never seen us hand over our winning tickets and pass through that door before. Once again, the true Spoon fan had an idea.\r\n\r\nJason went inside the restaurant side of Schuba''s to use the restroom, and found one in the back, near the kitchen, which connected <span style="font-style: italic;">to the bar! </span>We were golden. Five minutes later, Jason and I both had to use the bathroom (I did for real, not surprisingly) and got a bit "turned around" as we were leaving. Once in the bar, we met up with Stephen and Carrie, who came in the front door.\r\n\r\nWhen it was time for the opening band to begin, and people started pouring back into the concert area, we only had to hold up our stamped hand for a glance from the girl sitting at that checkpoint. We were in! We were elated! And we really had the time of our lives. It was definitely a top-five concert experience for both Jason and me. Being able to see a show we didn''t expect to see made the experience that much better, I''m sure.\r\n\r\nBut now we''re left with the story. Do we tell it with pride? Is it funny? Shameful? Or maybe it isn''t either—maybe it''s just not a big deal at all. Maybe it''s the kind of thing people do all the time.\r\n\r\nIt''s interesting to track how your brain (or at least my brain) justifies such antics. For instance, we didn''t lie to anyone (although drawing a stamp on your hand is a lie, of sorts). We didn''t take anything from anyone, and our actions didn''t involve cheating the bar or the band out of anything—the radio station had already paid for everything, and besides, we have bought all of Spoon''s cds, not downloaded copies.\r\n\r\nThen I get into justifying how we deserved to be at the show because we really love the band and know the music. Surely many of the people there, like Carrie, just thought "Free concert. Cool."\r\n\r\nBut I still feel sheepish, somehow. Maybe it''s just my good upbringing and the flicker of natural desire to please my parents that I can''t quite shake. Maybe it''s my realization that line-drawing is a rather random, subjective sport—a slippery slope where an outright lie becomes a subtle deception, which becomes really nothing at all (but something you still don''t want to encourage in your children).\r\n\r\nAnd maybe I simply grow suspicious of myself, for good reason, when I begin justifying anything. In this instance, however, I would do it again in a heartbeat.', 'The art of sneaking into a free concert', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'the-art-of-sneaking-into-a-free-concert', '', '', '2009-01-09 18:05:15', '2009-01-09 22:05:15', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=21', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(22, 1, '2007-07-18 17:43:00', '2007-07-18 21:43:00', '<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqBNTKG4ljI/AAAAAAAABms/pEXkwVcHCl8/s1600-h/kbike.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089152570454742578" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqBNTKG4ljI/AAAAAAAABms/pEXkwVcHCl8/s200/kbike.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The other day, when my friend Nathan complimented my bike, Jason said "Isn''t it great? It''s one of the things about Kristin that made me even more smitten. Just look at her on that bike!"</span>\r\n\r\nMy bike was one of my prize possessions even before I learned how it played a role in winning my husband.\r\n\r\nI bought it for myself as a consolation prize, of sorts, when I moved to Champaign-Urbana, aka The Land of Flatness. This is a place where a heavy-duty, single-speed, coaster-brake bike doesn''t seem completely impractical.<a href="http://www.kronan.com/Inventory/Navision/11519005?category=10,30&amp;menuS=Cykel"></a>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.kronan.com/Inventory/Navision/11519005?category=10,30&amp;menuS=Cykel"> The bike</a> is made by a company called Kronan, and is a replica of the bikes used by members of the Swedish Army during the World War II era. I love thinking about the armies of peace-loving countries riding very Scandanavian-looking bikes that are as quaint as they are sturdy. It makes me want to design a "Bikes, not bombs" t-shirt. I also love the wheel-powered headlight, the back rack, and the built-in tire pump (Nathan said the casing looks like an exhaust pipe).\r\n\r\nAlthough it''s admittedly a very cool looking bike (and according to Jason, when I''m biking around in my skirt, I''m pretty cool-looking, too), I was drawn to the simplicity of the design, the functionality, and the idea of low-maintenance—with no gears or handle brakes, there''s so much less to worry about breaking and fixing.\r\n\r\nOn a website called <a href="http://www.lifeiscarbon.com/weblog/2007/01/kronan.html">lifeiscarbon</a> (check out the line of <span style="font-style: italic;">underwear</span> Kronan makes along with the bikes!!!), they describe the Kronan as an "almost indestructible, tank-like bicycle." They add, "The design is simple, robust and without frills. Details such as wide handlebars, durable tires, anti-rust steel frame, with added zinc plated components, make a Kronan bicycle a great longterm investment. Unless it''s stolen, it''s likely to last longer than you do."\r\n\r\nYes, unless it''s stolen. Which is, of course, what happened to my prized, longterm investment.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nAbout two years after I bought the bike, when it was still sparkling and perfect, it was stolen out of my garage. The garage door had been left up for about an hour one morning, <span style="font-style: italic;">while I was in the house with the kids,</span> and boom. It was gone. I was sick about it. I called the police and filed a report with the officer who came to the house to take the information. I assured him the bicycle was very distinct, and that it was the only one like it in town, so maybe someone would spot it, but he told me not to get my hopes up—stolen bikes were almost never recovered. Not even unique ones.\r\n\r\nI made "missing bike" fliers with a photo and reward, the way people do for missing cats, then I dug my old bike out of the back of the garage and began riding it to the cafe and library and farmer''s market. It wasn''t the same, though. I was missing that little-kid-zest-for-life-wind-blowing-through-hair high that I got riding my Kronan. How could any other bike be the same?\r\n\r\nAfter about two months of scanning every bike rack on campus and staring at every bike being pedaled down the street (and there are SO many bicyclists in this town), I gave up hope.\r\n\r\nBut, as is so often true of life, right when you stop desperately hoping and trying to make something happen, it happens on its own. My friends Kevin and Susan told me one fall Sunday morning that they were pretty sure they had seen my bike the night before, and that it was in the custody of the Urbana police.\r\n\r\nThey had been to a late movie Saturday night, and were driving home at about midnight down a busy five-lane road near the highway. A strange sight caught their attention: A man was <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">very unsteadily </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> riding a bike along the shoulder, carrying two 12-packs of beer. As Kevin and Susan joked about the dangers of drinking and driving, they passed the man and got a good look at the bike—mine. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They called the police, who told them to stay on the phone and trail the man until they could get there, so Kevin and Susan in their not-so-discreet red Volvo station wagon slowed to a crawl and followed this beer run volunteer down the busy street then into one of the less-desirable neighborhoods of Urbana. Finally, the police arrived and the man rode into a back yard, apparently ditching the bike before going into the house. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Kevin and Susan sat watching from up the block, wondering how the police could ever prove the bike had been stolen, or who stole it. Suddenly, two cops came out of the house with the bike-riding man, threw him over the hood of the cop car, and handcuffed him. Apparently, the man on my bike, whether he was the one who stole it or not, had a warrant out for his arrest! Who would have imagined?</span>\r\n\r\nWhen I finally set eyes on my bike again, after it spent another six weeks or so in the evidence room (or "bike pound") at the police station, it was a happy reunion. My Kronan wasn''t without its battle scars—there were tears in the seat, the "license plate" was pried off, the headlight was dangling, and there were several scratches and some rust. It made me catch my breath, imagining the ways my poor bike had been abused and neglected while it was out of my care. But I gingerly sat on the seat that who-knows-whomgrac had sat on for the many weeks before, and pedaled us both home. My bike was lost, then found.\r\n\r\nI''ve always loved the biblical images of being lost then found, from the lost sheep parable to the indelible words of Amazing Grace. It is indeed a truly amazing concept—being reunited with something precious, that you thought was lost for good. A bike is just a bike, when it gets down to it, but still...every time I touch the tears in the seat, I am touching a very real reminder of grace.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqBNnaG4lkI/AAAAAAAABm0/NQZ5ib0kRQA/s1600-h/bikeseat.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089152918347093570" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqBNnaG4lkI/AAAAAAAABm0/NQZ5ib0kRQA/s200/bikeseat.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Lost and found in the evidence room', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'lost-and-found-in-the-evidence-room', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:07:35', '2009-01-09 21:07:35', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=22', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(23, 1, '2007-07-19 17:15:00', '2007-07-19 21:15:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I used to see them all the time. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I was fresh out of college and poor, working as a newspaper reporter for a weekly paper in a small, wealthy community. These women were all about town at any time of day—dropping off last month''s clothes at the high-end resale shop, running to the multi-million dollar home of a friend for a charity meeting, on the way to the gym or spa or tennis club, and, of course, gossiping in restaurants over lunch. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They were quintessential Ladies Who Lunch, and they had their perfect powdered noses in everyone''s business. I knew all about it because I ended up interviewing them for one reason or another, more often than I wanted to.</span>\r\n\r\nEllen, Dorie, Lisa, Marlah and I met for lunch today. For some time now we''ve been trying to schedule something once a month, or so. We see each other in one way or another all the time, but these lunches provide the only moments we get as a group, all to ourselves. It''s pure girl time—no husbands or boyfriends, no needy children, no food preparation or cleanup, no DJ spinning loud house music to talk over.\r\n\r\nAt these moments, talk is more important than food, of course. Between the four of us (five if Marlah can make it, like she did today), there is no end to the conversation. It passes from person to person like a a delicious flourless chocolate cake being shared around the table. The waves of talk move so quickly they never fully land—we take in delicious bites as the conversation passes by, pressing up and savoring every last crumb until someone looks at a watch and it''s time to go.\r\n\r\nIn today''s mix we heard about Lisa''s fabulous trip up the coast, Ellen''s hilarious work stories about delivering babies with assistance from her least favorite nurse, and Dorie''s mother-in-law, who deeply admires argumentative people (she''s coming for a week-long visit soon). A couple dozen other topics were swirled in, and we left the restaurant 90 minutes later full of food and complete social contentment.\r\n\r\nAlthough not one of us had time for a two- or three-hour lunch, and  no one was running off to a spa appointment, Ellen''s husband insists on referring to us as "Ladies Who Lunch."  There is no end to the pleasure he derives from tossing this label at us, and we go along with it, knowing he means to be endearing, not offensive. Today I decided I had to Google the term, because I wondered if my original, intuitive understanding of it was on or off. According to Wikipedia, it''s pretty much dead on:\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>Ladies who lunch is a phrase to describe well-off women who meet for lunch socially, normally during the working week. Typically, the women involved are married and non-working. Normally the lunch is in a restaurant, perhaps in a department store during shopping. Sometimes there is the pretext of raising money for charity.</em></p>\r\nAch! It''s true—about half of the defined requirements can be applied to me and my friends: We''re women meeting socially for lunch at a restaurant during the work week. But "well-off" and "non-working" we aren''t, and there isn''t any shopping happening, let alone a pretext of anything—certainly not involving charity (although we are charitable outside of our lunch dates)!\r\n\r\nI pin down the phrases "well-off" and "pretext" as key, and decide there''s absolutely no reason to worry that Gabriel''s endearment is too close to true to be funny. My friends and I are utterly transparent in our lively gathering. We''re not there to get anything ironed out or checked off a list—there are no notebooks on the table. We''re there to have the kind of conversation that bubbles up and makes a lovely mess, then we need to get back to work and make some money (lest we one day fail to be able to pay for these little luxuries).\r\n\r\nReviewing the lyrics of the Stephen Sondheim song that popularized the the phrase (from the musical <span style="font-style: italic;">Company</span>), made me feel even less like a lady who lunches:\r\n\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>Here''s to the ladies who lunch--Everybody laugh.\r\nLounging in their caftans, And planning a brunch, On their own behalf.\r\nOff to the gym, Then to a fitting, Claiming they''re fat.\r\nAnd looking grim, ''Cause they''ve been sitting, Choosing a hat.\r\nDoes anyone still wear a hat?\r\nI''ll drink to that.</em></p>\r\nCaftans? Grim looks? Phew! I''m <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> a lady who lunches. I wonder how we appear to people around us, though. Do we seem spoiled or privileged? Loud and silly? Do we evoke envy or annoyance? (I sometimes feel annoyed at other groups of people, for no real reason—why shouldn''t they conjure up baseless annoyance with us?)\r\n\r\nIt''s quite likely, though, in this modest Midwestern town, at the restaurants we choose, with our varying tones of skin and reasonable shoes, that we look about as average as five women can get. And about as lucky. I''ll drink to that.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqBMJqG4lgI/AAAAAAAABmU/qAWFpzjnxBk/s1600-h/lunchladies.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089151307734357506" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqBMJqG4lgI/AAAAAAAABmU/qAWFpzjnxBk/s320/lunchladies.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Ladies who lunch', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'ladies-who-lunch', '', '', '2009-01-09 16:58:42', '2009-01-09 20:58:42', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=23', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(213, 1, '2009-01-09 20:07:57', '2009-01-10 00:07:57', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/331179811_9ed79b86bf.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-214" title="331179811_9ed79b86bf" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/331179811_9ed79b86bf.jpg" alt="" width="414" height="274" /></a>\r\n<h5 style="padding-left: 300px;">Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/atomicjeep/">atomicjeep</a></h5>\r\nI''ve encountered some important reminders this week.\r\n\r\nFirst I read <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/01/05/AR2009010503341.html?wprss=rss_print/asection">this article</a>, which reminds me that numbers don''t always mean what you first might think, and that not every brand of success can even be measured in numbers. Being reminded of this inspired to write the post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=211">When small is big and numbers are nothing.</a>\r\n\r\nA couple of hours after writing the post—which in large part was meant to comfort and distract me from my worries about blog stats and Twitter numbers—I received an email from a stranger. I asked her if I could share it here:\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>I just loved your entry about your turning point -- when you bought your house.  It made me cry, literally.  I have been at a similar turning point for a while now in my life, but unable to make that turn, probably because I only knew what I wanted to turn from, but not what I wanted to turn towards.  I think your story just gave me a warm, gentle, and much needed push on my back to have the courage, take the leap. so, thank you.</em></p>\r\nThis email, arriving out of the blue, reminds me of the primary reason I bother writing in the first place: I love the interaction and conversation. I love knowing that I''m not alone, and that my stories are touching someone else in small and sometimes even big ways.\r\n<h3>Remembering where I''ve been</h3>\r\nIt also reminds me of where I''ve been. The post this reader is referencing—<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=26">A turning point with a street address</a>—is about what was happening in my life in early 2005, a very difficult time for me. I was clinging desperately to all the wrong things, and found myself feeling hopeless as I faced many important decisions.\r\n\r\n<strong>I don''t want to forget that critical moment in my life.</strong> It says so much about who and where I am now, and about God''s grace in my life, and his ability to redeem my biggest messes.\r\n\r\nAnother reminder of this came in the form of a reader comment on the post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=204">Retracing my steps to the original idea</a>:\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>A final thought: look at your life the last 4-5 years. Are they not only picture of God’s grace but also your willingness to be open and less intentional? How else would you have made it to where you are now? It’s quite a story.</em></p>\r\nIt <em>is</em> quite a story. Jason and I have shared it with others and marveled over it together, repeatedly.\r\n\r\nBut like all stories that aren''t told and retold, with consistent enthusiasm and urgency, I can see how it is gradually fading. My life has been so good, for more than three years now—it''s easy to take it all for granted and to forget  where we were, and how far we''ve come.\r\n\r\nWhich is why we need to be reminded.\r\n\r\nHere are a few of the stories from back when I first started my blog. I just took some time to re-read them and remember their place at the crux of my bigger story, of brokenness being made whole.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=6">Love in unexpected places</a>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=8">A road trip with my husband''s ex-wife</a>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=11">Worship in a warehouse</a>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=26">A turning point with a street address</a>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=32">Two girls with all kinds of parents</a>', 'Remind me again', 0, '<em>Certain stories need to be retold, so we remember where we''ve been.</em>', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'remind-me-again', '', 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=211\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=32\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=26\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=26\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=204\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=6\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=8\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=11', '2009-01-26 12:54:23', '2009-01-26 16:54:23', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=213', 0, 'post', '', 3);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(24, 1, '2007-07-23 12:05:00', '2007-07-23 16:05:00', '<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqV7R4qtbMI/AAAAAAAABnU/xwWT065bWFk/s1600-h/images.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090610501011729602" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqV7R4qtbMI/AAAAAAAABnU/xwWT065bWFk/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I seem to have a thing for problem cities. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When I was a kid, growing up in Michigan in the 1970s and 80s, the most exciting weekend family plans involved going to Detroit, where my dad was born. Detroit was exciting and fascinating on every level. It was huge, full of things to do, and run down and beautiful all at once. It was, in other words, everything my sweet, safe hometown of 12,000 was not.</span>\r\n\r\nIn Detroit, we went to productions at the Fox Theatre (my favorite performance there was <span style="font-style: italic;">Into the Woods</span>, starring jazz singer Cleo Lane as the witch). We went to Greek Town and ate saganaki—cheese set to flames at our table—while our dad told us stories about growing up in Detroit in the 1950s, when it was a grand city, downtown was bustling, and our grandparents sang in the opera.\r\n\r\nDuring winter visits, we went to Redwings hockey games and then tested our skating skills at the outdoor rink on Woodward Avenue, in the heart of downtown. Summers meant watching games at Tiger stadium (where we kept stats and brought our mitts, just in case a foul ball or home run came our way), and playing Crazy Eights on the river boat that took us to <a href="http://www.boblosteamers.com/island.html">Bob-Lo Island</a>, an old-school amusement park on the Canadian side.\r\n\r\nNights in Detroit were spent at the home of my great aunt, who was the only white person still living in her middle class neighborhood. She had flatly rejected the idea of white flight. Once back at home in our comfortable mid-Michigan town, our friends (and their parents) were shocked that we went to Detroit and came back alive. No one went to Detroit. People were terrified even of the idea. But I knew better. It was simply misunderstood, which made me love it even more.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqUSzoqtbKI/AAAAAAAABnE/kf2uA-dSe8k/s1600-h/images.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090495632111398050" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqUSzoqtbKI/AAAAAAAABnE/kf2uA-dSe8k/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" /></a><strong>As an adult, St. Louis became my new favorite misunderstood city.</strong> I lived there, in the city proper just south of Forest Park, from 1994-97, and to this day I''m one of its greatest promoters. If I''m not selling the city as a wonderful place to visit, I''m at the very least busy systematically changing people''s negative perceptions.\r\n\r\nSt. Louis is full of beautiful parks and old brick houses, I tell them. It has amazing museums and gardens and a zoo that are almost all free, and it''s full of great ethnic restaurants and live music.\r\n\r\nThe negativity I hear about St. Louis, like Detroit, gets old after a while. Where do these preconceived notions come from? How can people who have never been to a place have such strong impressions of it?\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nThis morning as I was Googling St. Louis, just to find out how many people live there, I got an eyeful of bad news. For instance, the city''s population has been shrinking steadily for years, dropping 27 percent in the past decade. It''s now the 52nd largest city in the states, even though it was once the 4th largest. That''s depressing, for sure. On top of that, <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">earlier this year the public schools were deemed so terrible they were stripped of accreditation and taken over by the state. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Maybe the negativity also has something to do with the city''s reputation as a danger zone. It''s been among the 10 most dangerous cities in the country for years; in 2006, as I just now learned, it was rated the most dangerous city in the nation (with the occupant of my other soft spot, Detroit, coming in second). </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ouch. From a city''s perspective, news doesn''t get worse than that.</span>\r\n\r\nSo maybe the better question is how can I possibly love St. Louis so much? Or why on earth do I think the country''s most dangerous city is the perfect place for a family vacation? (Maybe my parents'' lead in Detroit has something to do with it...)\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Whatever my thinking or lack thereof, we took the girls down to St. Louie this past weekend for an idyllic visit. We stayed with my good friends Aaron and Becca, who live with their three kids in a beautiful three-story house on the edge of Tower Grove Park, a 300-acre, 150-year-old park. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The older kids got to go to the Harry Potter book release street party in the Central West End, where, at midnight, Havah got her long-awaited copy of the final book. We spent a couple of hours Saturday morning in the 80-acre botanical gardens, which has a rainforest dome and a great kids'' area. And we went to the City Museum (see photo below), a truly one-of-a-kind place described on its <a href="http://www.citymuseum.org/home.asp">website</a> as: "</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">...an eclectic mixture of children''s playground, funhouse, surrealistic pavilion, and architectural marvel made out of unique, found objects." We ate delicious Mexican food and the famous Ted Drewe''s frozen custard, played in Tower Grove Park, and the adults sat outside at night talking, drinking wine and smoking (at least some did). </span>\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">\r\nLearning about the city''s serious ills right on the tail of such a great weekend was a let down. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Maybe I''m naive or I put too much faith in the power of positive thinking, but I can''t bear to believe the reports or to abandon this sad, wonderful place. I want to protect it like I might protect a 13-year-old who''s going through an awkward phase. If only everyone could just bliss their way through the rough patches, without letting a bit of ugly spiral out of control, everything would be fine. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But the reality is</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">, a bit of bad luck—for cities and adolescents—tends to snowball, rapidly gaining size and momentum and having devastating effects. It''s the same group think attitude and focus on fear that can cause the stock market to crash, or a new restaurant to never get off the ground, or a middle school kid to be treated like a leper.</span>\r\n\r\nSadly, depressed cities are just another overwhelming problem without a clear solution, like poverty and healthcare and war. Can one person (or one family) really "make a difference," as so many public service campaigns like to suggest?\r\n\r\nI think about my childhood memories of Detroit, and I can imagine the city smiled for a moment when my family arrived for the weekend, acting like it was a grand tourist attraction, not the subject of a grim news story. And I know our girls will always love St. Louis, dipping again and again into the childhood memory bank they''re building.\r\n\r\nAnd as parents? Jason and I will keep taking our family there and to other big cities—not to put them in danger, of course, but to teach them about places different from the ones they know best. Most importantly, I''ll always teach the girls that loving problem cities is not always such a problem—they''re certainly less detrimental than falling for problem men, after all. <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">\r\n</span>\r\n<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqUSmIqtbJI/AAAAAAAABm8/DHI8GNVhqBM/s1600-h/city_museum19.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090495400183164050" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqUSmIqtbJI/AAAAAAAABm8/DHI8GNVhqBM/s320/city_museum19.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Family fun in dangerous cities', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'family-fun-in-dangerous-cities', '', '', '2009-01-09 16:48:20', '2009-01-09 20:48:20', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=24', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(25, 1, '2007-07-26 11:23:00', '2007-07-26 15:23:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Every morning for the past month or so, Jason and I have awoken to the sound of golf balls falling from the sky. The <span style="font-style: italic;">sound</span> of golf balls, mind you, not actual golf balls. Instead of errant golfers, we have gangs of evil squirrels throwing black walnuts down like ammunition. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">As we lie in bed, windows open to an otherwise peaceful morning, they thud on the roof of the house then roll down, landing on the back porch with a pop. They bounce off the hoods of our cars in the driveway, making us wince. A brief storm of them will suddenly hail down on the garage roof, as if two squirrels are wrestling near large clusters of nuts.</span>\r\n\r\nThe other sound we hear as we lie in bed, wishing desperately for only the idyllic sounds of singing birds, is the sound of extended squirrel families munching away on their black walnut breakfasts. Their teeth make squeaky noises on the green outer flesh of the walnut, like someone aggressively cleaning a windowpane with glass cleaner and a paper towel.\r\n\r\nOnce these rude rodents have worked their way into the center of the nut, they begin littering the inedible remains (which seems to be about three-quarters of the whole package) all over the driveway, cars, back porch, tomato garden, back yard, and patio furniture. This sounds a bit like freezing rain striking a hard surface, in case you''re wondering.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rqj-E4qtbNI/AAAAAAAABnc/4txEaCfXgJ4/s1600-h/walnuts.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091598738626800850" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rqj-E4qtbNI/AAAAAAAABnc/4txEaCfXgJ4/s320/walnuts.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Black walnuts are actually green on the outside, and are remarkably heavy. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The inside of the nut tells you everything you need to know about how they got their name. Once opened by a squirrel or crushed by a car, black walnuts stain everything that''s capable of being stained. Like a beach towel hung out to dry, for instance. Or a nice new driveway. Or your hands, when you laboriously collect the debris from all over the yard. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The nuts, whether broken or whole, hurt, too. My poor children can''t frolic in the yard with bare feet, like children in summertime should. And when it''s time to mow the lawn...well, I could go on and on.</span>\r\n\r\nSomething had to be done, so I began calling numbers in the "Tree Services" section of the Yellow Pages. After several estimates, it looks like it''s going to cost about $800 for a thorough trimming, or $2,000 to take the whole thing out. Am I tempted to shell out the two grand to cut down this otherwise beautiful, enormous old tree? You bet.\r\n\r\nBut it shocks me to see this recurring temptation playing through my mind. As a child in a relatively new neighborhood, I dreamed of living in an old house on a tree-lined street. I played in and under the largest tree in our neighborhood, then wrote a letter to the newspaper editor when the tree was slated to be cut down to expand the hospital parking lot. Trees were living creatures with personalities and feelings! I was sure of it! (It''s possible I had read Shel Silverstein''s <span style="font-style: italic;">The Giving Tree</span> a few too many times.)\r\n\r\nI was raised to respect trees, though. More than once my family traveled through the Redwoods in California, where trees were revered, photographed and hugged. And my favorite natural spot as a child was the woods of Northern Michigan, where my grandparents had a cottage. To be surrounded by trees was to be safe and content and at peace.\r\n\r\nSix years ago, when my ex-husband applied for a teaching position at the university here, my first thought was "I can''t live there. It''s surrounded by corn fields. There can''t be any trees." When we finally got off the highway and into the community for the first time, my fears were put to rest.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nNot only are there trees, but Urbana was the first city in the state to be given the distinction as a national "Tree City." I have to include this overly poetic bit from the Tree City website: "Urbana Illinois is enveloped by a thriving urban forest whose summer canopies shade the town in rich green hues and excite the city with spring pastels and fall brilliance." Excite the city indeed. And, later: ""With over 100,000 public and private community trees, one can understand why Urbana be"Leaves" In Trees."\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rqj-l4qtbPI/AAAAAAAABns/7gNVxzM6x4Y/s1600-h/walnut+tree.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091599305562483954" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rqj-l4qtbPI/AAAAAAAABns/7gNVxzM6x4Y/s320/walnut+tree.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>So now I''m living in the neighborhood of my childhood dreams, and I beLeaf I am tempted to take out the oldest tree on my property. If I could methodically take out all the mocking squirrels, I would gladly do that instead. Unfortunately I''m not a good enough aim.\r\n\r\nFor the time being, our plan is to give the tree a second chance at life. Three major limbs—one over the garage and driveway and the other two resting heavy with walnuts on the roof of the house—are going to go. A smaller limb hanging too low over the middle of the back yard, making badminton impossible, will also be wished good riddance. Then we''ll see.\r\n\r\nThe whole process reminds me a bit of how I might work my way toward a drastic haircut: First you try something more modest; then, if you''re not in love with the results, you take a deep breath and go for it.', 'The sky is falling', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'the-sky-is-falling', '', '', '2009-01-09 16:38:07', '2009-01-09 20:38:07', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=25', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(26, 1, '2007-07-27 12:02:00', '2007-07-27 16:02:00', '<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqorA4qtbQI/AAAAAAAABn0/j7hLqZPqYxU/s1600-h/house.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091929622907284738" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RqorA4qtbQI/AAAAAAAABn0/j7hLqZPqYxU/s320/house.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Two years ago today I moved into my house. I''m a big fan of marking important events other than just birthdays and wedding anniversaries. It''s a way to remind yourself of blessings, and an opportunity to share them with others. The best celebrations involve a deliberate remembering process—of where you were in your life before the event, of how the event affected and changed you, and of where you are now, because of it.\r\n\r\nThis is the 10th home I''ve ever lived in (not counting dorm rooms in college), yet it represents much more than any of the other nine homes. The story of this house begins in the spring of 2004, with the selling of another house—the one my ex husband and I bought when we came to town. He had moved out of the house a year and a half before; I continued living there, even though I didn''t want to keep the place long term.\r\n\r\nWhen the house sold, the girls and I moved into a two-bedroom duplex apartment in the same neighborhood—a nice place, but small, and difficult to love after owning a lovely home. I was resolved, though. I didn''t want to own anything! I wanted to be free and flexible, and to see where life took me (my hope was that it would somehow take me out of Champaign-Urbana). <strong>Owning a home would mean, symbolically if not technically, that I wasn''t going anywhere—that I was rooted and settled and OK with being boxed in. And I wasn''t!</strong>\r\n\r\nA year later, my life had begun its subtle shift. I finally knew with all my heart that a relationship I was in was going nowhere, even though I had, for nearly a year, hoped it was my ticket out. I finally knew I couldn''t continue going to my church and resenting it, but that I couldn''t abandon my faith, either. I also knew I didn''t want to manufacture a reason to move the girls away from their dad.\r\n<h4>Letting go lets things happen</h4>\r\nJust acknowledging these things changed me. <strong>When I began loosening my grip on all of my shoddy plans, I was suddenly OK with my life and all that brought me to that place.</strong> More than OK, really. Things began happening. I met Ellen. I resolved to find a new church. And on April 26, 2005, I got this email:\r\n\r\nHi Kristin. Saw this and thought of you -- sounds like a sweetheart of a house:\r\n\r\n2-story with front porch\r\noak floors, lots of natural light\r\ncraftsman style oak woodwork\r\n3 bedrooms, 1 bath (with original hexagonal floor tile)\r\nextra large yard with fenced backyard and grrrrreat climber\r\ncentral air/basement\r\n2-car garage with new cement driveway\r\n2 1/2 blocks to Leal School, 2 1/2 blocks to campus\r\n\r\nThe email came from another mom at my daughters'' school, who had heard me complain on the playground that I didn''t think I could afford anything near the school that was big enough for the three of us. Earlier that month, I looked at a two-bedroom on a busy street corner that was just outside of my price range, so I was pretty much resigned to signing a lease for another year in our rental. Then the email arrived and everything shifted.\r\n\r\nI looked at the house, loved it, and began negotiating a deal with the sellers. As the next few weeks unfolded, a series of events emerged that astounded me and everyone close to me. The sellers, who had outgrown the house, were moving to the much bigger house next door. In selling their house, they were in essence choosing their neighbors and playmates for their kids. They chose us, so to speak.\r\n\r\nOver the next few weeks, they proceeded to go about doing whatever it took to make it possible for me to buy the house. They asked for $1 in earnest money. They paid for professional painters to repaint four rooms, asking me only to buy the paint. They replaced the steps on the back porch, added safety features to the play structure, re-tiled the shower (with the tile of my choosing), and rewired the house, even though the inspector said it wasn''t absolutely necessary.\r\n\r\nNearly every day throughout this process I had an amazing tale to tell my friends, who shook their heads and repeated "You are SO lucky!" I knew what was happening, though. Lucky would have described my situation if just <span style="font-style: italic;">one</span> of those great things had happened, but instead they kept coming, and adding up to something much bigger. That wasn''t luck. They were pure, heaven-sent gifts.\r\n\r\nI know this kind of talk makes a lot of people uncomfortable, but what can I say? <strong>I honestly believe God had been waiting for me to let go of all the wrong things in my life. The moment I was ready to relax in him, where I was, he began overwhelming me with good things.</strong> They began at that moment, with my house, and because I could feel his love and care for me in that, I opened up more and the blessings kept coming. A new church. A new community. And, eventually, Jason. (<a href="http://halfwaytonormal.blogspot.com/2007/06/love-in-unexpected-places.html">Here''s a post</a> about how we met.)\r\n<h4>Knowing what you''re turning from <em>and</em> toward</h4>\r\nAt our small group meeting this past Wednesday night, we talked about how we get ourselves turned around, headed in the wrong direction, and what we should feel and do when we recognize it. The discussion stemmed from some verses in Acts about repentance, an unpopular word. One of our pastors, though, recently defined repentance as consciously turning <span style="font-style: italic;">from</span> something negative in your life and turning <span style="font-style: italic;">toward</span> something redeeming. If you''re trying to go to Chicago, for instance, but realize you''re heading south, you don''t keep heading south. Nor do you pull over and sit on the side of the road, overwhelmed by sadness and regret. You get yourself pointed in the right direction and start moving.\r\n\r\n<strong>For several years I had been trying (but mostly failing) to do the turning <span style="font-style: italic;">from</span> part, without considering what I might turn <span style="font-style: italic;">toward</span>. That''s a nowhere''s  land, and I was stuck in the void until I became overwhelmed by its emptiness.</strong>\r\n\r\nWhat I finally turned toward, I think, was an acceptance of how things in my life had turned out, despite my dreams and best intentions. I turned away from fighting every circumstance I couldn''t change, and turned toward something new that God had for me—a life rooted in him, at this particular street address.\r\n<script type="text/javascript"></script>', 'A turning point with a street address', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-turning-point-with-a-street-address', '', '', '2009-01-08 16:02:49', '2009-01-08 20:02:49', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=26', 0, 'post', '', 9),
(27, 1, '2007-07-30 12:00:00', '2007-07-30 16:00:00', '<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RrzMEYqtbVI/AAAAAAAABoY/Sqb_vwkr0-Y/s1600-h/girls+beach.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097173253989690706" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RrzMEYqtbVI/AAAAAAAABoY/Sqb_vwkr0-Y/s320/girls+beach.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I like to think the word "snob" doesn''t apply to me at all, but I''ve come to accept that I''m a snob about at least two things in life: coffee and lakes. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I have no defense for the first snobbery—I just like my coffee extra strong, dark, and fresh, and if it''s not that way, I won''t drink it. No matter how sleepy I am. I''m not sure how I got this way about coffee.</span>\r\n\r\nBeing a lake snob, though, is a direct result of my Michigan childhood. I didn''t decide to be this way. I just grew up in a state that primed me to expect certain things from lakes.\r\n\r\nFor starters, true lakes are naturally formed and have fresh water sources, they''re not designed and dug by the Army Corps of Engineers. I also expect lakes to have sandy bottoms and sandy beaches made of pure, extra fine sand that’s the result of wind and waves, not coarse mined sand and rocks transported to the site in dump trucks. And I expect lakes to be encircled by forests, not corn fields.\r\n\r\nThat I don’t much care for lakes in Illinois goes without saying. I’ve tried swimming in two (not counting the Illinois side of Lake Michigan, which has the word "Michigan" in its name and is altogether different). Both were a bit too warm to possibly be clean and fresh; indeed, they left a slimy film on my skin when I came out of the water. Their rocky lake bottoms hurt my feet, while the slime on the rocks left me unsteady. Not even being able to even see the bottom through the muck is unnerving. Once out of the water, the so-called sand is useless for sifting through your fingers, much less building castles.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nI can’t be without lakes in my life, though, so each summer we take the girls to a cottage on Lake Michigan for a week. They had a wonderful time again this year, doing all the things kids love to do at the beach: jumping waves, swimming out to the sandbar, building castles, digging holes in the sand until they reached water. There is also a small, rocky stream that runs into the lake just up the beach from our cottage, and the girls (who dubbed the magical place "Fairytopia") spent hours playing there, building dams and redirecting the water in their butterfly-filled, imaginative world.\r\n\r\nThere were several other kids staying at cottages near us, too, which was <span style="font-style: italic;">mostly</span> fun. I say mostly, because although a couple of the families were kind people with good kids (all three of our daughters absolutely love their one new friend, M, in particular), another couple of families who were there for the week were another story.\r\n\r\nHere are examples of two extremes: One of the moms, who I talked to a bit, had this unnerving way of wanting to know <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span> about us—not because she was genuinely interested in us, but because she saw us as interesting specimens, and it would give her something to tell her friends later. I''m sure she was particularly amused as she sat lounging from her chair on the beach as I waded and splashed around, helping my girls try to catch fish in the shallow water (it was a hopeless effort).\r\n\r\nOne of the other sets of parents did not speak to us the entire week, even though we played in the sand and water with their kids (while the parents sat on beach chairs nearby). On one occasion, their daughter joined my girls and their sweet friend M for a rather involved craft on the lawn, with all materials and supervision supplied by me. When her dad pulled up next to us in his expensive SUV, he called for her to get in the car, without a word to me. Like I was someone''s nanny or something! When we noticed his daughter had forgotten her towel, we called out to them. I approached the car with the towel as the dad, on his cell phone, looked straight ahead, holding his arm out the window for the towel. I threw it in his general direction (a little too well-directed, unfortunately).\r\n\r\nThis whole aspect of our otherwise idyllic cottage vacation was like a hovering, dark, ominous cloud all week, not quite blocking out the sun but hanging around like it might. The last couple of days at the lake, I made a concerted effort to not let these people bother me, focusing instead on our family fun and on being friendly with M''s family, who we decided to invite to a bonfire on the beach our last night there.\r\n\r\nAs it turned out, everyone thought they were having a bonfire that last night and inviting the various people they wanted to, so we all ended up at the fire pit. Including the suspiciously curious mom and the dad who treated me like someone''s hired help. I put on a really good attitude, handing out our entire stock of marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers to the crowd.\r\n\r\nI was beginning to feel like we were in the midst of something very poetic—a coming together of different types who all had the same general goal: giving their kids a happy, memorable week at the beach. If our week-long vacation was a movie, this would qualify as the happy ending.\r\n\r\nThen someone''s kid greedily reached his hand in for a whole fist-full of marshmallows, even though other kids were waiting. Another boy, who had enjoyed meddling in the girls'' work at Fairytopia all week, had fun torching one of our nice, carved birch roasting sticks until it was a burnt stub.\r\n\r\nThe rude dad refused to ask me for marshmallows, but instead had his son get some for him; every time the kid wanted more, he declared his intention by coming up behind me and poking me with his roasting stick. His four-year-old sister, when I was saying something generic to my girls about our bonfire rules, looked up at me with her hands on her hips and said, "It doesn''t matter because it''s MY bonfire!" Sigh.\r\n\r\nIt''s true: Kids will be kids and pretty much everyone has a portion of snobbery hiding (or not hiding) somewhere within. That''s where this whole story began, right? All I can say, though, is that turning my girls into lake snobs—otherwise kind people who happen to prefer fresh, clear, natural lakes—is a much lesser evil than raising them to be snob-snobs.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RrzLiYqtbUI/AAAAAAAABoQ/uHyzbX_V4Kg/s1600-h/bonfire.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097172669874138434" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RrzLiYqtbUI/AAAAAAAABoQ/uHyzbX_V4Kg/s320/bonfire.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Bringing up little lake snobs', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'bringing-up-little-lake-snobs', '', '', '2009-01-09 17:14:43', '2009-01-09 21:14:43', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=27', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(28, 1, '2007-08-06 19:06:00', '2007-08-06 23:06:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">One summer day two years ago, at a cafe and used bookstore in northern Michigan, my pastor and his wife stumbled upon a book that changed them, and later changed me. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They discovered it among a pile of books at the table where they sat down with their coffees. The book is called <span style="font-style: italic;">A Tree Full of Angels: Seeing the Holy in the Ordinary</span>, and was written by a woman named Macrina Wiederkehr, who has lived in a monastic community for many years. Barb and Jim began reading the book together the summer I began seriously sorting out my faith and going to their church. I began reading it that fall.</span>\r\n\r\nOne winter afternoon about six months later, Jason ran into the library on his way out of town for a business trip. He picked up the first non-fiction audio book that was well designed, and checked it out, without even stopping to read the synopsis. The book was <span style="font-style: italic;">Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith</span>, by Rob Bell, a pastor not much older than us. A few hours later, Jason called me from the road to tell me about the book. I could tell by his voice that it had already changed him. Not long after, it began its work on me.\r\n\r\nI love books for how they can suddenly appear in your life—on a library shelf or a cafe table, or in the hands of an acquaintance—so unassuming yet so packed with power. <strong>I love that mere words and stories can be written down by one person and then alter the path of another.</strong>\r\n\r\n<strong>I also love how a single book can speak to different people in different ways, or even to the same person in different ways, at different points of their life.</strong> I''m not one to talk about angels other than the ones written about in the Bible or in songs, but I love the idea of Book Angels, flying around with the perfect words, perfect placement and perfect timing.\r\n\r\nOver the past couple of years I''ve been working to pay extra attention to relatively small and random things that suddenly appear in my life. More frequently I''m getting that light-bulb-accompanying "Ah-ha!" that comes with suddenly gaining some new perspective on the big picture. God seems to be feeding me bits and pieces of the story, sharing crumbs of insight about what''s been going on the past decade or so of my life. I''m happy to report it makes <span style="font-style: italic;">way</span> more sense than I imagined it could, and that I''m filled with hope and confidence about all the pieces I still don''t understand.\r\n<h4>Does God really talk to us?</h4>\r\nTalking about <span style="font-style: italic;">God</span> talking is tricky. Loads of people just immediately conclude anyone who thinks God speaks to them is crazy. Others figure maybe God talks, but only in rare, very specialized circumstances, like to Moses in a burning bush, with a loud, audible voice. God doesn''t whisper or hint, right? He booms!\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\n<strong>Personally, I always assumed God had all kinds of creative ways to talk to <span style="font-style: italic;">other</span> people, but with me he was silent.</strong> I was getting the silent treatment until I could get my act together—until I grew up and started doing daily devotions that would eventually take me through the entire Bible. I didn''t take it personally. That would have been as silly as a 13-year-old feeling hurt about not being able to get a driver''s license. I just figured I wasn''t ready for God to talk. I wasn''t mature enough. I didn''t know enough. I couldn''t be trusted to make the most of whatever words he might give me.\r\n\r\n<strong>What I''m beginning to realize now, though, is there are God-sized whispers and trails of crumbs and hidden pearls of his metaphors all over the place.</strong> I''m sure they were there before. The fact that I wasn''t ready to see and hear is true, but God was talking, sure as anything. He wasn''t giving me the silent treatment.\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Macrina </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Wiederkehr writes that the heart of her book, <span style="font-style: italic;">A Tree Full of Angels</span>, is </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">"...trusting the God who speaks to us in our experiences at every moment." She believes there are crumbs everywhere, and that although our tendency is to go looking for the whole loaf, enough crumbs, if gathered up, will more than feed us. Crumbs, burning bushes, angels with books—call them what you want. God is talking.</span>\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">\r\nAs a result, I''m busy trying to listen. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I''m also finding I can decipher <span style="font-style: italic;">now</span> messages from <span style="font-style: italic;">then</span>, back when God was talking but I didn''t know enough to listen. It turns out, actually, it''s not a "then" and "now" thing at all. I''m pretty sure it''s all connected, and that <strong>God is even less linear than I suspected. </strong></span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This "loaf" landed in front of me just recently, in the form of some people who were in my life ten years ago, went away, and then reappeared. First, on Thursday, Jason and I spent the evening talking with John and Debby. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They were spiritual mentors and parent-type figures to me and a group of my friends after college. They always went deep, which I wasn''t always in the mood to do. In the midst of my moves away from Michigan, then back, then to Illinois, we fell out of contact. Then one day I saw John''s </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">name in the acknowledgments section of the book <span style="font-style: italic;">Velvet Elvis</span>—the very book that began making Jason''s and my faith real. John and Debby were still in my life after all.</span>\r\n\r\nThen, two days after our evening with John and Debby, Jason and I went to <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">the 50th anniversary celebration of Reba Place, the church he went to as a kid in Chicago. (John and Debby, we just learned, have ties to that church stretching back 25 years, but that''s another story.) At the reunion, Jason introduced me to some of his early mentors, who he hadn''t seen for years. As it turns out, they all know my college roommate Sheri very well. Sheri happens to be the Christian friend I felt most betrayed by after my divorce, so we haven''t talked for years. And then boom. In connecting with Jason''s past I''m confronted with my own. Meeting people who are a part of Sheri''s life now, and who were a part of both her life and my new husband''s life ten years ago, is much more than just a "small world" moment. It draws a solid line connecting my new life of faith with Jason to a person from my past, who had shaken up my faith—in ways that were painful but very important.</span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So John, Debby and Sheri are back in my life, so to speak. And Susan, Mark and Eileen are back in Jason''s life (and have been in Sheri''s life and are now in my life). The diagram gets rather messy, which is why I''m starting to assume we''re all connected somehow in God''s big, non-linear, crumb-filled story. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">\r\n</span>', 'An endless trail of crumbs', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'an-endless-trail-of-crumbs', '', '', '2009-01-09 18:11:10', '2009-01-09 22:11:10', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=28', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(51, 1, '2008-08-18 12:25:28', '2008-08-18 16:25:28', 'From my oh-so-wise adult perspective, I''ve always seen teenagers as having their own special way of behaving toward one another: Someone looks at you funny, someone happens to whisper or laugh just as you walk by, you''re sure someone doesn''t like you...and then everything snowballs out of control. When certain scenarios in our adult lives have a tinge of similar silliness, my friends and I like to joke that the situation is "SO junior high." It''s as if, socially, there is no greater insult.\r\n\r\nBut I''m beginning to see this isn''t the Junior High Way. Sadly, it''s the Human Way. As adults, we''re simply more practiced at keeping things in check. We''re adept at talking ourselves down from paralyzing paranoia and hysteria. We learn to "let things roll off us," and to "take things with a grain of salt" (where on earth did that saying come from?). The impulses to worry and read into things are the same, though. So is the snowball effect that comes with turning inward and protecting oneself from perceived (or real) pain. Realizing that I  have never completely shed these feelings and fears is like realizing well into your twenties that I''m still capable of getting zits. <em>Really?</em> Why was I led to believe these curses would just magically disappear?\r\n\r\nBut I think there''s hope. Maybe not for acne, or for the many things in life that will inevitably hurt our feelings. But certainly there''s hope in how we might find resolution. I think as adults we have the capacity to reconcile in very real ways that allow us to pick up and continue on in forgiveness and love, not holding kernels of hurt and suspicion inside. In fact, I know it can happen. Jason and I were able to practice this with his ex-wife R and her partner B yesterday. (Important background: We have been close friends with them since I met Jason, and we share a broader community of friends, as well. <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=8">This post</a> tells some of that story.)\r\n\r\nWe sat down with R and B yesterday to talk because of a messy misunderstanding that began months ago. They were hurt and chose to withdraw rather than confront us; we could tell something was creating distance between us, which in turn made us withdraw, questioning every little problem as a much larger issue. The snowball effect was more powerful than we even recognized when we were in the middle of it.\r\n\r\nI guess that''s why the Bible says "Do not let the sun go down on your anger" (Ephesians 4:26). Anger and hurt have a way of festering, and growing like a cancer. We saw evidence of that in our lives, although we found ways to function as co-parents of H through those difficult months. Finally, a couple of weeks ago, R felt compelled to tell us what was at the root of this thorny weed, and the four of us began processing what happened on our own and together. The conversations were far from fun, but in the end I think we all learned a lot, and our relationship is ultimately stronger.\r\n\r\nClearly, we''re still human. But, more importantly, we''re <em>not</em> teenagers. Being an adult has its advantages. And its new challenges: We are the parents of a 12-year-old who starts seventh grade in a week (and we all know what seventh grade can be like). Sigh. But this newly reinforced relationship between H''s four parents will certainly encourage and sustain her, perhaps even more than we realize. And if we can somehow find ways to instill our own life lessons into her tricky social situations—even a little bit—we will all be better off.', 'Resolving teenager moments like adults', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'resolving-teenager-moments-like-adults', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=8', '2009-07-09 13:23:30', '2009-07-09 17:23:30', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=51', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(29, 1, '2007-08-12 23:23:00', '2007-08-13 03:23:00', '<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RsCHF4qtbYI/AAAAAAAABow/s0cdEFftPAI/s1600-h/dsc0291cw5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098223313364020610" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RsCHF4qtbYI/AAAAAAAABow/s0cdEFftPAI/s200/dsc0291cw5.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Sadie was brought home last night, after being dog-napped and living a mysterious life for six days. Her "mom" and "dad"—my friends Nic and Heather—will never fully know where she was, how she was cared for, or what was going through the minds of her captors, but they have their dog back, along with a story that will surely travel through life with her.</span>\r\n\r\nHere''s what happened, as we know it. Last Monday afternoon, Sadie was out running around in her large fenced in yard, which is on a corner lot bordering a somewhat busy street. When Heather opened the door to call her in, Sadie wasn''t there, even though there was no evidence of a gate left open or a hole dug under the fence.\r\n\r\nNic and Heather, with help from friends and neighbors, spent the evening looking for her. When it was dark, they finally went home and began posting notices online and printing out fliers with Sadie''s picture, which they plastered all over town. They hardly slept that night. As Nic said in an email, "I mostly laid in bed crying. <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I''m not sure what </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">is worse—thinking the dog might be dead on the road somewhere or knowing </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">that the dog is with some stranger who isn''t willing to give her back."</span>\r\n\r\nAnd they had reason to believe the second scenario was true. On Tuesday morning, Heather got a call from someone who had seen a flier. She told Heather her friends had Sadie. She would simply contact her friends then call Heather back to arrange a drop-off. She never did.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nWhat followed over the next five days was exhausting and heart-wrenching. Nic and Heather and dozens of their friends and relatives left countless messages on the voicemail of the woman who called Heather Tuesday morning. The police were involved, and they eventually left messages for this woman, also filing a subpoena to obtain her name and address through her cell phone number.\r\n\r\nBy Wednesday, Nic was leaving messages regularly, saying things like "Hey, it''s Sadie''s dad. I was just missing her and wondering how she''s doing today," and, "If you''re wondering what kind of food to feed Sadie, we give her Purina puppy formula. You also might notice that she''s extremely itchy. It''s an allergy, and you should give her a children''s strength Benedryl twice a day."\r\n\r\nBy Thursday, Sadie''s face was everywhere I went in this town. She stared at my from her flier on the door of Aroma cafe, where I sat trying to get some client work done. <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">That evening, Nic and Heather were on the evening news; it seemed like the entire community knew their story. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">By Friday, though, the police weren''t returning Nic and Heather''s calls, and didn''t seem to be pushing much to get the subpoena through, even though they clearly said someone had committed a felony by keeping a dog that wasn''t theirs and not reporting it.</span>\r\n\r\nI know Sadie is "just a dog," but waiting for news about anything extremely precious to you is excruciating. Just in the past week, both my father-in-law and a close friend, Melissa, were waiting for biopsy results. The families of six trapped coal miners in Utah have been all over the news, as they wait to hear whether the drill working its way down to the missing miners hit its mark, and whether any signs of life are detected. Throughout this maddening war in Iraq, countless people have been waiting for the people they love to come home safely, and not leave again.\r\n\r\nWaiting is maddening, in part, because it all seems inevitably accompanied by the unanswerable question "Why?"<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> which looms largest late in the night, when you can''t do anything about your situation except try to piece together a small prayer, then attempt to sleep. In the mornings, when you first open your eyes and you''re floating somewhere between the life you lived before the waiting and the current reality, it''s almost physically painful when your mind suddenly comes into crisp focus. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">What can you possibly do to pass the time, after you''ve prayed, done everything in your human power to fix the problem, and then prayed some more?</span>\r\n\r\nSweating it out with physical labor is one option. Twice during their long week of waiting, Nic and Heather came over in the 90+ degree heat to help Jason and I dig and move about 100 cubic feet of dirt from one corner of our yard to the other. (We''re building a patio, not simply giving our sad friends something to do to pass the time.) We didn''t talk about Sadie much, but it was obvious to me that Nic and Heather had pretty much given up hope of her being returned.\r\n\r\nThen, on Saturday evening, the waiting was suddenly over, just like that, and Sadie was home.\r\n\r\nWhether it was the endless phone messages, the presence of Sadie''s photo on the news and all over town, or the calls from the police, the people who were keeping Sadie decided to do the right thing. The homecoming was highly suspicious, involving a cryptic phone call and then the appearance of a shady-looking character at their door, handing over Sadie along with an obviously made-up story and fake name for himself. But Sadie is with her rightful owners.\r\n\r\nToday, Jason and I and some others went out for lunch with Nic and Heather after church. Several people in the restaurant recognized them and came to the table to sympathize and then share in the joy of good news. Phone calls came in, too, as news spread of Sadie''s return. Other King Charles Cavalier Spaniel owners are particularly rejoicing; Sadie has been invited to "playdates" and birthday parties with the Cavalier Spaniel set. What dog wouldn''t want to get in with Sadie? She''s clearly a celebrity.\r\n\r\nApparently, the happy ending will be reported as a follow up story on the 10 o''clock news tonight. I''m not a fan of TV news casts—the bad news and drama seems overly dramatized, while the happy news is too shiny and bright—but I can see why people love these stories. We live in a world full of "why" questions, without good answers. So much is in the balance, ready to tip one way or another, so when that precarious scale tips, landing a sweet, innocent puppy back home with her loving family, we can all hope to generate some happy dreams that night.\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RsCGvoqtbXI/AAAAAAAABoo/cV2sH1k9-eM/s1600-h/dsc0502dp5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098222931111931250" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RsCGvoqtbXI/AAAAAAAABoo/cV2sH1k9-eM/s320/dsc0502dp5.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>', 'Waiting for Sadie', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'waiting-for-sadie', '', '', '2009-01-09 18:28:00', '2009-01-09 22:28:00', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=29', 0, 'post', '', 0);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(55, 1, '2008-08-26 16:52:04', '2008-08-26 20:52:04', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_0239.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-56" title="img_0239" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_0239-300x224.jpg" alt="" width="364" height="271" /></a>\r\n\r\nSchool starts tomorrow, and the whole community seems to be on the verge of a collective sigh of relief. But anxieties are high, too, as they always are when our darling children are about to transition into new social and academic situations. We''re quite certain, after all, that (fill-in-the-blank) grade could be THE make or break year—the year they fall in love with math or decide they''re hopeless at it; the year they seal their friendship with the friend we would chose for them if we could, or they fall in with a crowd of under-achieving, disrespectful hooligans.\r\n\r\nI''ve learned to keep my Mama Bear instincts from surging this time of year (or perhaps they''re just engulfed by my overwhelming relief that school is finally starting). But everywhere I go, I hear parents talking about it: who their child''s new teacher is, what they''ve heard about him or her, how the class list makes it look like a disproportionate number of challenging kids ended up in the same class, etc. etc. The flurry of drama begins when the class lists are posted on the school doors—usually about five days before the start of school—and continues into the first week or two of school. Then everyone seems to settle down, for the most part.\r\n\r\nToday I received an email from the father of one of my daughter''s classmates. He is very concerned about the number of kids in our daughters'' new class who speak Spanish as a first language (15), versus those who speak English at home (six), and wanted to know if I was interested in joining forces to communicate concern to the principal. My general sense is that my kids will gain more than they will lose from sharing a classroom and teacher with children who are different from them, so for that reason alone, I don''t plan on getting involved. (I wrote <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=35">a post about some of these perspectives</a> last year at this time.)\r\n\r\nBut there''s another reason I hesitate to get involved. It has to do with maintaining a balance between advocating for my own children and advocating for all children. I really go back and forth on this issue, at least when I''m thinking about my kids. After all, as parents, it''s our job to look after and protect our children in whatever way we can—socially, academically and physically. The argument starts to fall apart, though, when you look at the many children whose parents aren''t advocating for them. Some of those parents don''t have the time or energy, others don''t have the skills or confidence, and others aren''t able to look critically enough at their children''s situations to even detect where intervention is called for. So are those kids simply out of luck?\r\n\r\nJason and I were talking about the issue today at lunch, and he made a good point. Although he went to elementary school in what was considered at the time the worst school system in the country (Chicago Public Schools), his parents taught him that people mattered. Everyone mattered. (Jason, as it turns out, is no dummy. Plus he has a huge heart and one of the highest <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotional_intelligence">E.Q.</a>''s of anyone I know.)\r\n\r\nThat''s what my parents taught my brother and me, too: everyone matters, and we need to look out for others—even strangers and the less-than-desirable. Sure, our parents looked out for us in every way, assuring we had wonderful opportunities for growth in our average schools. But it was always clear to me that they didn''t believe in a survival of the fittest type of world. I think I knew from the time I started kindergarten that they were Democrats because it was the party that did the most to look out for everyone, not just the people with money and power and education. The United Methodist Church I grew up in, and my parents still go to, is also intensely focused on looking out for others. They have an Open Door Ministry, which involves the church''s doors being open daily to homeless people who need lunch, laundry and showers, a place to sit and someone to talk to.\r\n\r\nI''m not saying it''s easy to truly look out for others (and I know I''ll never be able to live up to my parents'' example). I vacillate between extremes: worrying that I''m not walking the advocacy talk like I should, and worrying that my kids won''t live up to their potential unless I devote enormous amounts of time and energy to making sure they get the best of everything. And I guess, as a parent and member of the broader community, it''s a good line to be aware of and even wobbling around on, trying to catch my balance. As far as my kids are concerned, I know the school year ahead holds many valuable lessons that will build on their E.Q.''s as well as their I.Q.''s.', 'So...which kids am I responsible for?', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'sowhich-kids-am-i-responsible-for', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=35', '2008-08-26 23:43:31', '2008-08-27 03:43:31', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=55', 0, 'post', '', 2),
(41, 1, '2008-07-18 11:06:40', '2008-07-18 15:06:40', 'Technically, I''ve always lived in the Midwest, although I like to argue that my home state of Michigan is The North. However you see it, in 2001 I moved to the true Midwest—to a place our local meteorologist refers to as "East-Central Illinois," to be exact. It doesn''t get more cornfield than this.\r\n\r\nHalfway to Normal is actually where my friend Dorie lives, assuming you start at my house and drive due west on I-74. About 25 miles into the cornfields, you see a couple of grain elevators and a small racetrack and a place called "Restaurant." That''s the exit for Farmer City. If you keep driving for another 25 miles, you''ll be in Normal, Illinois. Not that we ever have a particular reason to go there.\r\n\r\nWhich is the point of these stories, really. Being halfway to Normal, or somewhere in the vicinity, is, I''ve discovered, just about the right place to be. At least it''s the place where I found God, myself, balance, and true love. It''s the place where my life has become entwined with the lives of people of many experiences and backgrounds—where I took my first Afro-Caribbean dance class, and where my girls experienced their first Passover and Hanukah celebrations, just a stone''s throw away from a grain elevator. This in-between place is where I''ve become family with my husband''s ex-wife and her partner, and where I’ve learned to spot crumbs of grace in everyday moments. It''s the place where I''ve found Christian community that thrives at the bar and around the dining room table as well as around the communion table on Sunday mornings.\r\n\r\nEach day, life in this small Midwestern town presents the most surprising combination of exactly what one might expect and not expect about someone striving to live the Christian life in middle America. In other words, I have stories to tell.', 'Why "Halfway to Normal"', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'why-halfway-to-normal', '', '', '2008-07-18 11:06:40', '2008-07-18 15:06:40', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?page_id=41', 0, 'page', '', 0),
(31, 1, '2007-08-23 12:05:00', '2007-08-23 16:05:00', '<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rs83FGntT_I/AAAAAAAABpI/u77WxwsQtEA/s1600-h/digging.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102357463650095090" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rs83FGntT_I/AAAAAAAABpI/u77WxwsQtEA/s320/digging.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I feel like a true Midwesterner this month, which is unusual for me. I am happy to claim this part of the country as home, but it''s generally difficult for me to really <span style="font-style: italic;">connect</span> with it. If I lived in Chicago, I would feel a connection to the Great Midwestern City. And if I was living on a farm, growing all of my own food and raising chickens, I would feel like I was carrying on the tradition of the Great Midwestern occupation. But instead I''m an urbanite with moderate gardening skills, living in a small town named Urbana. It can be difficult to connect.</span>\r\n\r\nBut this month has felt different.\r\n\r\nFirst of all, we got this idea that we wanted a patio by the side of our house, so we''ve been digging lots of dirt. About 100 cubic feet, which amounts to a good-sized hill when you pile it all up. The dirt is all humusy, dark and rich with organic matter. It''s the kind of soil that drew people here to farm in the early 1800s. It''s the kind of soil that makes my mom recall her childhood in Iowa, and how sweetcorn doesn''t taste as good grown in any soil other than the dark, Midwestern kind. When you start digging into it, all free of weeds and grass, it does make you kind of awed and proud.  <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">To make us feel even more connected to the soil, we have a line of shovels and other soil-related tools leaning up against the back of the house. Friends have come to help us dig, and help us eat donuts or drink beer, depending on whether it''s before or after noon. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Of course, digging all of that soil then moving it from one corner of our yard to the other, in this extreme Midwestern heat, is less romantic than the line of tools and beer-drinking friends. But still. We''re feeling rather connected to the land.</span>\r\n\r\nWhich naturally brings me to the fact that it''s bounty time in East Central Illinois. The farmers'' market is at its peak, with pickup trucks and farm trailers overflowing with sweet corn and watermelons and green beans. People with their own vegetable gardens are being all generous with their crops, too. In our own garden we have an impressive number of green beans from the couple of plants that came up (and we would be swimming in tomatoes if it weren''t for those blasted squirrels who apparently aren''t satisfied with the <a href="http://halfwaytonormal.blogspot.com/2007/07/sky-is-falling.html">walnuts</a> in our yard, so are supplementing their dining habits with our tomatoes—have I mentioned how much I despise the squirrels?).\r\n\r\nThe abundance of fresh produce is exciting, though. It stirs up a state of emergency, of sorts, among our foodie friends. If that seems like overstating it, the harvesting of so many crops at least sparks a new sense of challenge in the kitchen, lest we grow bored with our regular culinary tasks. Now the harvest is driving the menu with impressive force. Everyone I know is digging up recipes that might help them go through a lot of corn or watermelon or zucchini. <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We happen to have a </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">refrigerator full of corn and a </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">table full of tomatoes (some given to us, some purchased at the farmer''s market). We feel compelled to binge on all of the things that we know we won''t taste in quite the same way for many months. It''s a tangible symbol of our grasping at the final weeks of summer. We know it will eventually pass, and in some ways we''ll be very glad to see it go (along with everything sticky and sweet and fruit-fly''d and humid). We just want to fully honor it, so we can properly put it to rest. </span>\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">\r\nIn light of that symbolic celebrating and letting go of summer, here are some of my favorite ways to go through a lot of a few Midwestern fresh crops:</span>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rs8242ntT-I/AAAAAAAABpA/AbbqC7BIAmU/s1600-h/watermelon.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102357253196697570" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rs8242ntT-I/AAAAAAAABpA/AbbqC7BIAmU/s320/watermelon.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Watermelons, anyone?\r\n</span>Ellen was given many watermelons by her pregnant Amish patients (is there a visual metaphor going on, or just coincidence?). With so many watermelons, you might just feel like you have to go to a lot of picnics, but not if you''re married to Gabriel. Oh no. Gabriel turned several melons into a huge tub of watermelon granita, which he then scooped into glasses and poured rum over. Yum. These are the kind of watermelon-laden friends to have.\r\n\r\n<span style="font-weight: bold;">Zucchini galore.</span>\r\nI love zucchini simply sliced lengthwise and grilled with olive oil, salt and pepper. But one of my all-time favorite pasta recipes involves lots of zucchini (four cups, halved and sliced), so it''s best to make hay while the sun shines (as they say), and there''s zucchini a-plenty. To make the pasta, you basically chop a lot of onion and saute it in olive oil, then you add the zucchini and some garlic. Meanwhile, make farfalle pasta (whole wheat is good). At the last moment, put a cup of mascarpone cheese in with the zucchini and onions, and stir it all with the pasta, salting an peppering it, then squeezing in a little fresh lemon juice. Top with parmesan. It''s more exquisite than you might imagine.\r\n\r\n<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Can''t see the table for the tomatoes.\r\n</span>The girls pop the red and yellow cherry tomatoes in their mouths like candy. We layer tomato slices with fresh mozzarella and drizzle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, topping with basil, salt, and pepper. Tonight Jason is making two tomato tarts for dinner. Perhaps our favorite tomato treat, though, is something we picked up in Greece. Put some foil on a cookie sheet, folding up the edges a bit to keep the juices from running off. Slice tomatoes and place on the foil, then top with slices of good-quality feta cheese. Drizzle some olive oil and top with fresh oregano and black pepper. Broil until the cheese gets brown, then pull it out of the oven and squeeze some lemon juice on top. Eat with bread.</span>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rs82rWntT9I/AAAAAAAABo4/qmkQXyuyW00/s1600-h/corn.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102357021268463570" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/Rs82rWntT9I/AAAAAAAABo4/qmkQXyuyW00/s320/corn.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Corn coming out of our ears.</span>\r\nYes, that''s a bad pun, straight from the heartland. We mostly just eat the corn straight from the cob, which the kids love. If there''s anything left that''s already been cooked, we cut it off the cob and put it in cornbread and quesadillas and anything else we can think of. I also have a recipe for a yummy sweet corn-orzo salad, that is packed with fresh corn (four ears) that you cook with the orzo its last couple of minutes on the stove. It has red peppers and loads of fresh basil, too, which is good for us because our basil plant is reaching bush proportions in this jungle-like heat and humidity. Finally, when I''ve done everything else I can think of and I''m frankly getting sick of corn, I buy several last ears, cook them, slice off the kernels and freeze it. Then I start dreaming about fall and cool days, and how delicious that corn will taste in a black bean soup a couple of months from now.', 'Dirt to be proud of', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'dirt-to-be-proud-of', '', '', '2008-08-18 00:27:01', '2008-08-18 04:27:01', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=31', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(32, 1, '2007-08-29 11:31:00', '2007-08-29 15:31:00', '<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RtzTNWntUAI/AAAAAAAABpQ/3TDLM1mpy5M/s1600-h/Q%26S+first+day.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106188303895187458" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_8FX19ncyFB4/RtzTNWntUAI/AAAAAAAABpQ/3TDLM1mpy5M/s320/Q%26S+first+day.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Today is Q and S''s first day of school. They donned new school clothes and shoes, brushed and smoothed their hair until it shone, smiled for pictures on the front porch, then walked three blocks down the sidewalk with quite a load: backpacks, lunches, bulging bags of school supplies, and four parents.</span>\r\n\r\nThis is the second year in a row that their dad (C), his girlfriend (A), Jason and I have all crowded the sidewalk with the girls on their first day. I guess it''s an event, now, and deserves a name. Maybe The Second Annual Walk To School/Reconciliation Day? Kind of wordy. Maybe just the Children with Excess Parents Awareness Day. Not surprisingly, it''s rather hard to put this scene into words.\r\n\r\nIt really doesn''t need a name, though, because it''s not a big deal. At least not to us. Spending lots of time with Jason''s ex-wife and her partner has set the tone for healthy-ex relationships (see my post <a href="http://halfwaytonormal.blogspot.com/2007/06/road-trip-with-my-husbands-ex-wife.html">"A road trip with my husband''s ex-wife"</a>). It was a bit more difficult to get comfy with C and A, but we''re at a good place. I still get the sense, though, that people who generally know who we are but don''t really know <span style="font-style: italic;">us</span> are always a bit amazed/confused/surprised when they see us all together. At a few school events, I''ve even introduced A to various parents, which really throws them. Divorce, while it''s common, is still an elephant of sorts in most rooms. People would rather not be confronted by it.\r\n\r\nBut they sure love to talk about it when the opportunity is ripe. Everyone who has some connection to divorce has a theory about how children are affected. Some think it’s better for them to be exposed to an unhappy marriage, as long as the parents stay together. Others think a divorce, if handled well, ends up being less harmful in the long run. Then there’s the issue of whether children are more affected by divorce when they’re younger or older. What is the worst age for a child to go through a divorce? It’s all confusing, to be sure, and there are plenty of opportunities for the divorced parent to worry and feel weighed down by guilt.\r\n\r\nBut as I watch my girls interact effortlessly with four parents along the sidewalk on a walk to school, the worry and confusion that’s always somewhere in the picture recedes further into a corner. Q and S spread their sweet affection between the four of us, not in a careful measured way, but in a way that follows their whims and the natural impulses of their relationship with each adult. Then they see friends on the sidewalk ahead, and S runs to catch up while Q maintains the composure of a fourth grader.\r\n\r\nI wonder what she''s thinking. Isn’t it embarrassing to be walked to school by four parents? It must be at least <span style="font-style: italic;">somewhat</span> embarrassing, right? But the girls look like they feel extra loved and celebrated on this special day. Having divorced parents (or at least separated parents) has been a fact of life for Q since the day she started kindergarten, and for S since she started preschool. Having parents in new marriages and relationships seems to simply mean more adults to love and be loved by, and more stability and security. I don''t just think this is wishful thinking on my part. I see it in their faces.\r\n\r\nWe arrive at S’s second grade classroom, where she is greeted by the teacher she also had in first grade, and Q had for first and second grades—our family is starting our fourth year with her. Ms. A, who is also a divorced woman with now-grown children, has seen it all, including the moments when Q was in first grade and C and I could hardly be in the same room together. Eventually she saw Jason come into the picture, then was excited about our engagement and upcoming wedding (which S has promised to show her photos of). The six of us are greeted warmly, without a smidgen of surprise or judgment.\r\n\r\nAfter hugs all around for S, our entourage trails Q through the crowded hallway (I greet other parents left and right, mildly wondering what they think of us all), and up the stairs to where the “big kidsâ€ learn. Q’s teacher is new to our family, although it’s possible she knows something about us from talking to last year’s teachers.\r\n\r\nAt any rate, we crowd into the door of the classroom—four adults and one little girl—overwhelming the young teacher a bit, I think. It’s clear she isn’t sure which of us to address, so we try to make it easier, by introducing ourselves. Sort of. Jason has a title now—stepfather—but A is…what? Dad’s girlfriend? I try to ease the confusion by making a joke. “We’re all Q’s parents,â€ I explain. “She’s pretty difficult. It takes a lot of us to keep her in line.â€ Q, who comes off as the least difficult child in the world, graciously laughs, as does her teacher, and we go through the hugging routine—Mama, Papa, J-dad, A—before sending Q to her seat to begin her first day of fourth grade. Her 20-some new classmates, sitting at their tables, are an attentive audience.\r\n\r\nAs we finally leave the school, there’s a somewhat awkward moment between the four "parents," suddenly alone without the two girls who connect us and give us a reason to be together. We walk down the sidewalk, talking <span style="font-style: italic;">about</span> the girls now, rather than <span style="font-style: italic;">with</span> the girls, which establishes the needed bridge. Then we’re able to meander a bit with the conversation, away from the girls. Then we’re at my house and C''s car, where we talk briefly about a missing library book (checked out on his card, then brought to my house, lost, and recently rediscovered between the bed and the wall). Then we  say goodbye and go on with our individual days.\r\n\r\nIt all feels pretty normal now. Usually I don’t even think about our interactions with C and A. At certain moments, though, like a first day of school, I’m suddenly very self-aware. But proud, too, I must admit. I believe there <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> such a thing as a better way to do a divorce, and a healthy way to set aside most of the parental worries and guilt surrounding divorce.\r\n\r\nOne of my favorite quotes, that I feel somehow bound to preach whenever possible, is by Desmond Tutu: "Without forgiveness there is no future." If the reconciliation in our family—the six of us sharing the sidewalk on the first day of school—can serve as a testament to this fact and a future for our girls, I will consider it well worth the effort.', 'Two girls with all kinds of parents', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'two-girls-with-all-kinds-of-parents', '', '', '2009-02-17 12:08:40', '2009-02-17 16:08:40', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=32', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(273, 1, '2009-02-18 01:16:28', '2009-02-18 05:16:28', '', 'cookies2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'cookies2', '', '', '2009-02-18 01:16:28', '2009-02-18 05:16:28', '', 268, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/cookies2.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(33, 1, '2007-09-06 14:33:00', '0000-00-00 00:00:00', '<font size="2"><font face="trebuchet ms">I used to think God''s love for me mirrored my parent''s love for me. It''s a common way for a child to try to grasp it, I''m sure, and it''s not such a bad metaphor, in some ways. But even if your parents are nearly perfect, the way they love is bound to be somewhat tainted.<br /><br />My parents, for instance, did not send a message of harsh judgment, but I did have a very clear idea of what would make them happy with me and what would make them unhappy with me. And I assumed, for whatever reason, that when they were less happy with me, they loved me less. God, therefore, must work the same way, I concluded.<br /><br />I''m really glad this is not the case, as it turns out. Especially now that I''m a parent. I mean, I always Love my children, but I don''t always <font style="font-style: italic;">love</font> them, in that way you love someone you always want to be near, close and cuddly, because everything they do  pleases you.<br /></font></font>', 'Big love is easiest to miss', 0, '', 'draft', 'open', 'open', '', '', '', '', '2007-09-06 14:33:00', '0000-00-00 00:00:00', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=33', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(34, 1, '2007-09-11 12:59:00', '0000-00-00 00:00:00', '<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Karaoke can be a great time. My most recent venture into karaoke famedom was at the Rainbow Lounge in Dubuque, Iowa (it''s a long story), where I sang Janis Joplin''s "Bobby McGee" and Neil Diamond''s "America." Jason sang Verve Pipe''s "Freshmen" and "Rockytop, Tenessee," which leads me to the problem with karaoke. OK, there are many problems with karaoke, but the one that''s bothering me most right now is how karaoke has a way of reintroducing a song you haven''t thought of in a decade, and then cementing it into your psyche.</span></span>\n\n<span style="font-size: x-small;">Something about songs stuck in my head, moving on to people or issues or worries that won''t leave...\n</span>', 'Stuck in my head', 0, '', 'draft', 'open', 'open', '', '', '', '', '2008-12-02 00:49:27', '2008-12-02 04:49:27', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=34', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(35, 1, '2007-09-13 11:44:00', '2007-09-13 15:44:00', '<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Four years ago, when Quillin started kindergarten at the much-loved and -respected elementary school in our neighborhood, I was very happy about the ethnic mix in her classroom. Her teacher and a half dozen of the students were African American, another eight or so children were Spanish-speaking Latinos, and the rest were a mix of Caucasian,  Asian and European. Quillin''s two favorite friends, right from the start, were Iulianna Tarista and Vanessa Cano, whose families were from Muldova and Mexico. Quillin''s days were filled with interactions with Shamarios and Reynaldos and Blancas and Maliks, and as her parent, I was thrilled. Learning about "sameness" and "difference" is perhaps the most valuable lesson any child could learn in elementary school—particularly when those lessons involve people and not just geometric shapes.\r\n\r\nI missed out on many of these experiences growing up in my 99 percent white small town. Luckily, I was raised without any understanding of prejudice, but I didn''t have many chances to witness it, or to even be tempted to fall into that trap. I''ve always wanted a different experience for my girls.\r\n\r\nAnother reason I''m particularly anxious for my girls to have these experiences with different ethnicities and cultures is perhaps somewhat silly and superficial: they''re very very blond and blue-eyed, and I worry about all the stereotypes and superiority complexes that often go along with that in our culture. In this college town, I cringe when I see whole sororities of girls walking around campus with matching shirts and matching blond hair. Could blond hair be a requirement to get in? The thought makes me shudder. I can''t exactly dye my daughters'' hair dark—and I want them to feel loved as exactly who they are, anyway—but I <span style="font-style: italic;">can</span> encourage accepting, open-minded attitudes (and I can, enthusiastically, buy the American Girl dolls of their choice, since they chose Josephina, the Mexican doll, and Kaya, the American Indian). \r\n\r\nWhen Quillin started first grade, we found out the school had decided to put the Spanish-speaking children in their own classrooms. Apparently, studies have shown these children have more success learning English <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> maintaining their bilingual status in this type of program, but all I could think was that the school was modeling segregation for our children. Sure enough, Quillin and the children she played with and loved in kindergarten became distanced, and eventually like strangers. The Spanish-speaking kids stuck together on the playground and in the lunchroom, speaking only Spanish unless an adult spoke to them in English. This arrangement even rippled out to the families, who no longer had reasons to interact. At choir concerts and school meetings, parents mostly stuck close to their own.\r\n\r\nThree years passed like this. Then suddenly, at the start of this school year, there was a shake up. Quillin''s third grade class from last year and the Spanish-speaking third graders were integrated and divided into two separate classes for fourth grade. Nearly every day for the first two weeks of school, I asked Quillin how the kids were getting along, and who played with who at recess. We talked about which of the kids from her kindergarten class were with her again now, then we pulled out some photos from that time, and talked about them.\r\n\r\nOn Tuesday evening I walked down to the school for a parent meeting with Quillin''s teacher and the principal. When I walked into the room, the parents were all sitting in the kids chairs at the kids tables. Those whose kids had been in class together the last few years sat together...which naturally meant there were groupings of white adults and groupings of Latinos. No one wore name tags, and there were no introductions—organized by the teacher or informally between the parents. Instead, the teacher began talking about the new math curriculum and the new computer lab. She told us about changes in the field trip permission form policy and the volunteer screening policy (apparently we now have to be fingerprinted before we can even help the librarian shelve books). Parents asked thinly veiled questions about how the teacher was going to make sure the quick and smart kids weren''t held back (which seemed pretty clearly to point out that the Spanish-speaking children might have a difficult time keeping up, so which kids would set the pace?).\r\n\r\nNot one parent—or the teacher or the principal—spoke directly about this significant change in the classroom community. No one talked about why the change was made, or what was being done to facilitate it. I could only imagine two explanations: either people don''t think that integrating these two groups of kids is that big of a deal, or the whole thing is being carefully stepped around, like an elephant in the room. Either take on the issue was exactly the opposite of what I want modeled for my children.\r\n\r\n"I''m really excited that the Spanish-speaking kids are integrated back into the regular classroom," I said. "But what is being done to intentionally help them foster community with each other?" There was no intentional plan, I was told. It would just happen in time. Time my ass, I thought! Time can just as easily work to solidify negative patterns and habits. Just look what happens to so many marriages over time, when there''s no sense of a vision and a deliberate way to get there. I felt helpless, so I threw food at the problem, as I so often do. "Maybe the families could all have a potluck together," I suggested. "I would be willing to help organize that."\r\n\r\nThen, surprisingly, Sophie''s mom ventured out on a limb of humility and humor. She asked the teacher if we could get definitions of math terms being used in the new curriculum, so we could actually help our kids with their math homework. "Maybe it''s just me," she said, "but I don''t always know what these problems even mean." "Like last night''s assignment?" I asked. "That was crazy! I couldn''t figure out what we were supposed to do!" Everyone began speaking up, laughing, agreeing. Vanessa''s mom, Flor, nudged her husband Victor, smiling and raising her eyebrows at him.</span></span>\r\n\r\nHere we were, a bunch of Spanish- and English-speaking adults, all struggling to figure out some silly fourth grade math problems. I suddenly could picture each of these parents the night before. I imagined them each in their own homes with their children. Maybe they were sitting at the kitchen table, where the good smells of dinner still lingered while another parent did the dishes or made lunches. Dusk was deepening outside as they sat in the glow of the light with their child, trying to get their minds around the homework assignment. At that moment, I finally saw our sameness  overshadowing our difference, and I realized these are exactly the kind of moments I hope our children are having each day.\r\n\r\n<span style="font-weight: bold;">(Somos iguales y diferentes = We are the same and different.)</span>', 'Somos iguales y diferentes', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'somos-iguales-y-diferentes', '', '', '2008-07-21 23:34:19', '2008-07-22 03:34:19', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=35', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(42, 1, '2008-07-22 19:21:37', '2008-07-22 23:21:37', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/dsc00815.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-43" title="dsc00815" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/dsc00815-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="470" height="286" /></a>\r\n\r\nJason and I went to the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago''s Union Park on Saturday. I could people-watch at a festival like that for hours. Correction: I could simply read people''s t-shirts and check out their tattoos for hours. When I add in my other favorite pastimes—noticing how people interact and overhearing snippets of conversation—I could stay happily occupied for days. (IF I didn''t have to deal with port-a-pottys, that is.)\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/">Pitchfork</a> is a Chicago-based online tastemaking publication reviewing mostly indy rock music. The festival has been called "the country''s most significant showcase for the rock underground" (there''s also a bit of festival history in <a href="http://www.suntimes.com/entertainment/1066012,CST-FTR-dero21.article">this article</a>). Not surprisingly, the 17,000 people there each day provide a pretty good almagation of what the "rock underground" looks like when it wears clothes and fixes its hair. (I''m not a fashion writer, so check out <a href="http://themidwasteland.com/blog/pitchfork-music-festival-fashion-2008-saturday">these pics</a> if you want to get the gist.) Essentially, the look is Urban Outfitters, carefully assembled to be over-the-top trendy while made to look like the alternative festival-goer just threw on whatever happened to be lying on the floor when they got out of bed. Add a pair of  Mom''s huge glasses from 1983 and a few piercings and tattoos, and you''re set.\r\n\r\nSeeing as how a good portion of our day Saturday was spent waiting for one thing or another—waiting for the next band to start, waiting in line for food or beer, waiting to use the port-a-potty (which thankfully I only had to use once)—I had plenty of time to think about how people brand themselves. Self-branding is a natural urge, and a good one. It helps us understand (and ultimately communicate to others) who we are, or at least how we want to be seen. At a festival like Pitchfork, ironically, it becomes an effort to identify with a group of others by setting yourself apart as much as possible. The very definition of independent music—out of the mainstream—ends up creating its own sub-stream. If you like the band <a href="http://www.chkchkchk.net/">"!!!"</a> (seriously, that''s their name even though you can''t Google it), then you also support Obama, do your best to save the earth, and have a closet filled with fashions flashbacks from the mid-eighties, when you were still in diapers. Your shoes say more about your social progressiveness and political leanings than they do about more obvious consumer parameters like your income or how much you care about comfort. (Trust me—those ballet-flats from the 80s are NOT comfortable.)\r\n\r\nIn case you''re wondering, I''m not out to criticize people for trying to be different and, in the process, being a lot like everyone else who hangs out where they hang out. Sure, there''s a lot of that out there, but I think finding yourself and your people is important. It''s a valuable process, and what you wear and believe and listen to and do with your free time all feed into that. I just wish people didn''t have to work so hard creating a brand out of thin air. I wish it was more an uncovering of who''s really there, rather than a putting on of some persona.\r\n\r\nAnd really, wouldn''t it be nice if there weren''t so many visual markers and cues immediately leading people into a series of conclusions about your opinions, beliefs and what music is on your iPod? Where were the Animal Collective fans who also love Stravinsky? The ones who pray before eating their Chicago-style dog and washing it down with a beer? What about the boring, generic dressers, who honestly didn''t think through what they were going to wear? And there must have been a few (God forbid) closet McCain supporters at the festival, right?\r\n\r\nI''m sure there was a bit of everything there—all kinds of people in their halfway-to-normal states, like me. It was an independent music festival, after all. And I think the true alternative-independent state involves more mystery and surprise than we generally give it when we try to boil it down into an idea that fits on a t-shirt or bumper sticker.', 'Wearing your mind on your sleeve', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'wearing-your-mind-on-your-sleeve', '', '', '2008-07-23 00:00:50', '2008-07-23 04:00:50', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=42', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(39, 1, '2008-07-17 19:19:24', '2008-07-17 23:19:24', 'At 6:36 Monday evening, I packed a whole lot of family fun into a single, under-140-character Tweet:\r\n\r\n<span class="entry-content"> "We''re parents again w all 3 home: 1 has a fever, 1 is stressed about camp homework &amp; 1 tasted the marinade the raw chicken had been in."</span>\r\n\r\nYes, all of these things happened, and they were made even more stark by the fact that in an instant we had gone from being a young married couple without kids to being a full-fledged family of five. Boom. Three kids all up to something at once, all while we''re trying to get dinner on the table, of course.\r\n\r\n"Mama, can you take my temperature? I think I have a fever."\r\n\r\n"Mama, when I think about my camp I feel <em>stressed</em> because there''s so much work. All we do is work."\r\n\r\nAnd then this, from Jason who stood at the grill cooking chicken: "What did you just taste? Out of THAT bowl? The one that just had the raw chicken in it?!? Go gargle with mouthwash and wash your hands."\r\n\r\n"Welcome back to parenthood," I said to Jason. He did one of those explosive laughs, just barely managing to keep his beer in his mouth. The whole scene was suddenly very funny, the way life is when you only have two choices: laughing or yelling (or maybe three choices, if you include crying).\r\n\r\nThis transfer of kids happens every week. It''s one of the necessary evils that comes with divorce, and I should be used to it by now. My standard line has long been that it takes some time for the girls to transition from one parent''s house to the next, but I''m beginning to accept that maybe I''m the one with the transitioning issues. It makes sense, if you think about it. They''re always kids with parents, regardless of which house they''re in. The backdrop changes—different stuffed animals and pajamas come into the picture—and the rules and expectations shift slightly, but not much.\r\n\r\nFor us, as parents, it''s feast or famine. We''re either in full parenthood mode, or we''re completely stripped of our parenting responsibilities and privileges.  We''re either desperate to find a sitter so we  can sneak away for some time together, or we''re looking sadly into the girls'' empty bedrooms as we go to bed at night, saying how much we miss them.\r\n\r\nI suspect it''s partly this anticipation of their return that messes with my emotions when they actually <em>do</em> return. I''m so happy to have them home that I feel extra guilty when, 15 minutes later, I have the urge to go lock myself in the bathroom for a while. There are suddenly so many questions, so many needs, so much noise—and so many random pairs of shoes lying around. It''s a lot to adjust to all at once, without the luxury of being able to ease into it like a cold swimming pool.\r\n\r\nBut in the end, the plunge approach is not only the only option, it''s probably good—shocking in a way that makes you want to yelp, but exhilarating in the kind of way that''s a reminder of how very much alive you are. And it''s in life''s messiest, yelping-est moments that we''re able to recognize grace most clearly, and are able to creatively extend it to each other, too.\r\n\r\nAlmost exactly two hours after my first Tweet that evening, as the girls were upstairs getting pajamas on and brushing teeth, I left this post:\r\n\r\n<span class="entry-content">"J found a long lost bag of water balloons in the basement &amp; filled them up. For 20 min we forgot all our homework &amp; salmonella worries."</span>\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_1269.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-44" title="img_1269" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_1269-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="415" height="311" /></a>', 'Feast or famine', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'feast-or-famine', '', '', '2008-07-23 00:08:14', '2008-07-23 04:08:14', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=39', 0, 'post', '', 1);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(37, 1, '2008-07-10 10:58:43', '2008-07-10 14:58:43', 'I think I was a sucker for nostalgia before I was technically old enough to experience it. In retrospect, it seems like I was subconsciously crafting a good portion of my childhood experiences simply as nostalgia fodder. I loved stories as a child—loved embellishing re-tellings of playground dramas and recalling the most perfect aspects of every family vacation and holiday. I would start a sentence with: "Remember that great hike we took all the way into the Grand Canyon?" My brother would respond with: "Yeah, we ran out of water a few hours before we made it back and thought we were going to have to be air lifted out."\r\n\r\nMy memories involve the whole family singing Peter, Paul and Mary songs in the car; Bill remembers the time his shoebox full of car games and colored pencils and treasures was left on the car roof, and he watched through the back window of the station wagon as it tumbled and spilled all over the road. I guess I was a revisionist historian at an early age. Luckily, my dad is an avid photographer, so there were always plenty of Kodak moments captured on film to back up my rosy memories. (Who takes pictures when you’re dehydrated and hiking up a steep canyon path, or when a child’s treasures are spilling out along the highway?)\r\n\r\nI had such luck as a child with nostalgia and the necessary fodder for it, I fully expected to continue down that path through college, into marriage, and, of course, through parenthood. In college, it involved reading literature on the Commons lawn with my liberal Christian-hippy friends, then jumping up for an impromptu game of Frisbee. In early marriage, it was going on a rustic camping trip, or having friends over for dinner and wine at our very cool (but appropriately simple) century-old apartment. With just a bit of effort and denial, my life could be parsed out into a series of those slow-motion, music-accompanied interludes you often get in the middle of a movie, when things are at their happiest peak (usually right before some major tragedy or complication enters the picture).\r\n\r\nNot surprisingly, the tragedy and complication in my life didn''t suddenly "enter the picture;" it was there all along, being held back, in part, by the idealism and nostalgia. The reality is that I went through childhood confused about who I was and who I was supposed to be, according to God or my parents, or whoever. Later, at my Christian college, I had plenty of friends and certainly could fake happy scenes with some success. But there was always an underlying feeling of not quite belonging, no matter who I was with, no matter who I was trying to be. I wasn''t completely at home in my life, which extended to my first marriage, which contributed to my divorce. We were young, and didn’t even know ourselves, let alone each other. We had plenty in common, but half of those traits and interests we were able to check off our Ideal Mate Lists were there in the first place only to perpetuate the façade.\r\n\r\nBy the time it was all said and done, I had let go of so much—friends, a husband, a home, a couple of churches, a sense of security in God''s love, the "perfect child" performance I had enacted for my parents, and all the other acts that go along with nurturing a life of nostalgia. It was painful to let each layer go, but perhaps the most difficult layer to shed was an addiction to nostalgia itself—everything else stuck painfully to it like an enormous bandage.\r\n\r\nThe word "nostalgia" dates back to the mid-seventeenth century, and was formed by two Greek words: "nostos," which means "returning home," and "algos," which is a "pain or longing." While it was originally used to describe a longing for someone''s native land, today most of us would describe it as a deep ache—a yearning for a lost time and/or place. Other words that come to mind when I think about my own tendency toward nostalgia include melancholy, bitter-sweet, idealistic, and romantic. Those words still make me feel cozy in a strange, sick way, but it''s difficult to find anything in my past to actually long for. I value all of those painful, heart-wrenching experiences, because I know they were necessary in order to bring me to a place of wholeness and peace in the moment, but I certainly don''t pine for those times. I don’t think fondly of them as I stare into a campfire or walk idly along a leafy sidewalk in autumn. Those days are over.\r\n\r\nI''m beginning to think letting go of the idea of nostalgia is my final step—at least when it comes to this particular challenge. My now is so blessed—a new husband, work I love, and a church community full of people who don’t expect perfection but embrace the process involved in following God—I want to focus on the moment. That’s why my new addiction, if I must have one, is to <em>nowstalgia</em>. The new challenge, because there seems to always be one, will be to not fall into a similar trap, letting nowstalgia slip back into my old nostalgia comfort zone. I mean, now I have actual experiences and moments that don''t need to be edited or revised to be beautiful. I have true nostalgia fodder—to treasure and remember, but to contain so it doesn’t creep up and block my view of now.\r\n\r\nLate last night, I was transferring my photo library to my new MacBook and took a long detour through the 600 or so photos Jason and I took on our honeymoon last summer in Greece. It truly was a picture-perfect trip, in every way. But I’m able to recognize that while photos are to be treasured, they should simultaneously be held in slight suspicion.\r\n\r\nThat’s why, when we were camping last weekend, I made a dash through the rain to get the camera. The whole family was crowded under a drippy tarp eating hotdogs and beans, praying that the rain would stop long enough for us to set up our tent. Not only did I capture a different kind of memory, I managed to get a drop of rain on the camera lens, which blurred the center of every photo we took the next day. Yeah, that’s all frustrating stuff, but I’m trying to accept that there’s no way to perfectly choreograph the life of a family of five AND the weather and all of the other things completely out of my control. I''m much more able now, than I was 10 or 20 years ago, to enjoy the humor and value the life-lessons embedded in the imperfections. Because too pretty and too sweet, after all, do not a good story (or life) make.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_0988.jpg">\r\n</a>', 'Drawn to nowstalgia', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'drawn-to-nowstalgia', '', '', '2008-08-21 22:43:44', '2008-08-22 02:43:44', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=37', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(40, 1, '2008-07-18 10:52:21', '2008-07-18 14:52:21', '', 'img_0988', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0988', '', '', '2008-07-18 10:52:21', '2008-07-18 14:52:21', '', 37, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_0988.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(38, 1, '2008-07-16 16:00:22', '2008-07-16 20:00:22', '', 'img_mys3', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_mys3', '', '', '2008-07-16 16:00:22', '2008-07-16 20:00:22', '', 2, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_mys3.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(43, 1, '2008-07-22 16:13:53', '2008-07-22 20:13:53', '', 'dsc00815', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'dsc00815', '', '', '2008-07-22 16:13:53', '2008-07-22 20:13:53', '', 42, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/dsc00815.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(44, 1, '2008-07-23 00:06:52', '2008-07-23 04:06:52', '', 'img_1269', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_1269', '', '', '2008-07-23 00:06:52', '2008-07-23 04:06:52', '', 39, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/img_1269.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(45, 1, '2008-07-28 15:32:21', '2008-07-28 19:32:21', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/facebook1.jpg"><img class="alignright size-medium wp-image-47" title="facebook1" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/facebook1-300x197.jpg" alt="" width="361" height="237" /></a>\r\n\r\nThe sense of possibility and suspense that has entered my life along with my Facebook account is, at times, almost unbearable.\r\n\r\nI just signed up (ie: caved) at Facebook less than a month ago. Each day since then I find myself marveling at the breadth of information I have access to now, and the joy (and sometimes sinking feeling) that comes with it. There are so many people from my past who, until recently, were just vague question marks and ellipses in my memory. Some didn''t even surface in my memory at all. Now, suddenly, dozens of people I once knew have emerged not as ellipses, but as full sentences and even paragraphs. They have photos and job histories, spouses and ex-spouses, children and pets and dozens of their own connections with other people I may or may not know. They go on vacations and have favorite music, political views and side projects. It''s fascinating...and emotionally draining.\r\n\r\nPerhaps it''s not as emotional for the twenty-something set on Facebook. My guess is that most of their contacts are people they''ve never fully lost touch with, in large part because email and cell phones have always been at their service. They haven''t even had enough time to make and then lose contact with scores of friends. Most of them also haven''t lived enough life to cultivate sufficient drama, which they then have to explain to all those people they''ve lost contact with. A lot happens between the ages of 25 and 35.\r\n\r\nI, on the other hand, have lost many friends over the years. They tend to fall into one of four categories:\r\n\r\na) Friends from high school I didn''t stay in touch with because I didn''t see any reason to.\r\n\r\nb) Friends from college, my early marriage years and my time in St. Louis, who I gradually lost touch with in the busyness of life, moving around, and having babies.\r\n\r\nc) Friends I lost contact with when I moved to Illinois in 2001, mostly because I was simply too depressed to want to share my updates with anyone. Eventually I was too focused on starting over and putting energy into new friendships.\r\n\r\nd) Friends who cut me off because they were somehow hurt, pissed, or just plain judgmental about my divorce (generally due to a lack of information and lack of empathy).\r\n\r\nFor the most part, my honeymoon weeks on Facebook have been full of sweetness, generosity and bliss. I have reconnected with a whole slew of people, including: a friend from high school who I haven''t been in contact with since 1998 (category "a"); two college roommates who fall into category "b" (one of whom, I was sad to learn, has also gone through a divorce); and several really wonderful "category c" people I was close to when I lived in Grand Rapids.\r\n\r\nEven though none of these friends ditched me in a painful way during my divorce years, there was still a sense of trepidation and worrying and wondering: What have they heard about the whole saga? If forced to choose sides, whose side would they be on? What will they think about my reconstructed life? Being in touch with these people through Facebook has provided a quiet place for acceptance and picking up the pieces of old friendships in new ways. The result of almost all of my experiences in this online social network has been a feeling of lightness.\r\n\r\nBut Facebook has sprinkled salt in some old wounds, too. A week before my trip to New York, I saw the photo of an old friend in the "people you may know" section. Yes, I knew her. She and I had been very close for many years, but now she falls into category "d." I couldn''t view her profile, of course, but was able to see that she now lives in New York. In the spirit of all of the reconnecting and beginning-again I''ve been doing via Facebook, I felt compelled to get in touch and let her know I was going to be in New York. Maybe we could meet for lunch or coffee, and sort out the complexities of what happened then and what has happened since. I sent her a message, then spent the next week checking repeatedly for a response. Nothing. I have seen evidence that she''s been active on Facebook during this time, too, so it''s hard to imagine an explanation for her silence other than this: She simply does not want to hear what I might have to say, nor does she want to try to formulate her thoughts and share them with me.\r\n\r\nIt''s situations like these that make me think how much more simple my pre-Facebook social life was. Part of me is tempted to go back. But at the same time, I don''t believe that ignorance is bliss, or that what you don''t know won''t hurt you. Facebook offers a medium for getting everything out on the table, and for that, I''m grateful.', 'Facebook and the drama of new-old friends', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'facebook-and-the-drama-of-new-old-friends', '', '', '2008-07-29 01:05:35', '2008-07-29 05:05:35', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=45', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(46, 1, '2008-07-28 16:11:12', '2008-07-28 20:11:12', '', 'facebook', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'facebook', '', '', '2008-07-28 16:11:12', '2008-07-28 20:11:12', '', 45, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/facebook.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(47, 1, '2008-07-28 16:12:53', '2008-07-28 20:12:53', '', 'facebook1', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'facebook1', '', '', '2008-07-28 16:12:53', '2008-07-28 20:12:53', '', 45, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/facebook1.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(48, 1, '2008-07-31 10:49:11', '2008-07-31 14:49:11', 'I have an overflowing plate of client work, plus an August 1 deadline (yes, that''s tomorrow) to submit a proposal for a collection of essays called <em>Ask Me About My Divorce: Women Open Up About Moving On</em>.\r\n\r\nSo why am I writing a blog post, you ask? I''ve got some thinking out loud to do, and feedback to gather. The problem: getting to the essence of my story in 2,000-3,000 words.\r\n\r\nA divorce, after all, isn''t a single story. Not for me or anyone who''s been through one. It''s a collection of stories and genres—part comedy, part tragedy, a bit of historical documentary drama, and lots of, well, just plain drama.\r\n\r\nOne of the reasons I''m drawn to this particular book project, though, is that it doesn''t intend to play up the tragic or dramatic. Its intent is to provide hope. The call for submission document puts it like this:\r\n\r\n"So many women and children are trapped in unhappy marriages because we are unable to move beyond the feeling that divorce is the devil. Sure, it’s not what we wish for when we walk down the aisle (whether we wear a white gown or a scarlet shift) but if it’s the escape hatch into our best life, it can have more promise around it. It can hold more of a space for the positive."\r\n\r\nI''ve had plenty of positive, life-changing experiences since—no, <em>because of</em>—the messiness of divorce. So which story do I tell? I''ve narrowed it down to two solid possibilities:\r\n\r\nOne story is a humorous, down-and-dirty look at blended families. In particular, it''s a story about how Jason and I have created an extended family of sorts with his ex-wife, her lesbian partner and their baby, along with my two daughters and stepdaughter. This story also touches on how I''ve made peace with my ex, Conrad, and how much I genuinely like his new wife.\r\n\r\nThe other narrative I could write focuses on my love-hate relationship with religion and the church, and how that relationship has evolved alongside my relationships with men. The particulars of this story include losing several Christian friends at the time of my divorce and being told by the church to stop taking communion...and then eventually meeting my new husband at the last place I expected: another church. This story examines how complicated love and faith can be, and how nothing in either realm is ever black and white.\r\n\r\nSo which will it be, readers? Which story is more appealing to my imagined audience? Which one is more marketable to the editor of this book? Which one is more unexpected in its depiction of forgiveness, hope, and the surprising ways a messed up situation can be redeemed?', 'Moving on might be easier than writing about it', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'moving-on-might-be-easier-than-writing-about-it', '', '', '2008-07-31 10:49:11', '2008-07-31 14:49:11', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=48', 0, 'post', '', 3),
(49, 1, '2008-08-06 15:57:30', '2008-08-06 19:57:30', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_1419.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-50" title="img_1419" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_1419-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="377" height="282" /></a>\r\n\r\nI''ve been fretting and <a href="http://twitter.com/">Twittering</a> away about squirrels a lot lately (I''m kt_writes, if you want to follow me, and you''ll be glad to know I tweet about many other topics, too). Here are a few sample tweets, just for flavor:\r\n\r\nBack on July 29: "<span class="entry-content">More tomatoes stolen, others nibbled right on the vine. So tempted to get a BB gun &amp; catch one red-pawed. A scape-squirrel, if you will."</span>\r\n\r\n<span class="entry-content">On Aug 2: "Buying chicken wire to protect our garden. Neighbor said: your yard is like a squirrel grocery store. I said: Yeah, and they''re shoplifting."</span>\r\n\r\n<span class="entry-content">And the Tweet I left just Monday, after putting hours into rigging up a complicated contraption around our four tomato plants:</span> "<span class="entry-content">My war w the squirrels continues. I''m starting to feel like a Loony Toons character who''s obsessed by attempts to thwart the mouse or cat."</span>\r\n\r\nClearly the squirrels have gotten to more than just my tomatoes. They''ve gotten to me. They''re in my head, chattering, scampering, mocking me. The squirrels were the first thing I thought of when I gained consciousness this morning, and they''re the main reason I won''t be able to write at my dining room table today: I can see my tomato plants through the dining room windows.\r\n\r\nWe''ve happily harvested a good number of perfect yellow pear tomatoes, which the squirrels don''t seem to like the color or shape of, or that plant''s highly visible position. But each time one of the more traditional varieties starts to turn from orange to red, with us monitoring it several times a day, it disappears—moments, it seems, before we''re about to pick it. We''ve lost a dozen or more large tomatoes this way, and have not yet tasted even one.\r\n\r\nEven though it might not seem like it, I am trying to not let the squirrels get to me. They are, after all, wild rodents with brains smaller than a cherry tomato itself. They can''t actually be mocking me and playing with my mind, right? Even though it seems like they''re sitting in our tree artfully aiming black walnuts at my head, they''re not actually precise creatures, right? Right.\r\n\r\nSo why do I feel driven to kill a living creature for the first time in my life? Sure I''ve accidentally stepped on ants and purposely slapped mosquitoes and squashed slugs. But I''ve never felt this kind of survivalist drive to protect what''s mine, at about any cost. I almost don''t want to admit this, but I saw a flattened squirrel on the street in my neighborhood yesterday and felt a certain satisfaction. It''s an ugly feeling, even if it''s one that a lot of people in my shoes would (and do) share.\r\n\r\nThey''re only tomatoes, of course, and I don''t want to overstate the situation. But I see possible parallels to much larger, scarier scenarios in our society. The parallel goes like this: I try to nurture and create something good and beautiful, even if it''s small. No matter what I do, I feel thwarted at every turn. I begin to feel helpless and hopeless. Before long, I''m just angry and want to lash out and make someone pay. Essentially, I feel an intense urge to enact justice.\r\n\r\nWhen I think about it like this, I am humbled. I''m also grateful that the only situation in my life that really makes me feel this way is one that deals with squirrels and tomatoes. Scores of people in my own community and certainly around the world feel this way about their very lives. When it comes to my squirrels, I''m convinced that I can have a bit more compassion and a more peaceful heart. When it comes to the greater injustices in the world, I''m more convinced than ever of my responsibility to do something that will help put an end to these vicious societal cycles.', 'Squirrels and social justice', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'squirrels-and-social-justice', '', '', '2008-08-06 15:57:30', '2008-08-06 19:57:30', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=49', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(50, 1, '2008-08-06 15:55:30', '2008-08-06 19:55:30', '', 'img_1419', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_1419', '', '', '2008-08-06 15:55:30', '2008-08-06 19:55:30', '', 49, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_1419.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(53, 1, '2008-08-21 15:08:58', '2008-08-21 19:08:58', '', 'img_8584', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_8584', '', '', '2008-08-21 15:08:58', '2008-08-21 19:08:58', '', 52, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_8584.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(54, 1, '2008-08-21 15:14:04', '2008-08-21 19:14:04', '', 'img_1260', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_1260', '', '', '2008-08-21 15:14:04', '2008-08-21 19:14:04', '', 52, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_1260.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(56, 1, '2008-08-26 16:47:29', '2008-08-26 20:47:29', '', 'img_0239', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0239', '', '', '2008-08-26 16:47:29', '2008-08-26 20:47:29', '', 55, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/img_0239.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(57, 1, '2008-08-29 11:14:38', '2008-08-29 15:14:38', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/2808778495_706dc92393.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-58" title="2808778495_706dc92393" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/2808778495_706dc92393-300x199.jpg" alt="" width="379" height="251" /></a>\r\n\r\nLast night, while we were eating dinner, Jason and I suddenly realized we couldn''t just turn on the kitchen radio and listen to Barack Obama''s historic acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention. It''s not 1948, after all. We could see it all, so we had to see it. The sheer size of the crowd, the expressions on the faces of those who were there, the expression on Obama''s face as he talked—we had to be witnesses.\r\n\r\nThe fact that we don''t get any channels on our television is a bit of a setback at such  moments, but we usually find ways to get around the problem. Last night the solution was a text to our friend Mary:\r\n\r\nMe: Hey there! We''re wondering if we can invite ourselves over tonight to watch Obama. Mary: Sounds great, if you don''t mind watching two adults cry like babies.\r\n\r\nShe then suggested we bring "beer and hankies," and it was a last-minute double date. (I did tear up, even though I didn''t actually expect to. I got goosebumps, too, especially when he said "Tonight I say...ENOUGH!")\r\n\r\nDecades from now, when I remember this shared national event, I will have my own personal backdrops. Most of what will be embedded in my memory will be the people I was with:  Jason, Mary and Derek. The other will be the phone call I got from my mom about 10 minutes after Obama finished his speech. I actually expected to hear my dad''s voice on the other end of the line. He''s the politically active one who went to hear Obama speak in Lansing and applied to be an Obama delegate for Michigan at the DNC. He''s also the one who stays up long after my mom is usually fast asleep (it was about 11:30 in Michigan when my phone rang).\r\n\r\nBut it was my mom''s voice I heard, chanting "Go, Obama! Go, Obama!" As it turned out, my dad was out of town, and Mom had stayed up to watch the speech on her own. She was flying high and needed to connect with someone else who was, too. "I haven''t heard a political speech that inspiring and moving in...forever," she said. "Not since Kennedy!"\r\n\r\nAs she bubbled over with respect and awe, I felt like I was catching a glimpse of the college student she was in the sixties, listening to JFK. "I couldn''t get over the expression on his face, and in his eyes," she said of Obama. "There''s so much sincerity and compassion and humility there. It''s obvious that he feels it all so deeply. How can anyone call him aloof?"\r\n\r\nListening to my mom''s admiration of Obama filled me with an amazing sense of pride, gratitude and hope. It made me think, again, about my political heritage, which I referenced a few days ago in a <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=55">previous post</a>: <em>That’s what my parents taught my brother and me: everyone matters, and we need to look out for others—even strangers and the less-than-desirable.... I think I knew from the time I started kindergarten that they were Democrats because it was the party that did the most to look out for everyone, not just the people with money and power and education.</em>\r\n\r\nIt''s a belief that binds together my family, and Jason''s family. It''s a common belief that in turn connects our two families of origin, joining everyone through something even bigger than our marriage. And it''s a belief that ties us to our friends, and even strangers, wherever they are, whatever their motivation.\r\n\r\nObama touched on this theme last night, not surprisingly summing up the belief far more eloquently and passionately than I did in my last post. Although it''s difficult to choose my favorite part of the speech, this just might be it:\r\n\r\n<em>It''s not because John McCain doesn''t care.  It''s because John McCain doesn''t get it.</em>\r\n\r\n<em>For over two decades, he''s subscribed to that old, discredited Republican philosophy - give more and more to those with the most and hope that prosperity trickles down to everyone else. In Washington, they call this the Ownership Society, but what it really means is - you''re on your own. Out of work? Tough luck. You''re on your own. No health care? The market will fix it. Born into poverty? Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps - even if you don''t have boots. You''re on your own.</em>\r\n\r\n<em>Well it''s time for them to own their failure.  It''s time for us to change America.</em>\r\n\r\nIndeed. So let it be.', 'We are not on our own', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'we-are-not-on-our-own', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=55', '2008-08-30 01:15:46', '2008-08-30 05:15:46', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=57', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(58, 1, '2008-08-29 17:15:16', '2008-08-29 21:15:16', '', '2808778495_706dc92393', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', '2808778495_706dc92393', '', '', '2008-08-29 17:15:16', '2008-08-29 21:15:16', '', 57, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/2808778495_706dc92393.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(59, 1, '2008-09-03 16:00:34', '2008-09-03 20:00:34', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/popmech-privacy-screen.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-60" title="popmech-privacy-screen" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/popmech-privacy-screen.jpg" alt="" width="306" height="260" /></a>\r\n\r\nI became a big believer of transparency about five years ago, as I was going through my divorce. It wasn''t in reaction to any specific lies being <em>told</em>, but rather to lies being <em>lived</em>. At least by me—I can only speak for myself here. I was sick and tired of all the facades, particularly the ones that are too often inherent in church communities. I wanted to be known and accepted—even loved!—for exactly who I was, where I was.\r\n\r\nOf course, I went a bit overboard in my newfound love for transparency and truth telling, which backfired in some instances. In the years since, as I''ve gone through the affirming process of claiming who I am and feeling good about it, I''ve learned to soften my "lay-it-all-out-there" approach with the people in my life.\r\n\r\nBut now I have this blog. Which brings up a whole new set of questions about transparency versus privacy, and where to draw lines. They are questions every blogger and writer who tells stories from their life has to face, and while it''s interesting to see how others handle it, there''s no single proper policy for everyone to adopt. Each writer has to figure it out for herself, just the way people do in interactions with the "real" people in their lives: Some people just naturally divulge all to everyone, while others are naturally much more private. Most manage to find a happy medium.\r\n\r\nWith a blog, though, you''re not just managing relationships with a few dozen people you talk to and see on a regular basis. Anyone and everyone can read what you have to say (and hopefully scores of them will). You''re also probably writing your blog with the goal of accomplishing something. In my case, I think I have stories that can help other people work through their own stories—particularly people who also have lives that haven''t panned out like they thought, and who feel stuck between a variety of worlds that don''t always blend nicely. I get excited about sharing my experiences, and I feel strongly that I have to have a pretty high tolerance for transparency if I''m going to tell them in a way that impacts others.\r\n\r\nIt''s very important to me that I don''t hurt anyone in the process of telling my story, but I also realize there are always going to be people who are more private and sensitive than me. There''s only so much caution you can take before you risk sanitizing the life out of very rich and real tales. I just do my best to question my motives and use my judgment, then I take a breath...and publish.\r\n\r\nIt''s no surprise that countless people out there who are building social media networks in any serious way have grappled with these issues—balancing your real community with your online community, with transparency and privacy and dealing with the fallout that comes when the two worlds collide. There''s no shortage of blog posts and articles on the subject, but yesterday I came across <a href="http://levite.wordpress.com/2008/09/02/social-media-pastor-part-two/">this post, by Jon Swanson of the blog Levite Chronicles,</a> which has been tugging at me in a quiet but persistent way.\r\n\r\nThe post tells about a pastor who was able to expand his ministry through social media networks, in addition to his interactions with his physical congregation. A few days ago, Chris Brogan blogged about him, in the post <a href="http://www.chrisbrogan.com/workflow-social-media-pastor/">Social Media Pastor</a>, followed by Jon Swanson''s post yesterday. Suddenly, it seems, the pastor is feeling more exposed and transparent than he was prepared to feel. Swanson says the pastor "regularly wrestled with what he called his ''living in two worlds'' question"—his "real world" and "digital world." Now the two worlds are overlapping in uncomfortable ways.\r\n\r\nI don''t know all of the details, of course, (like if the pastor has any real reasons to feel uncomfortable), but the quote at the end of the Levite Chronicles post rings very true to me:\r\n\r\n<em>[The pastor] had a funny feeling that now that people were inside his head, there were going to be a lot of conversations. Some of them were going to be pretty uncomfortable.</em>\r\n\r\n<em>“But maybe ministry is supposed to be uncomfortable,â€ he thought. “Maybe transparency will be healthy.â€</em>\r\n\r\nYes and yes. If our Christ-like goals are: 1) to reach out to people in whatever ways work, and 2) to be real about the balancing acts embedded in life and faith, then the pastor is on the right track. And maybe the people in his “real worldâ€ need a broader definition of who our neighbors are and what it means to love them.', 'Privacy in the bright light of transparency', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'privacy-in-the-bright-light-of-transparency', '', 'http://levite.wordpress.com/2008/09/02/social-media-pastor-part-two/\nhttp://www.chrisbrogan.com/workflow-social-media-pastor/', '2009-07-09 13:25:52', '2009-07-09 17:25:52', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=59', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(60, 1, '2008-09-03 12:31:20', '2008-09-03 16:31:20', 'PM7036061A', 'popmech-privacy-screen', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'popmech-privacy-screen', '', '', '2008-09-03 12:31:20', '2008-09-03 16:31:20', '', 59, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/popmech-privacy-screen.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(61, 1, '2008-09-05 17:47:33', '2008-09-05 21:47:33', 'Yesterday at about 4:45 I was in a minor panic over having 15 minutes to get to a parent meeting at my daughters'' elementary school.\r\n\r\nIt wasn''t that I had to freshen up or drive across town or anything like that. The issue was that I hadn''t seen or even talked on the phone to anyone all day. It had been raining steadily since morning, and it seemed like every time I even thought about packing up my computer to walk or drive to a cafe, the rain and wind picked up. I decided it was a good day to hunker down at home, getting a lot of odds and ends done while enjoying the sound of the rain outside my dining room windows.\r\n\r\nWorking in that kind of isolation really throws me into a strange zone, though—one that''s difficult to snap out of. And a parent function at school is one of the most shocking forms of total social immersion—it''s nothing you can ease into.\r\n\r\nThere''s a lot to consider: the parents you <em>want</em> to talk with and those you <em>should</em> talk with; the parents you like and the parents of the kids your kids like; the ex-husband and the neighbors. You''re dealing with multiple layers of the social stratosphere.\r\n\r\nIt''s something I tend to handle well, but that also means expectations are high. And I was feeling extra rough around the edges. My smile felt pasted on, and even my voice sounded strange to me, like a recording, the first time I opened my mouth to greet the parents who were sitting near me, all at our kids'' desks in little kid chairs. Everyone else, I was sure, had spent the day practicing their interactions with other adults. I was at a clear disadvantage.\r\n\r\nWhen I teach copywriting seminars for <a href="http://www.mediabistro.com/courses/cache/instr462.asp">MediaBistro</a>, I usually spend some time talking about the pros and cons of freelancing. As is often the case in life, many of the pros and cons are the same, or at least are rooted in the same reality.\r\n\r\nLike the ability to work on your own. Many people think this is the greatest thing about freelancing—particularly if they''ve spent time in socially stressful and negative office environments. But for me, the working alone part was my biggest fear about going into freelancing, and it continues to be my greatest challenge. I''m a true extrovert. I think that means I''m someone who derives energy and ideas from being around others. I start to shrivel up after about five or six hours of complete isolation.\r\n\r\n<strong>I''ve chosen a very solitary vocation, though, so I''ve learned to cope and even thrive within it.</strong> Partly because I needed more solitude in my life. I don''t naturally gravitate toward the empty, quiet spaces, but I can be gently trained into appreciating and even craving them, the same way salads and classical music can be tucked here and there into the everyday lives of children.\r\n\r\nThe other thing I''ve learned to do along the way, out of necessity, is to be more aware of my personality and needs, and then to be more intentional about making interaction and collaboration happen. Because it''s not naturally there, waiting for me to grab it, interacting with others has become a discipline of sorts, just like solitude is.\r\n\r\nI make a point of picking up the phone and calling a client or designer I''m working with, even when email would do the trick. I pick Jason''s brain over lunch, taking advantage of his great problem-solving skills, in the process giving us connecting points in another area of our lives.\r\n\r\nAnd when I don''t need to brainstorm ideas or get feedback, but  just need to be around activity and people and the shot of energy they give, I head to the cafe—at least when it''s not raining too hard. Not only does it feed my work, it primes me for the other social situations life throws my way. Like parent meetings. Bonus.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0673.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-62" title="img_0673" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0673-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="386" height="289" /></a>', 'Collaborating alone', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'collaborating-alone', '', '', '2009-02-04 11:38:51', '2009-02-04 15:38:51', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=61', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(62, 1, '2008-09-05 17:26:56', '2008-09-05 21:26:56', '', 'img_0673', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0673', '', '', '2008-09-05 17:26:56', '2008-09-05 21:26:56', '', 61, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0673.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(63, 1, '2008-09-09 15:04:27', '2008-09-09 19:04:27', 'I just found out yesterday that my essay proposal for the book <em>Ask Me About My Divorce: Women Speak Up About Moving On</em> was accepted! (I posted about the book project <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=48">here</a>, then followed up with some specifics about my proposal <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=52">here</a>.)\r\n\r\nI also just found out that the editor would like the 4,000-word essay, which has yet to be written, by the end of the week. Yikes!\r\n\r\nAs someone who makes a living putting words together, deadlines are typical fare. I even thrive on them. Maybe that stems from starting my career in newspaper journalism, in an environment that didn''t grasp even the concept of a second draft, let alone a third or fourth. Pound it out. Send it on. Next assignment. Repeat.\r\n\r\nAs a reporter, facts were important, of course, but they were quantifiable: "The proposed addition to the high school would add 9,600 square feet to the building," or "The nine-member zoning board heard six appeals last night." You found out what you needed to know and included it in the story. It was all pretty straight forward.\r\n\r\nIn my freelance copywriting business, deadlines continue to be key to making clients happy. But I''m the Marketing Expert, the Brand Consultant. I know the objectives and can easily assess what needs to happen to get us from point A to point B. It''s certainly creative, but there''s also a methodical, scientific aspect to it that helps corral everything into a neat, contained area.\r\n\r\nBut writing about my life? My thoughts and fears and hopes? Not on a blog that maybe 30 people read, but for print, in a book that everyone can order on Amazon? This is different. This throws the idea of a deadline into a much harsher light. I have to say, I''m feeling rather paralyzed right now. Maybe that has something to do with why I''m writing a blog post rather than working on my essay.\r\n\r\nPart of the problem is inherent in the beauty of true stories and the nature of memory. They are open-ended, organic, always changing depending on the angle and light. My stories shift every time the person I am changes along with a new experience or perspective on the world. In other words, there are many ways to tell my story. I have four days to nail the BEST way.\r\n\r\nWhich brings me to the other problem: expectations. They are perhaps my worse enemy. My expectations for myself can paralyze me like nothing else. I want my story to sing and inspire! I want people to laugh and cry, and understand themselves better! I want them to find hope in my story, and to feel less alone!\r\n\r\nUnfortunately, on the train to Great Expectations, despair is generally the next stop after paralyzation. Which, I realize, doesn''t help me spread hope to anyone.\r\n\r\nSo, I''m taking a deep breath. I''m reminding myself what people respond to—what they''re even hungry for: blunt honesty, real details, and even some vulnerable uncertainty and doubt.\r\n\r\nNow I''m taking another deep breath, and I''m going to try to forget about those people for a while. It will just be me and my computer and my story. Maybe it''s ironic, but I think that''s the best way to speak to my audience in the end.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/images.jpeg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-64" title="images" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/images.jpeg" alt="" width="210" height="210" /></a>', 'Keeping it real on a deadline', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'keeping-it-real-on-a-deadline', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=48', '2008-09-09 15:04:27', '2008-09-09 19:04:27', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=63', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(64, 1, '2008-09-09 14:57:28', '2008-09-09 18:57:28', '', 'images', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'images', '', '', '2008-09-09 14:57:28', '2008-09-09 18:57:28', '', 63, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/images.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(65, 1, '2008-09-13 18:39:43', '2008-09-13 22:39:43', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_9521.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-66" title="img_9521" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_9521-225x300.jpg" alt="" width="232" height="311" /></a>\r\n\r\nOn September 10, my brother, Bill, checked out of the world for the day. At least he seemed to, from my perspective. All day I wondered about him, half worried, half curious. He was just hovering there in my consciousness while I went about my day and he went about his...whatever it was he was doing.\r\n\r\nHe lives in Portland and I''m in Illinois, so it''s no surprise I''m not aware of his every move. For the past 20+ years, since he left our parents'' house for college, I have had essentially no sense of what is going on in his life or mind on a random Wednesday.\r\n\r\nBut the last few months have been different. On July 14, because I suggested it and I am persistent, Bill signed up for a <a href="http://twitter.com/">Twitter</a> account and posted his first tweet. It took about a month for him to gain some momentum and regularity, but for the past month he''s been tweeting about three or four times a day. He leaves tweets describing the antics of his dog, Henry; tweets about the concerts and movies he''s seen; funny observations around his neighborhood; and lots of what one might call "political venting." Recently, he commented that my short anecdotes about Q and S are his favorite thing about Twitter. For an uncle who''s hundreds of miles away from his charming little nieces, I''m not surprised.\r\n\r\nSo when Bill signed up for Twitter, we were suddenly connected. In an everyday way, not in the way you''re connected to someone when you make a point of calling them on the phone once a week (which was more like once a month, in our case). I fell for Twitter almost immediately after signing up, but I love so much more now that my brother is there.\r\n\r\nWhat''s strange is that now, when a whole day passes without an update from Bill (as was the case on September 10), it sort of feels like he''s somehow not out there in the world at all. Certainly, if he''s not tweeting, I think, he must be lying in bed doing nothing. All day. I realize, of course, this makes no sense. He''s going about his life exactly as he was before he started micro-blogging it. But it''s the only way to describe this phenomenon I''ve noticed since Twitter has become a part of my life. Other friends on Twitter have mentioned the same sorts of illogical, but very real, sensations.\r\n\r\nThe next day, Bill was back, making up for Wednesday by posting five tweets. But that day I experienced another strange Twitter phenomenon. Jason, who usually gets my Twitter updates (and those of Bill and a few others) sent directly to his phone as text messages, had turned off that function the evening before, during a meeting, and forgot to turn it back on. Several times he asked me questions he would have known the answer to, had he been reading my tweets.\r\n\r\n"Have you eaten lunch yet?" was the question he called to ask a half hour after I tweeted: "<span class="entry-content">eating a turkey-swiss sandwich on rye, a honeycrisp apple, and fritos. fritos remind me of my childhood more than any other chip." Then he asked "Did you have a productive morning?" even though I had posted three mid-morning tweets from the gym (productive, maybe, but not in the way he was thinking). My first impulse was to ask: "Haven''t you been listening to me?!?" I felt like I had been talking to him all day and he had been only half tuned in, at best. Then I remembered he hadn''t been receiving my tweets. He was imagining my day, in the best way he could, but he had none of the real information I expected him to have. It threw me. It threw our reality.\r\n</span>\r\n\r\nA friend who follows me on Twitter and reads my blog knew I would be interested in an article in last Sunday''s <em>New York Times Magazine</em>, called "<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/07/magazine/07awareness-t.html?pagewanted=1&amp;ei=5124&amp;en=b87f67f56fa2fbe2&amp;ex=1378440000&amp;partner=permalink&amp;exprod=permalink">Brave New World of Digital Intimacy</a>." I finally got around to reading it today—it''s so interesting. I''m particularly fascinated with a concept social scientists call "ambient awareness," as it relates to the scores of minutiae posted on Facebook and Twitter. Here''s how the article''s author, Clive Thompson, explains it:\r\n\r\n<em>This is the paradox of ambient awareness. Each little update — each individual bit of social information — is insignificant on its own, even supremely mundane. But taken together, over time, the little snippets coalesce into a surprisingly sophisticated portrait of your friends’ and family members’ lives, like thousands of dots making a pointillist painting. This was never before possible, because in the real world, no friend would <span class="italic">bother</span> to call you up and detail the sandwiches she was eating. The ambient information becomes like “a type of E.S.P.,â€ as Haley described it to me, an invisible dimension floating over everyday life.</em>\r\n\r\nAn "invisible dimension floating over everyday life." Indeed. It''s so invisible I can''t seem to explain it to people who aren''t themselves wrapped up in it, any more than I can explain the point of Twitter (Twitter users get this type of question a lot, I think: "But what''s the <em>point</em> of telling everyone what you ate for lunch?")\r\n\r\nIf I think about it too hard, I really don''t know. All I do know is that I really really like having Bill on Twitter with me. It makes me feel a bit like we live in the same town again, for the first time since we were kids. Because while it''s the big stuff that makes you feel like you really know someone, it''s the little stuff—like knowing what someone ate for lunch, or hearing their quick, gut response to the latest political news—that makes you feel close.', 'Sibling bonding via ambient awareness', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'sibling-bonding-via-ambient-awareness', '', '', '2009-02-17 12:03:29', '2009-02-17 16:03:29', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=65', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(66, 1, '2008-09-13 18:36:06', '2008-09-13 22:36:06', '', 'img_9521', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_9521', '', '', '2008-09-13 18:36:06', '2008-09-13 22:36:06', '', 65, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_9521.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(67, 1, '2008-09-15 17:49:39', '2008-09-15 21:49:39', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/wipers.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-68" title="wipers" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/wipers-300x216.jpg" alt="" width="360" height="259" /></a>\r\n\r\nIt was a delicious moment on Saturday afternoon. The house was clean. I had just posted on my blog. The kids were all out of the house for various reasons. And I was about to stretch out on the couch and read the most recent issue of <em>The New Yorker</em> (Sept. 15, 2008).\r\n\r\nI started where I always start, with the Comment column in the Talk of the Town. By the time I finished the first paragraph, every ounce of peace and contentment had left me—rapidly, like air escaping a balloon.\r\n\r\nI should know better than to try to relax with any news source this election season. It just isn''t possible. But <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/talk/comment/2008/09/15/080915taco_talk_hertzberg">this comment</a>, by Hendrik Hertzberg, did double the damage, because it stirred up both my political <em>and</em> religious rage. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I read the words "Focus on the Family." I went on to read that Stuart Shepard, who works for the organization, had asked his internet audience if it would "be wrong to pray for rain" in Denver on August 28, the evening Barack Obama was slated to give his acceptance speech. As Hertzberg writes:\r\n\r\n<em>Shepard’s answer, apparently, was no, because he proceeded to do just that. He prayed for there to be rain—abundant rain, torrential rain, “rain of Biblical proportionsâ€—in Denver on August 28th. “I’m praying for unexpected, unanticipated, unforecasted rain that starts two minutes before the speech is set to begin,â€ he said, adding, “I know there will probably be people who will pray for seventy-two degrees and clear skies, but this isn’t a contest.â€</em>\r\n\r\n"WHO does something like this?!?" I bellowed into the dining room, where Jason sat. <em>"</em>Is he a child or just acting like one?!? Has he no shame?!?" (I also said some other things I''ll refrain from printing.)\r\n\r\nOf course, I felt a little better knowing it <em>was</em> 72 and clear when Obama gave his speech. And, as Hertzberg goes on to point out, God apparently arranged instead "...for a hurricane just severe enough to disrupt the opening of the Republican National Convention...."\r\n\r\nThe irony is delicious and confirms my belief that God has an incredible sense of humor. But even humor couldn''t push me beyond my outrage that someone would publicly <em>pray</em> for a ruinous outcome to an event set to draw 84,000 Americans. I lay on the couch fuming, wishing (not for the first time) that Jason and I had gone ahead and printed up t-shirts with the slogan we once dreamed up: "Christians Against Christians." If I had such a shirt, I would have immediately changed into it.\r\n\r\nI often think my life mission should be communicating this one fact: Not All Christians Are Like That. The funny thing about this mission is that it requires getting over my own embarrassment of the label "Christian." As a writer, it''s taken me a long time to  overcome my fear that half my audience will automatically dismiss me as soon as they grasp my belief system. Depending on what''s going on in the news, my willingness to identify my beliefs waxes and wanes. Lately, it seems, it only wanes.\r\n\r\nI called myself on this yesterday. Ironically, it was raining. A torrential rain, of "biblical proportions." And, to layer irony on irony, we were trying to get to church. Every route we took was flooded and impassable, and even though we were within a few blocks of our destination, it was beginning to look like we might have to turn around. I was in the passenger seat posting on Twitter, because that''s what a Twitter-user does in the event of a flood. But in my first post, I failed to mention we were trying to get to church. I imagined all the anti-Christians out there finding it really funny that an "act of God" was keeping us from church, and I just wrote: "the roads are seriously flooded. we cant figure out how to get across town."\r\n\r\nWe finally made it to the parking lot and sat in the car, trying to decide what to do. The street between us and the church was coursing like a river, rippling with current. Lorna, who was also sitting in her car in the parking lot, got into our car, seeking company. We saw people we know and love working to keep the water out of the church lobby. We saw the faces of our friends'' children in the upstairs window, where the sanctuary is. We got a text from their mom, Renee: about 30 people had made it to the church and were there singing together. Jason and I debated what to do. Eventually, I had to pee.\r\n\r\n"We''re going in" I said. The kids were excited. Everyone took off their shoes and rolled up their pants. We each took charge of a girl and forged the stream to the other side. When I stepped off the curb the water was up to my knees. At the door, the welcoming committee was larger than usual, with a dozen or so people armed with squeegees,  brooms, mops, wet vacs, and soggy hugs. Upstairs, before going into the sanctuary, I paused to leave this tweet:  "<span class="entry-content">I had to pee so we couldn''t sit in the parking lot any longer. waded into the church, where people are stranded together, singing."</span>\r\n\r\nStranded together. In other words, still stranded, but not alone. Even when—no, especially when—the storms rage and the floods arrive.   Whatever shape they might take, meteorological or in the form of other Christians. I really believe that God, and everything he really cares about, is bigger than all of it.', 'God, irony and rain', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'god-irony-and-rain', '', '', '2009-07-09 13:27:12', '2009-07-09 17:27:12', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=67', 0, 'post', '', 7),
(68, 1, '2008-09-15 17:39:00', '2008-09-15 21:39:00', 'OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA', 'wipers', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'wipers', '', '', '2008-09-15 17:39:00', '2008-09-15 21:39:00', '', 67, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/wipers.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(69, 1, '2008-09-22 17:47:34', '2008-09-22 21:47:34', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/frontyard2.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-70" title="frontyard2" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/frontyard2-300x200.jpg" alt="" width="347" height="231" /></a>\r\n\r\nJason and I have been in the LA area for the past few days. People back in Illinois, I''ve noticed, have a way of automatically wrinkling up their noses when you mention LA. I get why it has a bad rap, but I find it a bit odd that anyone who lives in East Central Illinois could find anything disparaging to say about spending a few days in Southern California. Great restaurants and culture, sunshine without humidity, mountains, the ocean. I''m not complaining.\r\n\r\nBut we didn''t come here for any of that, anyway. We came to honor a combined 33 years of friendships—Jason''s 20-year friendship with his friend John, who has lived in Pasadena for the last decade, and my 13-year friendship with Aaron and Becca, who just moved to the LA area last month.\r\n\r\nWhen I met Aaron and Becca, I was living in St. Louis, was married to someone else, and none of us had kids. It feels like another lifetime, with a completely different set of characters. But there we were two days ago, sitting together on their patio in Southern California, talking and drinking beer with mountains as our backdrop. Not only do I have a different husband than I did in 1995, but now we have six kids between our two families. Aaron and Becca''s oldest child (born the same year as my oldest) is gangly and pre-teen-like now in his slouchy movements and heavy feet clomping on the stairs. We''ve done a lot of moving since we met, too: I moved from St. Louis to Grand Rapids to Urbana; they recently pulled up deep roots in St. Louis and moved to California.\r\n\r\nSomehow, when I’m with Becca, if I don''t think about it too hard, it''s like we''ve been transported to 1995. Then I catch glimpses of our lives now, in my peripheral vision, and am surprised. So much has changed, and yet Becca and I connect like we always have, talking about everything we can think of, packing in months of catching up into a handful of fleeting hours.\r\n\r\nBesides the fact that I simply love spending time with her, there is something consistent and comforting about our friendship. It endures. She is a touchstone for who I was then, and a bridge connecting me to who I am now, regardless of all the stuff that has happened along the way.\r\n\r\nOld friendships fascinate me. They are like glimpses into a past life, and someone we used to be. But they are also clues to who we really are—who we’ve always been, at our cores.\r\n\r\nThat''s what I loved most about meeting Jason’s childhood friend John for the first time last week. I was able to see character snapshots of the 13-year-old Jason, and find the threads that are woven into who he is now. Sure, as a teen he was confused about plenty and still trying to figure out who he was. But there is something fundamental in him, and in John, that was very much present even back then. The underlying parts of Jason that make him Jason—a quick sense of humor, a love for adventure, a deep kindness—are also in John, making it clear to me why they became friends (even if they had no way to articulate it then).\r\n\r\nHalfway through our California visit, as we were shifting from visiting John and Kim to visiting Aaron and Becca, we arranged for everyone to come together for dinner. John picked a great restaurant—a Thai place that you entered as if you were entering an indoor space, only to find that the high walls reached up to a ceiling that was open to the sky. It was a gorgeous setting, with candles flickering on all of the white-clothed tables, and there was something unexpectedly moving about bringing together these previously disconnected parts of our past. If a wedding is a symbol of taking what was two and making it one, then this meal we shared was a small wedding moment—joining together two people, two pasts, two families and communities, into a single, whole present.\r\n\r\n(btw, this is where the photo depicting our dinner together would go if our camera wasn''t broken. immensely maddening!)', 'Old friendships in new lives', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'old-friendships-in-new-lives', '', '', '2009-01-24 23:03:37', '2009-01-25 03:03:37', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=69', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(70, 1, '2008-09-23 01:01:11', '2008-09-23 05:01:11', '', 'frontyard2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'frontyard2', '', '', '2008-09-23 01:01:11', '2008-09-23 05:01:11', '', 69, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/frontyard2.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(72, 1, '2008-09-24 16:54:26', '2008-09-24 20:54:26', '', 'img_1638', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_1638', '', '', '2008-09-24 16:54:26', '2008-09-24 20:54:26', '', 71, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_1638.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(73, 1, '2008-09-24 17:29:27', '2008-09-24 21:29:27', '', 'img_0664', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0664', '', '', '2008-09-24 17:29:27', '2008-09-24 21:29:27', '', 71, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0664.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(74, 1, '2008-10-26 16:49:40', '2008-10-26 20:49:40', '<em>The idea to write this post was inspired by <a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/20081021/an-invitation-to-play-dia-de-los-muertos/">Magpie Girl</a>, whose own grandmother recently died. In a blog post, Magpie Girl suggested to her readers that we "remember the people whose wisdom and laughter have touched us by creating memorials to them for Dia de los Muertos." Although I''m grateful my grandmothers are still alive, they are both over 90, and I know my time with them is limited.  This letter and one I plan to write soon to my other grandma are small attempts to celebrate these amazing women and their place in my life. It''s kind of sentimental, I know, but that''s just how these things tend to be. Feel free to get sentimental back at me, by sharing some of your memories of people who have been important to you. </em>\r\n\r\nDear Grandma,\r\n\r\nI''ve been thinking about you and decided to write a letter. I realize it''s been a very long time since I''ve done this, even though letter writing was an art and practice my mom taught me as soon as I was old enough to write.\r\n\r\nI have scores of memories of you, but for some reason my thoughts keep wandering back to a particular week one summer, when Bill and I stayed with you and Grandpa at the cottage while our parents were away. Was I seven or maybe eight? Here''s what I remember:\r\n\r\nWe went walking through the Northern Michigan woods to pick wild blueberries, which are so tiny. We picked berries for what seemed like forever, yet the bottoms of our pails were barely barely covered. You motivated us by taking our buckets and showing us how full they''d have to be if we wanted blueberry pancakes, and how much more we''d have to pick in order for you to make a blueberry pie. You taught us persistence and hard work. Then you went swimming in the lake with us so we could cool off and relax.\r\n\r\nEvery night we played Yahtzee or cards. You were so hard-core and competitive. When we played 99, the first person to lose their last penny to the pot had to go do the dinner dishes. (The second person out had to entertain everyone at the piano.) I used to silently resent how much work we had to do while we were visiting you, but now that I know more about your own childhood—especially the years after your dad died, during the depression—I understand you better. And even though there was always work to do at your house, there were lots of games and good food and music, too, with your skillful  piano playing and everyone singing along. You understood the balance of life.\r\n\r\nThat same week, I remember you put rag curlers in my hair. I always wanted curly hair, and you made it happen! You tore strips off of an old, thin blue towel then rolled my hair around them, tying the ends in knots. While you worked, you told me that was how you used to make Aunt Ann''s hair curly when she was little.\r\n\r\nWhen my mom and dad weren''t at the cottage with us, I got to sleep in the second bedroom, which was a treat. I loved the headboard, with its built-in bookshelf and reading light. I remember lying in there, with blue rags knotted in my hair, while you taught me the Lord''s Prayer. Each night that week, you worked with me on memorizing it, section by section. It made me feel so grown up to know it, and so excited at the thought of how surprised my parents would be.\r\n\r\nYou''re 94, now, and I know you''re getting ready to leave this earth. You keep telling me this, even though I don''t want to hear it. But I have to trust, once again, that you understand a lot more than I do about the balance of this life and the journey toward the next. And I''m comforted knowing I have no shortage of memories, lessons and love from you, to carry along with me.\r\n\r\nLove,\r\n\r\nKristin\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmat.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-113" title="gmat" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmat-225x300.jpg" alt="" width="260" height="346" /></a>\r\n\r\n<em>My Grandma T. (Virginia) with my oldest daughter.</em>', 'An open letter to Grandma T.', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'an-open-letter-to-grandma-t', '', '\nhttp://www.magpie-girl.com/20081021/an-invitation-to-play-dia-de-los-muertos/', '2009-01-24 22:51:36', '2009-01-25 02:51:36', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=74', 0, 'post', '', 3),
(75, 1, '2008-09-26 15:11:37', '2008-09-26 19:11:37', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/small-group-0011.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-77" title="small-group-0011" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/small-group-0011-300x188.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="188" /></a>\r\n\r\nEvery other Wednesday, Jason and I get together with our small group from church (that''s pretty much us, above). First we share a meal, then we try to figure out what the Bible is saying and where it intersects with our  daily lives. We don''t always have answers, but we''re never lacking in lively discussion.\r\n\r\nThis week, Jeff, our church''s Mercy and Justice Pastor (front left in pic), tossed this question into the ring: What keeps us from reaching out more—sharing our story, volunteering, inviting people to church, that kind of thing?\r\n\r\nPeople immediately shared a variety of ideas, without having to dig much. Humans are good at excuses. Ours ranged from "I don''t know who I''m supposed to be reaching out to," to "I feel overwhelmed," to "I typically reach out in more subtle rather than direct ways—I focus on  preparing soil and planting seeds."\r\n\r\nThe most widely agreed-upon response, though, was fear—primarily our fear that non-Christians will dismiss us as soon as they discover what we believe. They''ll put up defenses, turn all the stereotypes on full blast ("Christians aren''t thinking, intelligent people," and "they''re judgmental and narrow-minded"), and generally shut us out. I touched on this a few posts back, in <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=67">God, irony and rain</a>.\r\n\r\nThe morning after our small group discussion, I was surprised to see this blog post: <a href="http://www.noelheikkinen.com/2008/09/24/what-holds-you-back/">What holds you back?</a> It''s by <a href="http://www.noelheikkinen.com/about/">Noel Heikkenen</a>, a guy I went to high school with who is a pastor at a vibrant, young church near Michigan State University. In his post, Noel asks his readers essentially the very same question my small group was discussing 300 miles away the night before: What keeps you from "going all out for Jesus?"\r\n\r\nThe reader responses on Noel''s blog run the gamut: fear of failure, insecurity, embarrassment, life''s hectic pace, lack of discipline, selfishness, laziness. It''s the same list that keeps us from doing anything we really want to do, right? Whether it''s writing a book, volunteering at the shelter, making a career change, learning to play an instrument—you name it.\r\n\r\nBut the one response that was mentioned in the comments of Noel''s blog, again and again, was the same general fear my small group narrowed in on: What will people think about me?\r\n\r\nAs I’ve gotten older, I''ve learned to be less worried about what people think. Ironically though, along the way, I’ve also discovered that most non-Christians actually <em>don''t</em> think the things I imagine they do. Sure, they''re fully aware there are a lot of proud, non-discerning, judgmental Christians out there. But I''ve been gradually accepting that they don’t automatically assume the worst of all of us. When I am convinced they''re thinking "What a freak she must be to buy into that crap," it''s more likely they''re actually thinking "Wow, that''s really unexpected and interesting. I wonder what her story is."\r\n\r\nWhen it gets down to it, that''s all I really want, anyway: a good, open, honest conversation, both with people who think and believe like me and those who don''t. It''s not about debating or convincing, it''s about simply being open to conversation, sharing my story and hearing theirs. That''s a kind of interaction most people are willing to engage in; I think, in fact, most people are hungry for it. And there''s nothing to fear—or to lose—in that.', 'Open mouth, insert what''s real', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'open-mouth-insert-whatevers-real', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=67', '2009-07-09 13:29:23', '2009-07-09 17:29:23', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=75', 0, 'post', '', 2),
(76, 1, '2008-09-26 12:33:08', '2008-09-26 16:33:08', '', 'small-group-001', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'small-group-001', '', '', '2008-09-26 12:33:08', '2008-09-26 16:33:08', '', 75, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/small-group-001.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(77, 1, '2008-09-26 12:38:13', '2008-09-26 16:38:13', '', 'small-group-0011', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'small-group-0011', '', '', '2008-09-26 12:38:13', '2008-09-26 16:38:13', '', 75, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/small-group-0011.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(78, 1, '2008-09-29 11:19:30', '2008-09-29 15:19:30', 'Last week, I got an email from my friend Debby, who''s also a writer and recently began reading my blog. She shared just the sort of feedback I love: part complimentary, part constructive. "I think it''s great that you''re able to write just like you talk, with your humor and mildly acerbic wit," she wrote. Then she suggested that perhaps I should make my entries a bit shorter.\r\n\r\nI know, I know! My posts are longer than average, and I''m determined to try shortening and mixing them up. I have proof that I <em>am</em> capable of brevity. I counter my macro blogging practice with micro blogging on <a href="http://twitter.com/">Twitter</a> (I''m kt_writes). To share something surprising, poignant, funny or insightful in 140 characters or less is a great writing exercise (especially for the likes of me).\r\n\r\nSo, here''s to good friends with honest feedback, to a different kind of blog post, and to the beginning of a new week: A few recent tweets to paint a brief picture of my weekend.\r\n\r\n- 2:44 pm, Sept. 26: "wrote to g-ma on Monet note card found at back of desk drawer. changed sheets; 1st x using pillowcases D made for our wedding. too pretty."\r\n\r\n- 3:22 pm, Sept. 26: "just picked tomatoes. now drinking iced coffee on the porch w the scent of tomato plant on my fingers. I''m not ready to let go of summer."\r\n\r\n- 5:44 pm, Sept. 26: "<span class="entry-content">today has been filled with logistical conundrums surrounding kids, cars, clocks and phones. it''s happy hour now, right?"</span>\r\n\r\n- 1:21 pm, Sept. 27: "biking to the market is quaint, until you try to bike home w 2 iced coffees, 3 lbs apples, oats, lentils, bacon &amp; a new Obama yard sign."\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0787.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-82" title="img_0787" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0787-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="225" /></a>\r\n\r\n- <span class="entry-content">3:31 pm, Sept. 27: "we just saw a guy walking down the sidewalk in our neighborhood wearing just a terry robe, w a towel over his shoulder &amp; a toiletry bag!?!?"</span>\r\n\r\n- 2:14 pm, Sept. 28: "<span class="entry-content">want to send the kids out back to pick up all the walnuts so I can mow, but they''re falling w such frequency that it feels like a war zone."</span>\r\n\r\n- <span class="entry-content">6:09 pm, Sept. 28: "trying to get to the heart of what I believe before my "This I Believe" essay class. but the more I think, the less I know."</span>\r\n\r\n- 9:26 pm, Sept. 28: <span class="entry-content">"kids are in bed. late for a school night. S has so many books in her bed, there''s hardly room for her. ''I like sleeping on books'' she said."</span>\r\n\r\n- <span class="entry-content">8:32 am, Sept. 29: "second walk to school, 1st time to deliver girls, 2nd time to deliver forgotten homework. happy Monday indeed."</span>\r\n\r\nAnd happy Monday to you.', 'Bits & pieces of a weekend', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'bits-pieces-of-a-weekend', '', '', '2009-01-24 23:02:03', '2009-01-25 03:02:03', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=78', 0, 'post', '', 2),
(79, 1, '2008-09-29 11:05:08', '2008-09-29 15:05:08', '', 'img_0742', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0742', '', '', '2008-09-29 11:05:08', '2008-09-29 15:05:08', '', 78, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0742.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(80, 1, '2008-09-29 11:06:08', '2008-09-29 15:06:08', '', 'img_8584', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_8584-2', '', '', '2008-09-29 11:06:08', '2008-09-29 15:06:08', '', 78, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_8584.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(83, 1, '2008-09-30 18:05:58', '2008-09-30 22:05:58', 'I''ve been having fun with stereotypes lately. One of my higher ed clients has been working with a design concept that centers on cartoon-like college student characters. In last year''s marketing materials, the characters said random things in talk bubbles. This year, they''ve brought me into the project to develop actual personae and story lines.\r\n\r\nThe whole point is for students to look at the characters and say "Oh yeah, I know that dude, the one who has his entire life planned out on a spread sheet," or "That bubbly, happy, positive-thinker chick sounds <em>exactly</em> like my roommate last year."\r\n\r\nStereotypes can be useful. By making generalizations and exaggerating characteristics, we can bring humor and even clarity to our complex society and world. Marketing professionals who create branding rely on stereotypes to understand core audience traits, desires and motivations. We often actually develop stereotypical characters to keep in mind as we''re creating ads and websites.\r\n\r\nBut stereotypes are clearly dangerous, too. We all know that. In my town, people have been fiercely debating the Fighting Illini mascot, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chief_Illiniwek">Chief Illiniwek</a>, for two decades. Even though the Chief mascot was officially retired in February 2007, I still see students every day wearing Chief sweatshirts, and I drive behind cars (most often gas guzzlers, ahem) brandishing Chief stickers (next to the Bush ''04 stickers, of course).\r\n\r\nI personally became passionate about the debate four years ago, upon running into my close friends with their sweet new baby at the farmers'' market. Their stroller had a "Racial Stereotypes Dehumanize" sticker on it, complete with the Chief logo. The baby—now a bright, articulate preschooler who calls me Auntie Kristin—is African American. The thought of anyone dehumanizing her makes my blood boil. Although I already identified myself as "anti-Chief," I suddenly saw the whole issue in a new light.\r\n\r\nJason and I are committed, both through example and direct conversation, to making sure our three girls understand the world without racial stereotypes. Our community includes friends from a wide variety of backgrounds. When they frequent our home and dinner table, our kids learn something about sameness and difference, even if indirectly. We also actively promote family conversations on the subject. Our kids know why we are against the Chief. They know that many people in our country are vehemently opposed to the idea of a black President. They can converse about these things.\r\n\r\nBut last night, I came face to face with my own brand of stereotyping. Not the sort I do in my work, but the kind I do in my head and in conversation, without even thinking. The kind I do when I connect Republicans to slick, oversized pickup trucks, to the Chief, to.... You get the picture. Anyway, we were having a conversation with our friend Ahbleza, from church. She''s a student at the university, and one of our girls'' favorite babysitters—she''s kind, smart, generous and fun. She''s also a super talented soccer player, and this fall she''s been giving S lessons on Monday afternoons. Last night we invited her to stay and eat with us.\r\n\r\nAhbleza was telling the girls she was born in Chicago. "The city?" Jason asked. He was born in the city, and people from Chicago tend to be sensitive about The City versus The Suburbs. Particularly the West Suburbs, where a large percentage of U of I undergraduates are from. I made a joke about how you can spot kids from the West Suburbs a mile away. It''s a common joke in town, particularly among our many friends who teach at the university.\r\n\r\nAhbleza didn''t laugh, or even smile. Instead, she asked "What do you mean?"\r\n\r\n"You know, the upper-middle class privileged kid who loves going to the mall and to chain restaurants. The sorority girls who look like everyone else in the sorority and everyone they went to high school with," I said, trailing off rather lamely. What <em>did</em> I mean? And what would my daughters understand it to mean?\r\n\r\nIt''s true that stereotypes are more harmful when they''re directed toward the underprivileged and those who are in some way a minority. But suddenly I saw this clearly: Stereotyping isn''t just about <em>who</em> is being profiled, it''s about the <em>act</em> of lumping <em>anyone</em> into a group—particularly someone you don''t even know.\r\n\r\nAnd I felt pretty stupid that I hadn''t thought about it in quite that way before. Everyone is unique, and has the capacity to surprise. Thankfully, each person will somehow step outside of the lines you try to draw around them. And we all have a lot to learn. Thanks, Ahbleza, for the gentle reminder.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/s1946403_44671444_3060.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-84" title="s1946403_44671444_3060" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/s1946403_44671444_3060.jpg" alt="" width="132" height="176" /></a>', 'Fun (maybe not so much) with stereotypes', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'fun-maybe-not-so-much-with-stereotypes', '', '', '2009-02-17 12:02:16', '2009-02-17 16:02:16', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=83', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(81, 1, '2008-09-29 11:13:10', '2008-09-29 15:13:10', '', 'images1', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'images1', '', '', '2008-09-29 11:13:10', '2008-09-29 15:13:10', '', 78, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/images1.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(82, 1, '2008-09-30 11:41:09', '2008-09-30 15:41:09', '', 'img_0787', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0787', '', '', '2008-09-30 11:41:09', '2008-09-30 15:41:09', '', 78, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/img_0787.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(84, 1, '2008-09-30 17:44:21', '2008-09-30 21:44:21', '', 's1946403_44671444_3060', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 's1946403_44671444_3060', '', '', '2008-09-30 17:44:21', '2008-09-30 21:44:21', '', 83, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/s1946403_44671444_3060.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(85, 1, '2008-10-04 20:02:11', '2008-10-05 00:02:11', 'I knew my recent <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=83">post about stereotypes</a> was going to offend <em>someone</em>.\r\n\r\nWhen I sat down to write it, I knew exactly <em>what</em> I wanted to say—I wanted to call myself on the fact that I''m so careful about racial stereotyping but rather careless about stereotyping people like sorority girls and Republicans. But as soon as I started writing, I could tell that <em>how</em> to say it was going to be tricky. I was, after all, writing about race, one of the most controversial topics there is. (As you may have noticed, I also seem to enjoy writing about religion, politics and divorce. Why not throw another touchy topic into the mix, right?)\r\n\r\nWhen writing about race, even the basic issue of whether to refer to someone as "black" or "African-American" is complicated. My general understanding is that black people today prefer "black." I heard <a href="http://www.cornelwest.com/">Cornel West</a> speak on the topic once, and that was his preference. But many people still think African-American is the term that shows respect, particularly in writing. So how, in my blog, should I describe my friends'' baby, whose skin color was critical to my story? And could I describe my conversation with Ahbleza, without describing Ahbleza? It was a conundrum. The more I wrote and rewrote, the more I felt like I was digging myself into a hole.\r\n\r\nAs I wrote in circles, it reminded me of a video made during the primaries by a group of LA-based comics and actors called the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/Election08">Public Service Administration</a> (one of the actors is a friend of mine from college). The video, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SDHxaYhqAo&amp;feature=user">"Don''t Think Of A Black Man,"</a> is a spoof depicting Hillary Clinton''s campaign people trying to keep race out of the race. The more they attempt to avoid mentioning the color of Barack Obama''s skin, the more they get themselves in trouble. That was me, in a way, but unfortunately I wasn''t trying to be funny. I was trying to write about race without falling into the very pitfalls I was cautioning against, in the process.\r\n\r\nFinally, after an extended amount of time spent messing with word choice, I sent a draft of my post to Jason for his feedback. Then I took a deep breath and published it.\r\n\r\nLike I said, I was sure I was going to offend someone. And I did. Who knows, maybe lots of people out there  are annoyed. Just thinking about it is stressful, and makes me want to avoid all touchy subjects on the blog. Maybe I should have followed my instincts and not written a post that I knew would come out wrong in some way.\r\n\r\nBut then I thought about the conversations and thoughtful email exchanges I''ve had with people since publishing that post. I''m glad those conversations happened, because I understand more than I did before. If I put myself out there and open myself up, there''s a good chance someone will be willing to engage, and open up along with me. Without the post—without the conversations—we would all be stuck on a polite, superficial plane, pretending that things like race don''t exist. Safe, but not enlightened.\r\n\r\nI''m going to get it wrong in this blog, time and time again, whether I''m writing about race or something else. It''s just like getting it wrong in my life, but more exposed and public. Sometimes it''s very tempting to go back to journaling in a notebook as a way to practice my craft and work through my thoughts. But then I think about the great hope that comes with real dialogue. I think about the possibility of more conversations happening here in the open, through reader comments. And then I feel like maybe it''s worth the vulnerability and risk. At least if all of you are willing to step in and make it a conversation.', 'A post-polite post on digging deeper', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-post-polite-post-on-digging-deeper', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=83', '2009-01-24 23:00:48', '2009-01-25 03:00:48', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=85', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(86, 1, '2008-10-06 15:32:21', '2008-10-06 19:32:21', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/hope-image.jpeg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-89" title="hope-image" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/hope-image.jpeg" alt="" width="222" height="156" /></a>\r\n\r\nThis wasn''t the first morning I''ve thought it: We really need to switch our alarm clock from the radio to a simple buzzer. A buzzer, after all, just says "get up." Nothing more, nothing less. NPR always says a lot more. Especially these days. Not only is it tough to get out of bed when you''re engrossed in the news, but there''s a lot of news lately that seems to do a number on my blood pressure. Yes, even a fog horn would be less jarring than some of what we''ve been waking up to. I need coffee before I can deal with news.\r\n\r\nOur wakeup call today was a voter in Pennsylvania saying this: "Barack Obama seems too good to be true. He has the right answer for everything. It scares me." And what''s the best antidote to fear? Apparently playing it safe and sticking with what''s familiar.\r\n\r\nBut I don''t want to write about politics this morning (in spite of my shameless visual plug at the top of this post). I want to write about the idea of something being "too good to be true." I totally get where this impulse comes from. We''ve all been hurt. We''ve been burned. We assume (and too often, we assume rightly) that people are only looking out for their own best interests, not ours. Our defenses are up.\r\n\r\nSo when we get a "special offer" from a phone company in the mail, we know there must be hidden charges. When we get an email, as my father-in-law did, that says "I want to give you $500,000 but I just need you to wire me a $100 ''Security Keeping Fee,''" we <em>really</em> know it''s too good to be true. (Even this added bit of assurance couldn''t convince him: "For your information, I have paid for the delivering Charge, Insurance premium and Clearance Certificate Fee of the Cheque showing that it is not a Drug Money or meant to sponsor Terrorist attack in your Country." Nice. I''ll send that Security Keeping Fee right over.)\r\n\r\nSome suspicion is healthy. We''re wired this way for a reason. But the thought of someone <em>not</em> voting for Obama because he seems <em>too good</em>? Nothing strikes me as more sad, more hopeless. We are a nation of people in desperate need of some faith. George Michael had a hit song back in the 80s about how he''s "gotta have faith," but I think the Bible explains it better, whether you apply it to a faith in God or something else: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (Hebrews 11:1)." Doesn''t that sound exactly like what we''re lacking in this time of uncertainty—a clear vision of what we hope for, even if we can''t see it?\r\n\r\nAll of this has made me think about the time I felt most hopeless in my life, after my divorce. I couldn''t even envision what kind of life I wanted, let alone imagine myself grasping such a life. I had no vision, which means I had no hope.\r\n\r\nBut then something "too good to be true" came along: My house. After looking at smaller, less desirable, more expensive homes in the neighborhood and deciding I wasn''t going to be able to afford a house I would really love on a single-mom''s freelance salary, this house virtually fell into my lap. I wrote about it in the post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=26">"A turning point with a street address."</a> Too good to be true? Apparently not. We''ve lived here three years now. The house is still standing, the furnace is working, the roof and basement are dry, and we have wonderful neighbors.\r\n\r\nShortly after I bought the house, some<em>one</em> "too good to be true" came into my life. When Jason and I met, I was just beginning to form a vision of what I hoped for (and even drafted a hypothetical singles ad in my head, which you can read in the post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=6">"Love in unexpected places"</a>). I had no faith, however, that such a man could exist—certainly not in my small town, and unmarried, too. But he did. He does (although now he''s married). He''s too good <em>and</em> he''s true.\r\n\r\nI could have let suspicion and fear rule my heart. I could have walked away from Jason in an effort to protect myself. But I believe there''s nothing in life more worth the risk than this: the hope of something too good to be true, being true. Can we all just go out on a limb a bit, for the hope of something better?\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_3802_2.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-88" title="img_3802_2" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_3802_2-300x207.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="207" /></a>', 'Too good can be true in love, so why not politics?', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'too-good-can-be-true-in-love-so-why-not-politics', '', 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=26\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=6', '2009-01-24 23:00:19', '2009-01-25 03:00:19', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=86', 0, 'post', '', 4),
(87, 1, '2008-10-06 13:18:27', '2008-10-06 17:18:27', '', 'images-1', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'images-1', '', '', '2008-10-06 13:18:27', '2008-10-06 17:18:27', '', 86, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/images-1.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(88, 1, '2008-10-06 13:21:50', '2008-10-06 17:21:50', '', 'img_3802_2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_3802_2', '', '', '2008-10-06 13:21:50', '2008-10-06 17:21:50', '', 86, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_3802_2.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(89, 1, '2008-10-06 15:26:19', '2008-10-06 19:26:19', '', 'hope-image', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'hope-image', '', '', '2008-10-06 15:26:19', '2008-10-06 19:26:19', '', 86, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/hope-image.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(90, 1, '2008-10-08 18:38:31', '2008-10-08 22:38:31', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_8626.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-91" title="img_8626" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_8626-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="357" height="267" /></a>\r\n\r\nThere are certain things I make sure I have time for in the week: meeting client deadlines, making (and drinking) coffee every morning, writing a few blog posts, cuddling and singing to my daughters at night, enjoying a glass of wine and conversation with Jason in the evening.  Showering fits into this category, too (at least most days).\r\n\r\nThere are other things I can sometimes squeeze in and sometimes can''t. Like making a lasagna, taking a long walk, catching up with my parents on the phone, gathering dust bunnies on the staircase, trimming my nails. Those sorts of things.\r\n\r\nWriting about how crazy-busy and overwhelming life is has just about reached cliche status. I have to say it though, even if it is a cliche: I''m feeling overwhelmed. It''s not the various work that needs to be done around the house and yard that''s getting to me, or the pressure of updating this blog with fresh posts. What''s getting to me is the daunting height of the social-media-networking-popularity-contest-platform-building bar.\r\n\r\nWhen I reestablished my blog a few months ago, I wrote a post (<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?m=20080715">Blogs and ulterior motives</a>) about why I was back to blogging. I was told to build an "author''s platform," and a blog is the best foundation. The writing part has been fun. I''m glad for the motivation and discipline.\r\n\r\nBut then there''s the other stuff. To do it right, you have to read heaps of blogs, every day, and leave thoughtful comments regularly. You need to give shout-outs to your favorite bloggers and hope they return the favor with their own link love. Then there''s making friends with (or just catching the attention of) important social media people and "big bloggers" on Twitter and at conferences and meet-ups. I''m still trying to find time to create a simple blogroll. There are so many bells and whistles I could incorporate into the design of my blog—some would be useful, others would simply prove that I know enough about blogging to be taken seriously. But as I said, I can hardly find time to clip my nails, people!\r\n\r\nThis morning, as soon as I finished a client project, I set aside 30 minutes to hunt down some new blogs. The top post of the first one I looked at, <a href="http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/">Citizen of the Month</a>, immediately amplified my stress. The post is called <a href="http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2008/10/07/chat-with-a-new-blogger/">"Chat with a New Blogger."</a> This new blogger (who remains anonymous) is young and eager and energetic. She knows who all the "big bloggers" are, and says things like "You''ve never read them? Everyone reads them." She also talks about how to "get on people''s blogrolls" as a way to "get even bigger."\r\n\r\nIf I had stopped reading at the end of the post, without clicking on the comments, I would have veered dangerously close to the brink of social media despair. But the reader comments cheered me immensely.\r\n\r\n"I...don''t find the ''big bloggers'' all that interesting," one said.  "They are way too gimmicky for me and, as you know, too aware of their ''brand.''"\r\n\r\nAnother reader wrote "I just like to read good writing. What do you get for being a popular blog anyway?" Not fame or money, she points out.\r\n\r\nAnd then there''s this one, which made me laugh: "i have no idea what most of these applications are, i removed my one blogroll and would take down the other one if i knew how. my dog loves me, she’s what makes me feel important."\r\n\r\nFinally, this comment left me in a good place: "I’m always surprised how serious some people take blogging. They become so obsessed with their stats, blogrolls, and readership. More often than not, they forget why they started blogging in the first place!"\r\n\r\nI feel less overwhelmed now than I did when I started this day. There are lots of good people out there who aren''t caught up in the game. And I''m not going to let myself forget why I started blogging in the first place. Not the author''s platform stuff, but the real reason: I have stories to tell.', 'Staying afloat in the social media ocean', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'staying-afloat-in-the-social-media-ocean', '', '\nhttp://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2008/10/07/chat-with-a-new-blogger/', '2009-01-24 22:59:51', '2009-01-25 02:59:51', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=90', 0, 'post', '', 8);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(92, 1, '2008-10-10 12:49:51', '2008-10-10 16:49:51', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_9757_2.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-93" title="img_9757_2" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_9757_2-260x300.jpg" alt="" width="319" height="368" /></a>\r\n\r\nTo be in the same room with Isabella is to love her. You just want to drink her up, like she''s some kind of magic tonic.\r\n\r\nI''ll never forget the first time I saw Isabella. It was actually a picture of her, on an adoption website. There were pages and pages of photos of children waiting to be adopted, each one looking blankly at the camera. I was stunned, overwhelmed. But Rhonda, my best friend since the first day of seventh grade, was pointing at one specific little girl saying, "<em>That''s</em> going to be our daughter."\r\n\r\nTechnically, Rhonda didn''t know that, yet. She and her husband hadn''t begun the adoption process. At the same time, though, they just <em>knew</em>. I stared at the photo. There was no denying Isabella''s most-adorable status, but how can you look at a tiny head-shot on a website and know a child is meant for you?\r\n\r\nOn June 18, 2007, Rhonda and Frank held Isabella for the first time, in Changsha, China.\r\n\r\nLike I said (and you can see), Isabella is adorable, even in an straight-up orphanage photo. But to be in the same room with her is something nearly impossible to describe. She has the kind of curiosity and determination—an openness and love for life—that we all hunger for. She doesn''t just display it. She radiates it. You want to cuddle her right up, in hopes that some of whatever she has will rub off on you.\r\n\r\nIsabella was born with spina bifida and another rare birth defect that prevented her right arm and leg from developing properly. It''s impossible to talk about her without mentioning this, because a huge part of what makes her captivating is her attitude toward her disabilities, and the many ways she overcomes them. There isn''t an ounce of self-pity in her. Trust me, it''s not just because she''s too little to realize what she''s missing. She''s almost four and as smart as a whip. Isabella can see that her brother Marcus and the other children at her preschool are all running around vertically, while she scoots from place to place with one "good" arm and leg, and gets pulled around in a wagon. She just has a very special spirit, that refuses to be dampened—not by the scooting, not by the four months she spent in a body cast after her hip surgery, not by her leg amputation or seven other hospital stays she''s had in the past year. Not by anything.\r\n\r\nAnd today, everything will change—at least physically. Today is the day Isabella gets a new leg. Rhonda told me yesterday, when she called to catch up, that Isabella refers to it as her "robot leg," since "prosthetic" is such a difficult word. If you ask Isabella what''s going to happen today, she says, matter-of-factly, "I''ll get my robot leg. Then I''ll stand up and have fun."\r\n\r\nHaving fun is at the top of Isabella''s priority list. She''s a kid. Of course she can''t wait. For Rhonda, getting the prosthetic is first going to invoke "buckets of tears," she told me. "It''s just a very big day. It represents so much. Being vertical and able to walk is a freedom most of us take for granted. It''s really going to open up her world."\r\n\r\nThis day also reminds Rhonda and Frank—and all of us who love Isabella—what her fate might have been had she not been adopted by a family who could afford the surgeries, in a country where they could be performed. Isabella was born in Hunan Province, one of the poorest in China. It''s not just that she never would have walked there. Rhonda told me there is no care for disabled adults; at 16, Isabella would have been put out on the street, without even a wheelchair to help her along.\r\n\r\nInstead, she''s getting her $7,000 prosthetic leg—a very basic one for starters, with no flex in the ankle and only manually locked positions in the knee. She''s also getting a very special $700 sock, which Rhonda tried to describe to me, but I couldn''t quite get. And then Isabella will learn to walk. I know these eyes won''t be dry when I see it.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/n1387970002_87794_2771.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-94" title="n1387970002_87794_2771" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/n1387970002_87794_2771-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="432" height="324" /></a>', 'A very big day for Isabella', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-very-big-day-for-isabella', '', '', '2009-01-24 22:59:20', '2009-01-25 02:59:20', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=92', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(91, 1, '2008-10-08 18:31:22', '2008-10-08 22:31:22', '', 'img_8626', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_8626', '', '', '2008-10-08 18:31:22', '2008-10-08 22:31:22', '', 90, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_8626.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(93, 1, '2008-10-10 12:39:46', '2008-10-10 16:39:46', '', 'img_9757_2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_9757_2', '', '', '2008-10-10 12:39:46', '2008-10-10 16:39:46', '', 92, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_9757_2.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(94, 1, '2008-10-10 12:41:09', '2008-10-10 16:41:09', '', 'n1387970002_87794_2771', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'n1387970002_87794_2771', '', '', '2008-10-10 12:41:09', '2008-10-10 16:41:09', '', 92, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/n1387970002_87794_2771.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(95, 1, '2008-10-13 17:20:07', '2008-10-13 21:20:07', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/ships3.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-96" title="ships3" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/ships3-300x203.jpg" alt="" width="359" height="242" /></a>\r\n\r\nI woke up this morning feeling really grouchy about Columbus Day.\r\n\r\nSure, there''s the controversial part of it—what exactly should Columbus be remembered for, should we be celebrating him as a national hero, etc. As the <a href="http://www.history.com/minisite.do?content_type=Minisite_Generic&amp;content_type_id=196&amp;display_order=3&amp;mini_id=1044">history.com website</a> says, "Singularly focused on his mission to find riches and conquer new lands, Columbus and his teams treated the indigenous groups they came across as obstacles to their greater mission." There''s nothing to celebrate in that, as far as I''m concerned.\r\n\r\nBut I have to admit, it wasn''t the humanitarian side of me rearing its righteously angry head this morning. It was pure selfishness. The real reason for my baditude was the fact that the kids wouldn''t be going to school today at all. It''s one thing to have the banks closed on a questionable holiday. It''s another thing to disrupt my productive Monday. I wanted to blame someone, so why not Columbus?\r\n\r\nThis is one of the many mixed blessings of parenthood. (See also my related post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=39">"Feast or famine."</a>) The family together-time, like we enjoyed all weekend, can be so lovely. But then suddenly you cross a line, and lovely togetherness becomes extreme togetherness. Everyone desperately needs a break.  The girls need space from each other, to reestablish their individual identities. Jason and I need to remember what it''s like to be individuals, too, rather than just "Mama" or "Dad."\r\n\r\nSpending lots of time alone was one of the things I feared most about freelancing when I was transitioning from a "real job" to my own gig. I''ve grown really dependent on that quiet, thinking, writing time, though. It''s a fine thing to crave, but when I sense it interfering with what could otherwise be seen as parenting pleasures, I need to put it in its place. That''s why I decided to do an attitude check on myself this morning. In the process of practicing positive thinking, I easily arrived at four things to be grateful for about a day with no school:\r\n\r\n<strong>1. An excuse to let go.</strong> This is something I learned to embrace when Q, my first, was a tiny baby. There were many aspects of parenting a newborn that required letting go, but breastfeeding was the most significant. It didn''t matter what I thought I was going to accomplish in a day, or when I planned to have dinner on the table. When it was time to feed Q, I had to let go of all my other goals and plans. I couldn''t just prop her up with a bottle, or try to multi-task while breastfeeding (although I did try a few times). I quickly accepted I just had to sit down, hold her, and let her eat her fill. That''s all that was required of me just then. What a gift those blocks of time were. I was able to look at this school-less day a bit like that, appreciating it as an excuse to let go of my endless work-related to-do list.\r\n\r\n<strong>2. Practicing spontaneity.</strong> Maybe it seems like a contradiction, but I think spontaneity can (and should) be practiced—especially on an out-of-the-ordinary day without a clear schedule or purpose. This morning, when we dropped H off at a friend''s house, the two younger girls and I ended up staying for an hour or so, too. All four girls played together, while the other mom and I took a walk and had a really refreshing, meaningful conversation. I needed that today more than I needed time to crawl inside myself.\r\n\r\n<strong>3. Diversifying my definition of work.</strong> I could easily read and write most of the day, limiting my definition of "work" to what''s done in my head, at a computer. But I know how unhealthy that is. Parenting forces me to exercise other parts of my mind and body. For my mind, a different kind of problem solving and communication is called for. For my body, when we need a change of scene, I get everyone on their bikes to go to the park or library, or I drag them outside to help me with some project in the yard. And on a random day without school or plans, I can go out to the garage and put another coat of paint on our kitchen cabinets, while the kids play outside.\r\n\r\n<strong>4. Savoring simple pleasures.</strong> Although I woke up wishing I had organized playdates or activities for all three of the girls, there is something rare and rich about an unplanned day. It allows for unexpected simple pleasures. S, for instance, happily whiled away an hour researching and then creating a habitat for the grasshopper she caught this morning. She was captivated, and I was her happy, observant audience. Q stretched out on the couch with a good book and her favorite blanket; not many everyday moments are more satisfying than that. And then we all sat down to enjoy grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch—a treat that just doesn''t work in a lunchbox on a school day, and one I never make for only myself. The combination of tastes somehow triggered my own nostalgia for the simple pleasure of a day without school, and I realized I wasn''t feeling grouchy about it any more.\r\n\r\n(Oh, and I also had a conversation with the kids about the complexities of "celebrating" Columbus Day. Sometimes, as a parent in the moment, that''s the most important little-big thing we can do.)\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/srtiped-winged-grasshopper.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-97" title="srtiped-winged-grasshopper" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/srtiped-winged-grasshopper-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="333" height="249" /></a>', 'A baditude adjustment on Columbus Day', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-baditude-adjustment-on-columbus-day', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=39', '2009-02-17 11:58:34', '2009-02-17 15:58:34', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=95', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(96, 1, '2008-10-13 17:02:38', '2008-10-13 21:02:38', '', 'ships3', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'ships3', '', '', '2008-10-13 17:02:38', '2008-10-13 21:02:38', '', 95, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/ships3.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(97, 1, '2008-10-13 17:03:27', '2008-10-13 21:03:27', '', 'srtiped-winged-grasshopper', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'srtiped-winged-grasshopper', '', '', '2008-10-13 17:03:27', '2008-10-13 21:03:27', '', 95, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/srtiped-winged-grasshopper.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(98, 1, '2008-10-14 17:56:53', '2008-10-14 21:56:53', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/beaujolais_couch_480.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-99" title="beaujolais_couch_480" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/beaujolais_couch_480-300x224.jpg" alt="" width="352" height="262" /></a>\r\n\r\n<em> (photo credit and subject: Joe Ziemba)</em>\r\n\r\nAn essay I wrote is going to be in the upcoming Seal Press anthology <em>Ask Me About My Divorce: Women Open Up About Moving On</em>.  (I wrote about it some <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=48">here</a> and <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=63">here</a>.) The editor, Candace Walsh, describes how she wants the book to examine this unhappy subject: "...[divorce is] not what we wish for when we walk down the aisle...but if it’s the escape hatch into our best life, it can have more promise around it. It can hold more of a space for the positive."\r\n\r\nI''m a woman, so the book''s gender-specific nature suited me just fine. Somehow, deep down, I also think I''ve long-believed that women are the ones who <em>really</em> know how to open up about such things in a deep, healing, positive, introspective way.\r\n\r\nThis week, though, I am a humble woman who''s going to push for a second book called <em>Ask Me About My Divorce: Men Open Up About Moving On</em>.\r\n\r\nI''ve always been amazed and inspired by my husband Jason''s reflections on his divorce. He just doesn''t allow himself to get bogged down in the "what-ifs" and the "whys." His solid, genuine friendship today with his ex-wife is also impressive. Now I have two more heroes to add to my list of men who have made something amazing out of life''s messiest messes.\r\n\r\nFirst there''s Joe, a guy I worked with when I first moved to Illinois. He was a designer, I was a copywriter; we sat next to each other and eventually became pretty good friends. Back then, in 2001, we were both married. I was pretty miserable, he seemed pretty happy. In fact, his marriage looked rather idyllic and impossibly hip—he and his wife had been in bands together since high school and were in the process of downsizing to a new, two-person band called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Like_Young">The Like Young</a>. She played drums, he played guitar, they harmonized and indie-rocked out, making two full-length albums and an EP (<a href="http://www.parasol.com/labels/parasol/parcd093.asp">Parasol Records</a>).\r\n\r\nIn 2006, though, The Like Young disbanded—sadly, along with Joe and Amanda''s marriage. This past weekend, I received a copy of Joe''s just-released solo album, <a href="http://www.parasol.com/promo/index.asp#PARCD109">Love at Thirty</a> (under the band name <span style="font-family: Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Beaujolais</span>). The Parasol Records promo calls it "A garage rock opera. Conceptual. Personal. Monumental." I agree. Through the album, Joe tells the story of his anguish, anger, processing and eventual divorce in an incredibly moving yet surprisingly non-sentimental way.\r\n\r\nJoe has taken a horrific experience and redeemed it through his songwriting, giving the rest of us a taste of honesty and hope that is usually too hard to come by. As he wrote recently to me: "The good news is that, today, I''ve never been happier. I feel like I''ve gone through 10 years of growth in 18 months. I viewed the situation as an opportunity to improve upon myself and become the person I''ve always wanted to be."\r\n\r\nYesterday, on the heels of digesting Joe''s lyrics, I read <a href="http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2008/10/13/the-best-blog-of-all-time/">this hopeful blog post</a> by Neil Kramer, another man who''s figuring out how to redeem life''s messes. Here''s how the post, on his blog <a href="http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/">Citizen of the Month</a>, begins:\r\n\r\n<em>I am lucky to have Sophia in my life. She helps me “grow.â€ She teaches me confidence. By nature, I back away from distinguishing myself, about grabbing the most out of life. I have a therapy-sized sense of modesty, insecurity, and need to be liked. But I am 100x stronger than when I first got married.</em>\r\n\r\nIt''s a sweet thing to say about your wife. But it''s an amazing thing to say when you''re currently separated from your wife, and don''t know what will come of your marriage, which is the place where Neil is writing from. Plus he wrote the post on their wedding anniversary, as a response to his sadness and part of the process of pushing through to the other side.\r\n\r\nI, for one, am so glad Joe and Neil are where they are, and that they can share it with the rest of us through their writing and music.', 'A shout-out to sad & healthy men', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-shout-out-to-sad-healthy-men', '', 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=48\nhttp://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2008/10/13/the-best-blog-of-all-time/\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=63', '2009-01-24 22:57:27', '2009-01-25 02:57:27', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=98', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(99, 1, '2008-10-14 15:20:53', '2008-10-14 19:20:53', '', 'beaujolais_couch_480', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'beaujolais_couch_480', '', '', '2008-10-14 15:20:53', '2008-10-14 19:20:53', '', 98, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/beaujolais_couch_480.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(101, 1, '2008-10-16 17:35:19', '2008-10-16 21:35:19', '', 'img_0828_2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0828_2', '', '', '2008-10-16 17:35:19', '2008-10-16 21:35:19', '', 100, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_0828_2.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(102, 1, '2008-10-18 18:57:38', '2008-10-18 22:57:38', 'Today, my dear friend Dr. Dorie came over to cure me and my blog of what''s been ailing us. She''s not really a doctor—she''s actually a web developer and mom and generally crafty person (I''ve written about her before, mostly in the post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=7">Seder in Farmer City</a>). But I can assure you, my blog and I both feel much better after Dorie''s visit.\r\n\r\nFirst, I poured two cups of coffee and we commiserated about how blogging and social media anxieties remind us a bit too much of the anxieties we felt at 14. (Dorie''s fabulous blog is <a href="http://tumblingblocks.net/blog/">Tumbling Blocks</a>. While you''re there, read the sweet story behind <a href="http://tumblingblocks.net/blog/index.cfm/2008/10/3/red-part-two-the-finished-redwork-quilt">the quilt</a> she make for her daughter.) So that was the much-needed therapy part of today''s session.\r\n\r\nThen Dorie went to work on my blog, which has been about as bare-bones as it could be since I launched it at this address in July. I like simple and clean, but I''m not so much a fan of lame.  There''s more to be done, but as you can see, Dorie accomplished a lot just today, moving the blog away from the standard template design I started with toward something that''s more meaningful and more <em>me</em>.\r\n\r\nThe most obvious addition to the blog is the banner. There''s a story that goes with the illustration, which we used on our wedding invitation. The building on the left is our church, where Jason and I met and where we got married about 17 months ago; the one in the middle is a favorite club/bar in town, which we rented out our post-wedding celebration; and on the right is our home, where we parent, cook, garden, love, play and sometimes cry. (We had T-shirts made with the illustration, too, for all of our friends and family who pitched in to help with our wedding.)\r\n\r\nIt''s pretty clear why we dreamed up with this concept for our wedding invitations. But I''ve decided it''s also a perfect way to illustrate what living a life in between is all about—at least for me (it probably is, and should be, a bit different for you). If you look closely at the illustration, you can see it''s a continuous line drawing, like a single thread connecting everything. It says a lot about how I feel about life now. I don''t want to parse my life (or my writing) into neat categories, with nice, separate communities of people assigned to each. As I wrote a while back in the post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=11">Worship in a warehouse</a>, it''s all about creating "a foundational harmony in my life—in my relationships, in my waning sense of want and need and restlessness, and in my true self. Whether I’m at the bar or church or home."\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/photo_montage.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-103" title="photo_montage" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/photo_montage.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="143" /></a>\r\n\r\n(By the way, here''s a huge, public thank-you to Dorie. As we discussed what kind of look I was after for the blog, and she worked and we laughed, I kept wanting to hug her, but knew that would slow her progress. Instead, I thought about how to repay her. It started, in my mind, with the thought of taking her out for some really good drinks. The more work she did, the more my thoughts progressed: A nice dinner. With dessert. And maybe I''ll knit her a scarf or felted purse while I''m at it.)', 'A tale of three buildings (and a friend)', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-tale-of-three-buildings', '', 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=7\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=11', '2009-01-24 22:55:48', '2009-01-25 02:55:48', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=102', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(103, 1, '2008-10-18 18:40:12', '2008-10-18 22:40:12', '', 'photo_montage', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'photo_montage', '', '', '2008-10-18 18:40:12', '2008-10-18 22:40:12', '', 102, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/photo_montage.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(104, 1, '2008-10-20 22:05:29', '2008-10-21 02:05:29', 'Yesterday, when I was busy peeling apples to make into an apple crisp, S made a strange sound in the other room. It was part gasp, part yelp, and part the sound of awe people make when they''re watching fireworks.\r\n\r\n"Mama, look!"\r\n\r\nI went into the dining room, holding a half-peeled apple, the curl of peel still dangling. Q came too, from the living room.\r\n\r\nThere, at eye level (for me) on our sliding glass door, was the most astounding, prehistoric-looking bug I have ever seen—at least in person.  It looked right at us, the way only a praying mantis can, but it wasn''t a praying mantis.  After looking at it more closely, I described it this way on Twitter: <span class="entry-content">" bug looks like a praying mantis with an armadillo''s housing and stegosaurus'' spikes. crazy! anyone know what it might be?"</span>\r\n\r\nI tried taking some photos, but they didn''t do the bug justice. We stared some more as it stared back,  creeping verrrry slowly up the frame of the door. It had a bright red fang (a proboscis?) the length of my pinky nail. The girls and I decided this was worth rousing Jason from his Sunday afternoon nap. (It was about that time, anyway.)\r\n\r\nJason was without question impressed. He was also determined to figure out what this bug was. (In part, he later admitted, he wanted to make sure such a bug couldn''t do serious damage to  a neighborhood dog or child.) He began typing characteristics into Google. After some hunting and refining of his search terms, he found it: The Wheel Bug, Assassin of the Insect World.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/800px-wheel_bug_back.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-105" title="800px-wheel_bug_back" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/800px-wheel_bug_back-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="359" height="269" /></a>\r\n\r\nJust reading about the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheel_bug">Wheel Bug on Wikipedia</a> gave me chills. It''s one of the largest terrestrial "true bugs" in existence, and the only member of its genus. It''s described as "vicious in the wild" with "cannibalistic behaviors." Here''s how it kills and eats its prey:\r\n\r\n<em>It has one of the most developed mouth parts among true bugs. Its beak arises from the anterior end of its long, tubular head and unfolds forward. The bug plunges its beak into its victim, holding them with its front legs. It then injects enzymes into the victim, paralyzing them and dissolving their insides, and proceeds to drain all of the victim''s bodily fluids.</em>\r\n\r\nOK, my point—quick, before I lose anyone who''s feeling squeamish. (Instead, I''ll drive people away with my gut opinions.) As we examined this amazing creature, I thought two things, pretty much simultaneously:\r\n\r\n1. How could anyone think God whipped one of these little guys up on The Sixth Day, approximately five thousand years ago, right before he moved on to make people? <span style="font-family: Verdana,Helvetica,Arial;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></span>\r\n\r\n2. How could anyone look at this intricate design and <em>not</em> believe in a creative, higher power at work in creation?\r\n\r\nIn general, my problem with both concepts—traditional creationism and a traditional view of evolution—is that they limit God. The first one limits God <span style="font-family: Verdana,Helvetica,Arial;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">by assuming everything that exists today had to be made by him <em>exactly as it is</em>, without any changes along the way. Can''t God dream up something and give it the ability to adapt and change through time? The second belief, of course, limits God by just shutting him out of the process entirely. </span></span>\r\n\r\nI think it''s pretty clear I''m not a scientist nor a theologian, so if you''re tempted to debate me from either side you probably won''t find it very satisfying. Last month, though, Jason and I heard a radio interview with a guy named <a href="http://thankgodforevolution.com/">Michael Dowd</a>, who I think might be articulating something I believe but haven''t had words for. (Btw, Rev. Dowd calls himself an "Evangelical Evolutionist." I love it. A perfect example of the "living a life in between" stuff I''m always carrying on about.)\r\n\r\nBasically, Rev. Dowd (who is married to evolution writer <a href="http://www.thegreatstory.org/CB-writings.html">Connie Barlow</a>) believes God and evolution co-exist, and he''s committed to traveling around the country promoting religion that isn''t afraid of science. Apparently Christians and atheists alike are open to his message.\r\n\r\nI need to read more of Rev. Dowd''s work before I can know for sure what I think about his beliefs. But there was something he said In the interview I heard that was particularly exciting to me. He said (and I''m paraphrasing), the only evolution story most Christians have heard is one that''s cold and soulless, devoid of any larger purpose or meaning. Until we can re-tell the story in a way that''s God-affirming and life-affirming, as well as science-affirming, I don''t blame people for resisting evolution.\r\n\r\nI think that''s true of pretty much everything surrounding life and religion. It''s not that the facts are necessarily wrong. It''s about finding a new paradigm and figuring out how to best tell the story.', 'A bug preaching science at me', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'a-bug-preaching-science-at-me', '', '', '2009-02-17 11:54:46', '2009-02-17 15:54:46', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=104', 0, 'post', '', 2),
(105, 1, '2008-10-20 14:49:43', '2008-10-20 18:49:43', '', '800px-wheel_bug_back', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', '800px-wheel_bug_back', '', '', '2008-10-20 14:49:43', '2008-10-20 18:49:43', '', 104, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/800px-wheel_bug_back.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(107, 1, '2008-10-21 14:31:33', '2008-10-21 18:31:33', '', 'img_0847', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'img_0847', '', '', '2008-10-21 14:31:33', '2008-10-21 18:31:33', '', 106, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/img_0847.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(108, 1, '2008-10-21 14:33:54', '2008-10-21 18:33:54', '', 'leftovers', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'leftovers', '', '', '2008-10-21 14:33:54', '2008-10-21 18:33:54', '', 106, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/leftovers.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(109, 1, '2008-10-23 00:21:21', '2008-10-23 04:21:21', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/t-shirt1.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-112" title="t-shirt1" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/t-shirt1-300x286.jpg" alt="" width="341" height="325" /></a>\r\n\r\nOK. Time to put on my Christians Against Christians T-shirt again. (In case you''re wondering, this shirt doesn''t actually exist. Yet.)\r\n\r\nI really don''t want to blog about politics—it''s not my thing. But one of my things <em>is</em> spreading the word that Not All Christians Are Like That, and these days it''s hard to separate that theme from politics.\r\n\r\nSo...here I go. Did you all see this <a href="http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2008/10/22/palin-god-will-do-the-right-thing-on-election-day/">CNN headline</a> yesterday? "Palin: God will do the right thing on election day." I started spitting venomous bile when I saw it. I''m sure it''s not the worst thing that''s been said connecting religion and politics during this race, but I''m pretty sure it''s the one that''s affected me most violently. It''s so wrong on so many levels, I hardly know where to begin. I''ll just say a few things and be done with it.\r\n\r\n1. I agree. God <em>is</em> going to do the right thing. But that "right thing" doesn''t have anything to do with American politics. It certainly has nothing to do with Sarah Palin, who seems to think she has God all figured out. I know she <em>thinks</em> she''s trying to present God as really really big, by saying that he can turn Obama''s lead in the polls into a win for McCain. But what she''s actually doing is presenting God as very very petty and small.\r\n\r\n2. It''s interesting that when Palin said this "right thing" bit about God, she was at Focus on the Family. That''s the same organization that publicly prayed for rain in the evening of Obama''s DNC acceptance speech (I wrote about this in <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=67">God, irony and rain</a>). As you probably remember, it was perfectly clear and 72 degrees in Denver the evening Obama spoke, and the Republican National Convention got partially rained out. Coincidence?\r\n\r\n3. My first two points aside, and regardless of my personal beliefs, it''s time to demand that religion be left out of politics. Believers of every stripe along with non-believers need to stand up together and insist in a clear separation of church and state. Applying a personal belief system to your personal political perspective is one thing; wielding God around like a weapon and invoking him to promote extremist views is flat out wrong.\r\n\r\n4. I know Palin is ridiculous. So do the nearly 700 people who commented on the CNN story. (As I skimmed, I only saw one comment that supported Palin.) This is very comforting. It''s also comforting to know that people are going to do what they want when they go to the polls, because God gave us brains and free wills. When it gets down to it, the most disturbing part of all this, to me, is the damage Palin is doing to the reputation of both women and of Christians. For smart, liberal, Christian women (yes, they exist), the cringe factor is doubled. No, tripled.\r\n\r\nAt least she creates lots of damage-control work for people like me. Keeps us busy.\r\n\r\nI''m going to wrap things up with one of the CNN article comments, from someone in Tulsa. He/she sums up what I think God is really about quite nicely:\r\n\r\n<em>My faith tells me these are the virtues to strive for;\r\nValour: Pursuit of Courage and Knowledge\r\nGenerosity: Pursuit of Giving\r\nLiberality: Pursuit of Will\r\nDiligence: Pursuit of Ethics\r\nPatience: Pursuit of Peace\r\nKindness: Pursuit of Charity\r\nHumility: Pursuit of Modesty\r\nOnly one of our candidates represents these. It''s not McCain.</em>', 'Do the right thing', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'do-the-right-thing', '', 'http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2008/10/22/palin-god-will-do-the-right-thing-on-election-day/\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=67', '2009-01-24 22:52:19', '2009-01-25 02:52:19', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=109', 0, 'post', '', 10),
(110, 1, '2008-10-24 16:43:40', '2008-10-24 20:43:40', '', 't-shirt', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 't-shirt', '', '', '2008-10-24 16:43:40', '2008-10-24 20:43:40', '', 109, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/t-shirt.tiff', 0, 'attachment', 'image/tiff', 0),
(111, 1, '2008-10-24 16:45:53', '2008-10-24 20:45:53', '', 't-shirt', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 't-shirt-2', '', '', '2008-10-24 16:45:53', '2008-10-24 20:45:53', '', 109, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/t-shirt.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(112, 1, '2008-10-24 17:16:37', '2008-10-24 21:16:37', '', 't-shirt1', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 't-shirt1', '', '', '2008-10-24 17:16:37', '2008-10-24 21:16:37', '', 109, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/t-shirt1.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(113, 1, '2008-10-24 18:22:29', '2008-10-24 22:22:29', '', 'gmat', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'gmat', '', '', '2008-10-24 18:22:29', '2008-10-24 22:22:29', '', 74, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmat.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(114, 1, '2008-10-27 15:47:48', '2008-10-27 19:47:48', '<em>This is Part Two of my celebration of two amazing women and their roles in shaping who I am. The idea to write these posts about my grandmothers was inspired by <a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/20081021/an-invitation-to-play-dia-de-los-muertos/">Magpie Girl</a>''s remembrances of her own grandmother, and the approach of All Souls'' Day. I don''t want to wait until they are gone to remember them.\r\n</em>\r\n\r\nDear Grandma,\r\n\r\nYou have always been someone I feel inexplicably close to, even though most of my life you lived far away in California.\r\n\r\nI''m convinced that part of our closeness was actually the result of distance. I only got to see you every other year, but you were my first pen-pal. It was by reading your letters to me that I learned to write letters. Yours were expressive, with lots of exclamation points and underlining. I could hear your voice in them, as if we were talking on the phone. Your letters were descriptive, too—you used words to paint images of your interactions with people and the beauty of the physical world around you. Reading your letters made me feel like I was right there.\r\n\r\nAs I learned the art of letter writing by your example, I then tried my hand at it by regularly penning my thoughts West toward you. A few years ago, when my mom and her sister flew to California to move you out of your home, my mom found what must be every letter I had ever written to you. Just the thought of you treasuring each letter I sent fills me with your love. I''m not sure why exactly, but I haven''t yet gone through those letters I wrote so long ago. In part, I think it''s because I know how clear a window they will be into who I was then, and who you were to me: a true pen-pal, who I could safely open up to within the private space created by pen on paper. I need to somehow prepare myself before I''m ready to peer through that window.\r\n\r\nI think there''s something else, though, that has made me feel close to you. I have always recognized in you a sizable portion of who I was and am, as well as a significant aspect of who I wanted (and still want) to be. I could relate to your love for words and music and clothes, and to your quirky sense of humor. I could also relate to your feisty response to anything that ruffled your feathers, and to how that feisty attitude sometimes got you in trouble. You were transparent and opinionated, and you took life head-on.\r\n\r\nWhat I couldn''t always relate to, but was always drawn to, was your pure joyfulness in all circumstances, and your unwavering trust in God''s goodness. You were always a true light to those around you; somehow you managed to bring sunshine to people without ever downplaying life''s darkness and storms. You were a realist, without being cynical. I wanted—and still want—to be more like you.\r\n\r\nNow you are 93, living in a nursing home in Michigan so my parents can spend time with you almost every day. Even as your body has weakened and your mind has become clouded with dementia, you have managed to be the light of the nursing home, spreading your infectious joy as you spent your days scooting around the halls in your wheelchair. Just recently, you''ve started napping most of the day, and requiring someone to feed you, which is hard for me to imagine.\r\n\r\nWhile writing this letter to you now makes me incredibly happy as I think of all of the letters that have gone back and forth between us, it also makes me profoundly sad. The saddest thing is knowing that you can''t read what I''m trying to communicate to you, or even understand as my mom reads these words to you. And I can''t stop myself from wondering why I never directly said these things to you before, when you could absorb them. All I can do is trust that, just as our bond was was always deeper than words on a page, the underlying essence of everything that was felt, but not written or said, somehow makes its way through to your heart.\r\n\r\nLove,\r\n\r\nKristin\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmac.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-115" title="gmac" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmac-225x300.jpg" alt="" width="262" height="349" /></a>\r\n\r\n<em>My Grandma C. (June), with my youngest daughter, S June.</em>', 'An open letter to Grandma C.', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'an-open-letter-to-grandma-c', '', '\nhttp://www.magpie-girl.com/20081021/an-invitation-to-play-dia-de-los-muertos/', '2009-02-17 11:53:21', '2009-02-17 15:53:21', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=114', 0, 'post', '', 4),
(115, 1, '2008-10-27 15:10:16', '2008-10-27 19:10:16', '', 'gmac', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'gmac', '', '', '2008-10-27 15:10:16', '2008-10-27 19:10:16', '', 114, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmac.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(116, 1, '2008-10-28 13:38:29', '2008-10-28 17:38:29', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/tag.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-121" title="tag" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/tag-300x216.jpg" alt="" width="342" height="247" /></a>\r\n\r\nI love words. Always have. When words are combined in surprising and quirky ways, I love them even more. When they''re used in highly visual ways, I get really excited.\r\n\r\nIt''s probably not surprising that I love tag clouds, too. When Dorie and I were recently redesigning my blog and thinking about which widgets to keep or add and which ones to do away with (or at least to move down in the hierarchy), my tag cloud was the one thing I refused to let go of.\r\n\r\nMy attachment to tag clouds has a lot to do with my fundamental love for words—loving how they look and sound, their textures and shapes, their potential to be funny, witty and heart-wrenching. But I also love tag clouds because they somehow define the undefinable. They establish and give definition to that in-between space that might otherwise feel like Nowheresville. Take this string of words from my tag cloud:\r\n\r\nFacebook  fear  forgiveness  freelancing  God  grandma  guilt  harvest  hope  humor\r\n\r\nWhat does it mean, exactly? Who knows? Who cares? It''s not about what it means, it''s about how it feels and how it makes you feel. It says something very clearly, without <em>meaning</em> anything at all. I like that. It moves the emphasis away from meaning, which is what we tend to cling to when we''re dealing with words, and it refocuses us on feeling, something we more commonly reserve for art and photography.\r\n\r\nAs a visual person with pretty much no artistic talents, I''ve often felt more limited by words than I''d like to be. As a person living a life somewhere in between many societal norms, labels tend to make me feel claustrophobic. I don''t want to be pegged as simply The Christian, or just The Divorcee. I don''t want to be The Political Blogger or The Foodie or The Sentimental Sappy One (which was what has been worrying me since I wrote two posts in a row about my grandmothers).\r\n\r\nMaybe tag clouds just provide an easy way for me to wiggle my way out of being pegged or defined, and maybe that''s OK. Because I don''t think it''s a shift to a place that''s more abstract and vague. Tag clouds bring clarity and restore balance, by putting divorce and church, hope and guilt, anger and forgiveness, and even Grandma and Barack Obama all into the same picture. And that, to me, is an accurate picture of life.\r\n\r\n(Btw, I created the tag cloud at the top of my post at <a href="http://wordle.net/">Wordle</a>. If you have a blog and feel like creating a Wordle tag cloud for it, please leave a link here. I''d love to see a tag cloud image of whatever it is you''re about.)', 'An ode to tag clouds', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'an-ode-to-tag-clouds', '', '', '2009-01-24 22:50:38', '2009-01-25 02:50:38', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=116', 0, 'post', '', 2),
(117, 1, '2008-10-28 12:38:08', '2008-10-28 16:38:08', '', 'halfway_to_normal', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'halfway_to_normal', '', '', '2008-10-28 12:38:08', '2008-10-28 16:38:08', '', 116, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/halfway_to_normal.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(118, 1, '2008-10-28 12:51:33', '2008-10-28 16:51:33', '', 'blog-tag-cloud', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'blog-tag-cloud', '', '', '2008-10-28 12:51:33', '2008-10-28 16:51:33', '', 116, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/blog-tag-cloud.tiff', 0, 'attachment', 'image/tiff', 0),
(119, 1, '2008-10-28 12:53:15', '2008-10-28 16:53:15', '', 'blog-tag-cloud', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'blog-tag-cloud-2', '', '', '2008-10-28 12:53:15', '2008-10-28 16:53:15', '', 116, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/blog-tag-cloud.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(120, 1, '2008-10-28 12:54:24', '2008-10-28 16:54:24', '', 'blog-tag-cloud2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'blog-tag-cloud2', '', '', '2008-10-28 12:54:24', '2008-10-28 16:54:24', '', 116, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/blog-tag-cloud2.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(121, 1, '2008-10-28 13:02:41', '2008-10-28 17:02:41', '', 'tag', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'tag', '', '', '2008-10-28 13:02:41', '2008-10-28 17:02:41', '', 116, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/tag.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(122, 1, '2008-10-30 16:06:39', '2008-10-30 20:06:39', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/bubblingwater.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-127" title="bubblingwater" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/bubblingwater-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="334" height="250" /></a><a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/crystal-ball-skull-l.jpg"> </a>\r\n\r\n<strong>"How You Can Help End the Problem of Blogs with Great Content and No Readers."</strong> When I saw this headline on <a href="http://chuckwestbrook.com/great-content-no-readers/">Chuck Westbrook''s Blog</a>, I secretly thought what I''m sure hundreds of bloggers out there were each individually thinking: "That''s me! I have great content and no readers!" (I know I probably shouldn''t admit to such thoughts, but let''s be real—<em>lots</em> of bloggers were thinking it. Many even offered their blogs up for consideration right there in the comments section of Chuck''s post.)\r\n\r\nAs I continued reading about Chuck''s idea, though, I quickly forgot about me and instead got excited about what happens when a bunch of regular people join forces for positive change. Here''s Chuck''s simple and powerful concept to help some great blogs be heard through the overwhelming din:\r\n<ol>\r\n	<li><em>Gather some nice bloggers who believe in helping good content rise. The more the merrier. This becomes our group for the project.</em></li>\r\n	<li><em>A good, lesser-known blog is chosen.  Everyone in the group will read that blog for two weeks.</em></li>\r\n	<li><em>At the end of the two weeks, the group moves to another blog to read.</em></li>\r\n</ol>\r\n<em>With scores of bloggers focused on a particular blog, the author should see many nice things happen over those two weeks, especially if the blog really is a hidden gem. This includes discussions, traffic, constructive criticism, encouragement, and connecting to some of the bloggers in the group. That author then joins the group and we move along and do it again.</em>\r\n\r\nChuck''s project made me think about <a href="http://www.thelongtail.com/the_long_tail/about.html">Chris Anderson''s Long Tail Theory</a>. Essentially, Anderson''s theory is an economic one that says if enough people buy enough obscure CDs, DVDs, books etc., the overall economic impact of those purchases can rival that of the true blockbusters and hits. In other words, we''re no longer limited to the relatively small number of CDs or DVDs that big box stores like Best Buy can fit on their shelves. We have countless, amazing options available to us on line, even if we don''t live in New York. Together, those Indy, low-budget and more obscure options constitute the Long Tail.\r\n\r\nThat''s what Chuck is claiming about blogs—there''s no lack of great content out there. Certainly anyone who wants to put together a blog roll that''s micro-tailored to their particular interests, niches—and even to their preferable level of wit, warmth or nerdiness—should be able to. The only problem, of course, is how to find all that''s great and obscure in your niche, especially because it''s not going to magically rise to the top of your Google search results all by itself. (For the blogger, musician or filmmaker, the problem is the same but in reverse—how to hunt down that elusive audience they just know is out there.)\r\n\r\nAnderson calls those who help facilitate these matches-made-in-heaven "filters." Chuck''s project is a grassroots filter. It''s also what social media sites like <a href="http://www.spout.com/">Spout</a> are devoted to: helping people easily filter through the thousands of possibilities and find what''s best for them.\r\n\r\nI love this cultural development. A musician doesn''t have to be signed by a big label any more for her music to be heard; a writer doesn''t have to have several books published before his words and ideas can be widely read. The Long Tail is full of exciting stuff. But, as Anderson says, "A Long Tail without good filters is just noise." And there''s already too much noise out there. So here''s to Chuck, to the couple hundred people who''ve signed up to be readers for his project, and to anyone else who''s devoted to being a good filter. Without you, all that high-quality, undiscovered content might as well not exist.', 'Helping great content bubble to the surface', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'helping-great-content-bubble-to-the-surface', '', '\nhttp://chuckwestbrook.com/great-content-no-readers/', '2009-01-24 22:50:05', '2009-01-25 02:50:05', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=122', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(123, 1, '2008-10-30 15:32:14', '2008-10-30 19:32:14', '', 'images-2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'images-2', '', '', '2008-10-30 15:32:14', '2008-10-30 19:32:14', '', 122, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/images-2.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0);
INSERT INTO `wp_d8mand_posts` (`ID`, `post_author`, `post_date`, `post_date_gmt`, `post_content`, `post_title`, `post_category`, `post_excerpt`, `post_status`, `comment_status`, `ping_status`, `post_password`, `post_name`, `to_ping`, `pinged`, `post_modified`, `post_modified_gmt`, `post_content_filtered`, `post_parent`, `guid`, `menu_order`, `post_type`, `post_mime_type`, `comment_count`) VALUES
(124, 1, '2008-10-30 15:32:49', '2008-10-30 19:32:49', '', 'images-11', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'images-11', '', '', '2008-10-30 15:32:49', '2008-10-30 19:32:49', '', 122, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/images-11.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(125, 1, '2008-10-30 15:33:27', '2008-10-30 19:33:27', '', 'images', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'images-3', '', '', '2008-10-30 15:33:27', '2008-10-30 19:33:27', '', 122, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/images.jpeg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(126, 1, '2008-10-30 15:34:52', '2008-10-30 19:34:52', '', 'crystal-ball-skull-l', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'crystal-ball-skull-l', '', '', '2008-10-30 15:34:52', '2008-10-30 19:34:52', '', 122, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/crystal-ball-skull-l.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(127, 1, '2008-10-30 15:42:32', '2008-10-30 19:42:32', '', 'bubblingwater', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'bubblingwater', '', '', '2008-10-30 15:42:32', '2008-10-30 19:42:32', '', 122, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/bubblingwater.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(128, 1, '0000-00-00 00:00:00', '0000-00-00 00:00:00', 'Since posting my <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=74">Open letter to Grandma T.</a> and another one to <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=114">Grandma C.</a> last week, as part of an All Souls Day project organized by <a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/20081021/an-invitation-to-play-dia-de-los-muertos/">Magpie Girl</a>, some of my blog readers and <a href="http://twitter.com/">Twitter</a> followers have shared memories of their own grandparents. Each one is so beautiful and moving, expressing small yet very telling glimpses of these large personalities. (The first few were written as "tweets," which is why they''re so short and sweet!)\r\n\r\nI''ve always been fascinated by memory. The older my grandmothers get, the more interested I become—in my own memories of them, as well as their memories of the past. Some memories shared are best encapsulated as a taste or a smell—miniature marshmallows, waffle cookies, a family pasta sauce recipe or lingering pipe tobacco. Others are wrapped up in a particular experience or a wash of feeling—a long car trip . Whatever form your own remembrances take, whether they''re larger than life or miniscule in the broad scope of things, it is important that we remember. When we bring to mind what we know about someone, we are taking what is conceptual and abstract, and making it real again.\r\n\r\n<strong>Heather T.</strong><span class="entry-content">\r\nAfter my pre-K MD visit &amp; the torture of shots(!) my great grandma gave me miniature marshmallows to make me feel better. </span><span class="entry-content"> Also, she let me sneak into Grandma &amp; Grandpa''s camper, which was forbidden and AWESOME.</span>\r\n\r\n<strong>Marsha K.</strong><span class="entry-content">\r\n[as a] 5 YO, restless on long car trip to Yosemite, [my] grandmother made up a game and played it with me for hours. I learned love.</span>\r\n\r\n<strong>Barb C.</strong><span class="entry-content">\r\nMy G-ma H gave us "grandma cookies:" waffle kind that come in fake strawberry/choc/van.</span>\r\n\r\n<strong>Nancy P.</strong><span class="entry-content">\r\n</span><span class="entry-content">Filipino g-parents inhale you when they give you a kiss. Hard to describe w/out demonstrating. They put their face to your cheek &amp; as they kiss you they inhale. Emphasis on the inhale. Miia calls it the "lola kiss."</span>\r\n\r\nLola (grandma in Tagalog) was quite a special woman to me and my whole family. She moved in with us when I was 8, my sister was 5 and my brother was a few months old. She lived with us until I was a freshman in high school-taking care of us, cooking, helping us with our homework. She was the 3rd parent not just a grandma. As I look back, I realize we were so lucky to have her in our lives. It didn’t matter what she was doing, she always had a story to tell us. Something would reminder her of a person or an event in her past and she would start, “When I was a little girl…â€ or “Did I tell you about…â€ Some days, I would think, “Oh no, not again.â€ But most days, I thought she was the most magical woman I knew.\r\n\r\n<span class="entry-content">I fondly remember Tatay (my grandpa) smelling of pipe tobacco, coffee-chocolate candy and Aqua Velva. He </span><span class="entry-content">always wore a tweed jacket, dress pants, a button-down shirt (short or long sleeves depending on the weather) &amp; a tweed hat. My other g-ma (Nanay) was a beauty queen. She was/is very regal &amp; imposing in a way. I used to be afraid of her until she smiled.</span>\r\n\r\n<strong> Becky C.</strong>\r\nMy sister and I were just together, which is usually about an annual event, since I live in England and she in Northern Florida. But, our 82 year old mother was in hospital in Jacksonville and so I made a quick trip. We started reminiscing about our Gramma, our mother<span class="text_exposed_show">’s mother, who we both miss greatly. Our biggest memories were of how she usually had a cold beer in her hand, carefully wrapped in a paper towel, how she''d make us each any cake at all we requested for our birthdays (our younger brother once had a baby blue one!), and of how she somehow imparted to us that pixies and fairies truly exist. It turns out my sister and I have slightly different ideas about how she knew this, but they were all lovely stories. She had a big heart, a great sense of fun, creativity, generosity and curiosity, and many friends. She was a pretty perfect grandmother for both me and my sister and we are really rather different characters. I think that says a lot!</span>\r\n\r\n<strong>Denine B.</strong>\r\nOne of my favorite memories with Nanny - sitting in her kitchen, at her elbow, hearing the story of our family''s pasta sauce. Alone with her in there, with all her special ingredients and tools, hearing the changes the recipe absorbed throughout the different generations made me feel like I was charged with keeping vital secrets! Getting to stir <span class="text_exposed_show">and taste the sauce was amazing, but the company and the stories were the best parts. That and sneaking a meatball off the plate before she plopped them into the sauce, that is! I do the same thing with my little Lulu now, and each time we make sauce and I see the excitement on her face and hear her recite bits and pieces of the stories from her memory, I feel I have my Nanny back with me again. </span>', 'Six women, six remembrances ', 0, '', 'draft', 'open', 'open', '', '', '', '', '2008-11-03 01:01:21', '2008-11-03 05:01:21', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=128', 0, 'post', '', 0),
(129, 1, '2008-10-31 20:22:08', '2008-11-01 00:22:08', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/elphiba.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-132" title="elphiba" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/elphiba-225x300.jpg" alt="" width="260" height="346" /></a>\r\n\r\nI was just at my daughters'' elementary school for the Halloween parade and classroom parties. I stood with the other parents on the light-dappled playground this gorgeous fall day, as the little witches and goblins and Harry Potters and cowgirls and butterflies traipsed by, squinting into the sun and smiling for the cameras. There are some things about being a kid, especially at Halloween, that never change. Being at an elementary school for these festivities takes me back like nothing else (besides the smell of a school cafeteria, that is).\r\n\r\nMany things have changed, though. Of course they have. My friends and I used to go out trick-or-treating together, without parents, when we were eight, ten and twelve like our girls. Now we wouldn''t dream of sending them out on their own.\r\n\r\nBut in general, it feels safe. We live in a small Midwestern town, where college students are the most dangerous people to keep an eye out for (and trust me, we do). My kids have been able to experience childhood in a way that at least somewhat <em>resembles</em> my own youth, with a few extra precautions sprinkled in here and there like bike helmets and more parent chaperoning.\r\n\r\nSome people seem to be drawn to danger, though. They seem to crave it, as if there aren''t enough real things to worry about so we need to manufacture a few more for good measure. This afternoon, as we stood watching our little darlings parade around the school in costume, my friend Ellen reminded me of how she and some of our other friends sacrificed me up to the local TV news reporter who was filming at last year''s parade.  He wanted to interview a parent about the Dangers of Halloween.\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Reporter: "Are you going to let your kids go trick-or-treating tonight?"</p>\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Me, a bit clueless and puzzled: "Umm, yes."</p>\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Reporter: "Don''t you worry that it''s too dangerous?"</p>\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Me: "Well, we don''t send them out on their own. We go with them."</p>\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Reporter, pressing on, determined to get his angle on the story: "But sometimes aren''t you worried for their safety? And don''t you just think that it would be easier to stay home?"</p>\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Me, getting annoyed: "Assuming that there are dangers out there and things to fear, I don''t see how staying home is a good way to teach our children to deal with those things. The better way is to make sure they understand what the dangers are and how to be on the lookout for them. Then you show them how to go out into the world and have fun, living their lives in full, yet responsible ways."</p>\r\nI don''t think it was quite what he was after, but I was on the news that evening, nonetheless.\r\n<h3>Scary times for our nation</h3>\r\nThere are plenty of reasons to be contemplating fear right now. Not only is it Halloween, but our country is mired in a seemingly endless war that has lowered the world''s opinion of us, our economy is tanking, and fear tactics are being used left and right to influence voters heading to the polls.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\n(Two asides: Someone mentioned on Twitter that this year''s scariest Halloween costume would be to somehow dress up as the economy. I also wrote about fear and hope in relation to the election in my post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=86">Too good can be true in love, why not politics?</a>)\r\n\r\nIt''s easy to see how fear influences us, but I can''t think of anything more self-defeating than being ruled by  fear. Well, except maybe being ruled by ignorance or stupidity—ignorance being the problem that often leads to fear, and stupidity often being the product of the other extreme: throwing all caution to the wind and taking too lightly the real dangers of the world.\r\n<h3>F.D.R. knew a thing or two about fear, too</h3>\r\nLuckily, some really wise people have pondered the problem of fear before, so I don''t have to come up with the pithiest sentiments on my own. (It''s certainly too much for me to sort through today, as I whip off this post before putting green makeup all over my eight-year-old.) Franklin D. Roosevelt had good reason to know quite a bit about fear in 1933, when he became president. As he said in his inaugural address, "Only  a foolish optimist can deny the dark realities of the moment."\r\n\r\nIt''s true today, too—we can''t and shouldn''t deny the dark realities. But we shouldn''t hide away from them, either, or try to shield our children from them by pretending they don''t exist. Just as F.D.R. knew what was required of him, "courage and devotion that befit the time" are required of us.\r\n\r\n<em>This is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and  boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. ...First of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to  fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes  needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our  national life, a leadership of frankness and of vigor has met with that  understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to  victory.</em>\r\n—Franklin D. Roosevelt, First Inaugural Address, March 4, 1933\r\n\r\n(There are many sites where you can hear and read F.D.R.''s entire inaugural address. <a href="http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/fdrfirstinaugural.html">Here''s one.</a> If you haven''t read it recently, in light of our nation''s current state, you definitely should.)', 'Nothing to fear but fear', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'nothing-to-fear-but-fear', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=86', '2009-01-24 22:49:31', '2009-01-25 02:49:31', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=129', 0, 'post', '', 2),
(130, 1, '2008-10-31 17:44:00', '2008-10-31 21:44:00', '', 's-hween', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 's-hween', '', '', '2008-10-31 17:44:00', '2008-10-31 21:44:00', '', 129, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/s-hween.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(131, 1, '2008-10-31 17:46:14', '2008-10-31 21:46:14', '', 's-hween-2', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 's-hween-2', '', '', '2008-10-31 17:46:14', '2008-10-31 21:46:14', '', 129, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/s-hween-2.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(132, 1, '2008-10-31 19:42:12', '2008-10-31 23:42:12', '', 'elphiba', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'elphiba', '', '', '2008-10-31 19:42:12', '2008-10-31 23:42:12', '', 129, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/elphiba.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(133, 1, '2008-11-03 17:42:07', '2008-11-03 21:42:07', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/athens3.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-142" title="athens3" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/athens3-224x300.jpg" alt="" width="289" height="387" /></a>\r\n\r\nIt''s election eve. When I look at the polls, I''m still more anxious than most Obama supporters I know. But I also can''t deny the slow-rising surge of hope I feel, that a new day is about to dawn in our country. It holds so much possibility for starting over and getting it right.\r\n\r\nI have always loved new beginnings. January 1, the first day of school, a new friendship or job—even each new week gives me that overly-sentimental, inspirational-poster sense of possibility. <strong><em>I can figure out how I screwed it up before, set it all that mess aside, and get it right this time</em></strong><em><strong>.</strong> </em>\r\n\r\nWhen I was growing up, one of our family''s New Year''s Eve rituals, in addition to a raucous game of charades, involved taking scraps of paper and privately writing down all of our regrets and perceived flaws—anything we wanted to let go of. Then we individually threw them into the roaring fire. As an overly-romantic child steeped in classic literature, I loved the symbolic, poetic beauty of watching all that was wrong go up in flames. Gone. <em>Good riddance.</em>\r\n\r\nWe all know what happens shortly into the new year, though. We slip up, fall into old habits, make the same mistakes, and generally begin feeling disgusted by our inability to follow through with our resolve to change.\r\n\r\nSo while the idea of "each new day offering a new beginning" is certainly as beautiful as a sunrise, it''s also easy for me to quickly twist it into an ugly down-on-Kristin-storm. I start kicking myself, asking <em>What''s it going to take for you to learn? When are you going to get it right? How many chances to start over do you need?</em>\r\n<h3>The bigger the do-over, the higher the expectations</h3>\r\nWhen the second chance is a big one, like a second marriage, the stakes are really high. I''m pretty sure that''s why I never thought I''d get married again: I didn''t have enough faith in the institution of marriage, or in myself, to get it right. And the thought of getting it wrong again was simply too painful to bear.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nThen I met Jason (and if you don''t know that story you can <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=6">read about it here</a>). Suddenly I could imagine a new beginning—not one of perfection, but one of partnership and effort, forgiveness and grace. This sense of possibility was so strong in us, that we chose this verse, II Corinthians 5:17, for our invitations and wedding text: "So if anyone is in Christ, he or she is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"\r\n\r\n<strong>The new creation, we realized, wasn''t one that involved somehow throwing all of our past hurts and flaws and wrongs into a fire and walking away together, shiny and perfect and new. We were redeemed in a different way, one that allowed us to carry all those slips of paper around in our pockets, into our new marriage.</strong>\r\n\r\nWe were very aware of who we were and where we had been, but we were able to handle that history in new, healthy ways—to look at each piece of our pasts openly and honestly, and to deal with them together, in this new context.\r\n\r\nThis perspective is critical, because there''s no way we''re going to wake up every day and just magically get it right (even though we''re an amazing match for each other and we both learned a lot in our first marriages). <em>That''s</em> what a new creation looks like—working to redeem and slowly perfect the old, not turning it to ash each time you mess up, and starting over.\r\n<h3>The leap from love to politics: our past is messy</h3>\r\nMaybe this seems like a stretch, but this is what I''m thinking about today: I''m thinking that I put a lot of hope into a new marriage, and it''s hard not to get really down on myself when I fall into old ways of being and communicating. I''ve also put a lot of hope into Obama being elected tomorrow. If he wins, I worry that we''ll expect too much from an Obama administration. If, for some reason, McCain wins, I fear I will slip into a spiral of despair. Certainly, I''d rather deal with the first worry, but either way, the stakes seem high.\r\n\r\nThe reality is, I carry those metaphoric slips of my past around with me, and it''s up to me to decide how to deal with them each day. Our country has a messy past, too, that it will have to lug along like so much old baggage, no matter who is elected president.\r\n\r\n<strong>The hope that we have, in other words, isn''t anchored in a big new beginning that''s marked by a wedding day or election day or New Year. It is in the hundreds of miniscule new beginnings that happen each day in each of us, because of God''s redemptive work in us.</strong>\r\n\r\nI think my mother, Joi Tennant, expressed perfectly what I want to say in this segment of a comment she left on my recent post about faith and politics, <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=109">Do the right thing</a>:\r\n\r\n<em>Is God voting for McCain or Obama by pressing his will into our minds, thus changing the course of history? Highly unlikely! If it were so, the world would already look a whole lot better than it does today. But Christians do believe that God is in the business of changing us — how we react and interact with each other. No matter who is elected, what happens in this world depends on how each of us behaves the day after the voting is over.</em>\r\n\r\nAnd the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. So let it be.', 'Old baggage & new beginnings on election eve', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'old-baggage-new-beginnings-on-election-eve', '', 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=6\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=109', '2009-01-24 22:48:51', '2009-01-25 02:48:51', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=133', 0, 'post', '', 1),
(134, 1, '2008-11-03 16:45:00', '2008-11-03 20:45:00', '', 'athens', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'athens', '', '', '2008-11-03 16:45:00', '2008-11-03 20:45:00', '', 133, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/athens.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(135, 1, '2008-11-05 18:37:54', '2008-11-05 22:37:54', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/cookies.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-139" title="cookies" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/cookies-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="369" height="276" /></a>\r\n\r\nThe first presidential election I remember was in 1980, the year Ronald Reagan was voted into office. I was ten—the same age as my daughter Quillin is now. The day after Reagan''s landslide victory, I wrote this deadpan sentiment in my journal: "Yesterday Ronald Reagan was elected president. Dad says we''re moving to Canada."\r\n\r\nLast night, at the crowded, lively election party hosted by some friends, I couldn''t stop watching our three girls and the other ten or so children in the house. Even before it was clear Obama would win, I knew they would always remember a collection of random and odd details from that night.\r\n\r\nNo one had to tell them it was an important moment. Not only had they keyed into the mood of their high-strung parents (OK, maybe I''m just speaking for myself here), but they had also been given "special permission" (via laissez faire parenting tactics) to eat whatever they wanted and stay up late—on a <em>Tuesday</em>, no less.\r\n\r\nMuch of the evening the kids were off on their own, playing games that only those under the age of 13 can decipher, running in thundering packs through the house, and periodically taking pit stops in the kitchen to fuel up on the wide assortment of savories and sweets covering tables and counter tops.\r\n\r\nAs the results started coming in and the adults began cheering, the kids gradually migrated to rooms with TVs. By the time CNN was demonstrating that there was no feasible way for John McCain to win, the sofa across the room was lined with elementary-aged children staring intently at the television and at the electoral maps they were coloring in. They stayed with us, focused, until after McCain''s concession speech and Obama''s victory speech.\r\n<h3>Important civic lessons for our littlest citizens</h3>\r\nWatching my children watch Obama was perhaps the most gratifying part of the evening for me. It''s partly because I believe their future is brighter because Obama will be leading our nation and bringing people together for good (in other words, I didn''t have to say "We''re moving to Canada").\r\n\r\n<strong>But I also believe my children just witnessed an incredibly important paradigm shift—one that''s at the heart of how I want them to understand patriotism and the liberties and freedoms of this country:</strong> A candidate of color, with a foreign-sounding name, overcame the odds and was elected president. Competence and humility, intelligence and honor, vision and hope, were all rewarded by the electorate, rather than dismissed.\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nAnd not only were good practices and attitudes upheld, but I see evidence that negative efforts focused on fear, divisiveness, distraction and doubt were given a serious smack-down. (If that isn''t obvious enough in the presidential race, just look at <a href="http://news.bostonherald.com/news/politics/2008/view/2008_11_04_In_NC__Dem_Kay_Hagan_boots_GOP_s_Elizabeth_Dole_from_US_Senate/srvc=home&amp;position=recent">Elizabeth Dole''s U.S. Senate defeat by Kay Hagan</a>. It seems clear Dole''s fate was sealed in large part by her last-minute attack ad, accusing Hagan of being "godless.")\r\n\r\nSome people raise their eyebrows over the involvement of children in politics, saying that kids simply parrot back whatever they hear their parents saying. Of course, in large part, that''s true. Maybe I was brainwashing my children yesterday by helping them decorate cookies with Obama logos and then eat them—the equivalent of making them drink the Kool Ade.\r\n\r\nBut I know at least as many adults (if not more) who go to the polls voting for the opposite party of their parents, as I do people who persist in sharing their parents'' political views. I''m not worried that when my daughters are 18 or 38 they won''t be able to think for themselves.\r\n\r\nAt any rate, getting our offspring to identify with one political party or the other wasn''t what last night was about. <strong>Last night was an opportunity for our kids to learn important civic and societal lessons. It was about being witness to participation, acceptance, an openness to change, and the power of unity and hope.</strong>\r\n<h3>The road ahead</h3>\r\nThere is one more important lesson for them to learn, too. As hopeful and euphoric as I feel, I couldn''t ignore the crowd''s disapproving boos in Phoenix when John McCain first said Obama''s name during his concession speech last night. I can''t ignore reports about those devoted to racism, despite how far we''ve come. And I couldn''t ignore the very sad news this morning, that the same-sex marriage ban, <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-gaymarriage5-2008nov05,0,1545381.story">Proposition 8,</a> was passed by voters in California.\r\n\r\nWhen I feel ready to come down a bit from this high, I will begin to teach my children that last very important lesson: There is still much work to do.\r\n\r\n<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/44-presidents.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-138" title="44-presidents" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/44-presidents-300x181.jpg" alt="" width="388" height="233" /></a>', 'What will our kids remember about election day? ', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'election-day-lessons-for-the-under-aged', '', '', '2009-01-24 22:48:15', '2009-01-25 02:48:15', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=135', 0, 'post', '', 9),
(136, 1, '2008-11-05 18:36:46', '2008-11-05 22:36:46', '', 'girls-and-cookies', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'girls-and-cookies', '', '', '2008-11-05 18:36:46', '2008-11-05 22:36:46', '', 135, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/girls-and-cookies.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(137, 1, '2008-11-06 12:17:38', '2008-11-06 16:17:38', '', '44-presidents', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', '44-presidents', '', '', '2008-11-06 12:17:38', '2008-11-06 16:17:38', '', 135, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/44-presidents.tiff', 0, 'attachment', 'image/tiff', 0),
(138, 1, '2008-11-06 12:18:34', '2008-11-06 16:18:34', '', '44-presidents', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', '44-presidents-2', '', '', '2008-11-06 12:18:34', '2008-11-06 16:18:34', '', 135, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/44-presidents.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(139, 1, '2008-11-06 22:52:28', '2008-11-07 02:52:28', '', 'cookies', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'cookies', '', '', '2008-11-06 22:52:28', '2008-11-07 02:52:28', '', 135, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/cookies.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(140, 1, '2008-11-07 16:53:33', '2008-11-07 20:53:33', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/2237867555_dbb1865bfb.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-141" title="2237867555_dbb1865bfb" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/2237867555_dbb1865bfb-300x199.jpg" alt="" width="409" height="271" /></a>\r\n<h5 style="padding-left: 330px;">photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/raulc/">Raul!</a></h5>\r\nOK, I''m wondering: Are some people just addicted to stress and drama? Or do we each have a hierarchy, and when one agitating issue is set aside, the next one in line simply bubbles to the top?\r\n\r\nWith the election behind us, I somehow imagined I would feel free-and-easy this week. But the last few days have brought a repeat-series of social media anxieties to the surface: <strong>Who am I, and how do I neatly package up my identity in a sentence or two that will stand out in the crowd?</strong>\r\n\r\nMy identity crisis is rooted, I think, in <a href="http://twitter.com/">Twitter</a> (where I''m kt_writes, not that anyone will rush to sign up for Twitter after reading this). I used to follow 30 or so people. I knew more than half of them personally, and another handful represented only one degree of separation—personal friends of my personal friends. There was plenty of fun, comfortable banter, I didn''t worry what people were thinking about me, and the interactions generally helped me feel less alone throughout my solitary days of freelance work.\r\n<h3>Feeling un-cool at the Twitter bash</h3>\r\nWhen more people began following me (it''s sort of like "friending" people on Facebook, but on Twitter it''s more common with strangers), I was pleased. That''s the whole point of building a network, right? I followed many of them back. Before I knew it, only a small percentage of the tweets I was reading were from people I know. It was starting to feel like I was at a party full of strangers who are mostly ignoring you. And I had dressed all wrong.\r\n\r\nTo make matters worse, many of the people I started following are very into Twitter stats: how many people follow them, what kind of score they get from <a href="http://twitter.grader.com/">Twitter Grader</a>, how many times they''ve been <a href="http://www.textism.com/favrd/">Favrd</a>, etc.\r\n\r\nYesterday I even ran across a Twitter bio that reads "<span class="bio">Clearly it''s not hip to have anything useful here." I found that both very funny and very sad (and, naturally, it prompted me to re-consider my own bio line). <strong>Who are we trying to be on Twitter? And what''s wrong with simply being ourselves?</strong></span>\r\n\r\n<!--more-->\r\n\r\nI started feeling like I had fallen into the wrong crowd in high school—one that looks cool but actually ends up making you feel lame about yourself, and out of place. I wanted out!\r\n\r\nThe problem is, there''s also an application called <a href="http://useqwitter.com/">Qwitter</a>, which sends a notification when people stop following you. (I refuse to use it, but lots of people do. Then they write Tweets about the people who qwit  them.)\r\n\r\nFinally, yesterday, I wrote direct messages to a few people I knew I needed to qwit, for sanity''s sake. In my messages, I referenced "too many inside jokes" and "too much focus on numbers and favrds," then I blamed my inability to handle it on my own insecurities. Done.\r\n<h3>Rethinking the definition of "cool"</h3>\r\nI feel better. No one needs to hang around with people who make you feel bad about yourself—in real life or in social media circles—even if that''s not their intention. I''ve found some people who seem to be using Twitter for the reasons I like to use it, and I feel like I''m generally in a community again where I can be me.\r\n\r\nAnd then this morning, I read a great, <a href="http://levite.wordpress.com/2008/11/07/i-lost-the-vote-on-tuesday/">timely post by Jon Swanson</a> on his blog Levite Chronicles. In the post, Jon tells a story about how he entered a contest asking people to define "cool" in a sentence or two. The definition he submitted was this: <strong>"Not caring what people think so creatively that people care what you think."</strong>\r\n\r\nJust that definition alone made me feel better. And then Jon goes on to point out the irony of how disappointed he felt when his definition wasn''t chosen:\r\n\r\n<em>And then I proved how cool I wasn''t. Because I cared what someone thought. A lot....</em><em>We are so eager to please. We create dreams and build hopes and come out of our shell to take a chance and then feel betrayed, feel overlooked, think that “see? I’m still the uncool kid I was in 7th grade.â€</em>\r\n\r\nOnce again, as I wrote in my post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=100">Learning about me by reading you</a>, I''m grasping something important about myself by reading someone else''s story. I''m reminded that, as humans, we all share a need to be accepted, and that the truest definition of "cool" is being the person I was created to be. (Sure, it sounds cheesy, but it''s what I believe.)', 'Social media puberty & other identity crises', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'social-media-puberty-other-identity-crises', '', 'http://levite.wordpress.com/2008/11/07/i-lost-the-vote-on-tuesday/\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=100', '2009-01-24 22:47:32', '2009-01-25 02:47:32', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=140', 0, 'post', '', 5),
(141, 1, '2008-11-07 15:44:05', '2008-11-07 19:44:05', '', '2237867555_dbb1865bfb', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', '2237867555_dbb1865bfb', '', '', '2008-11-07 15:44:05', '2008-11-07 19:44:05', '', 140, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/2237867555_dbb1865bfb.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(142, 1, '2008-11-08 02:04:10', '2008-11-08 06:04:10', '', 'athens3', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', 'athens3', '', '', '2008-11-08 02:04:10', '2008-11-08 06:04:10', '', 133, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/athens3.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(143, 1, '2008-11-10 17:31:22', '2008-11-10 21:31:22', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/321699721_9002c5cebd_m.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-144" title="321699721_9002c5cebd_m" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/321699721_9002c5cebd_m.jpg" alt="" width="386" height="288" /></a>\r\n<h5 style="padding-left: 270px;">photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/justbecause/">dizznbonn</a></h5>\r\nIt''s a fairly established fact: politics, religion and sex are The Big Three. They''re the topics we''re not supposed to bring up at big family events or parties—the ones that make people sit up and take notice or squirm (or both). They each carry a lot of weight individually; when they''re combined into a single discussion it''s explosive.\r\n\r\nThat''s probably why I haven''t been able to stop thinking about a <em>New Yorker</em> article I just read: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/11/03/081103fa_fact_talbot">"Red Sex, Blue Sex: Why do so many evangelical teenagers become pregnant?"</a>\r\n\r\nWhile I''m not an evangelical, I am a Christian, and I know a thing or two about how religion shapes our earliest understanding of our sexuality. I also know something about the kinds of consequences those perspective can have down the road. I actually blame my divorce, in part, on some of those understandings, but I''ll get into that later.\r\n\r\nBeing the mother of three girls, ages 8, 10 and 12, also makes me extremely interested in this subject. Our youngest began asking questions about how babies were made more than a year ago, soon after Jason and I got married. Her logic was "you''re married so that must mean you''re going to have babies soon." She''s a scientifically-minded girl, so we decided it was time to get technical in our explanation of baby-making and birth control.\r\n\r\nAt any rate, all three of our girls are inquisitive and somehow exceptionally cute, so Jason and I are already bracing ourselves for when they''re 12, 14 and 16. We do not take the subject of sex education lightly, and <strong>we''re convinced there must be a better paradigm for sexuality than the one most Christian children are inheriting from their parents.</strong>\r\n<h4>Pregnancy &amp; marriage statistics are tied to red &amp; blue states</h4>\r\nWhat I found so fascinating about the <em>New Yorker</em> article was how clearly the statistics back up what I''ve long suspected. The five states with the highest divorce rates, the youngest marriage age, and the most teen pregnancies are all traditionally red states (by traditionally red, I mean pre-Obama, 2008). When you reverse the statistics, you get all blue states, with the exception of North Dakota, which had one of the five lowest teen pregnancy rates.\r\n\r\nHere''s how the article''s author, Margaret Talbot, summarizes the red state-blue state divide when it comes to teenagers, sex and pregnancy:\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>Social liberals in the country’s “blue statesâ€ tend to support sex education and are not particularly troubled by the idea that many teenagers have sex before marriage, but would regard a teenage daughter’s pregnancy as devastating news. And the social conservatives in “red statesâ€ generally advocate abstinence-only education and denounce sex before marriage, but are relatively unruffled if a teenager becomes pregnant, as long as she doesn’t choose to have an abortion.</em></p>\r\n\r\n<h4>My own story, and the one I want for my daughters</h4>\r\nAs someone who grew up in a blue state and a "blue family" that went to church every Sunday, my own experience fell somewhere in between the extremes. <strong>The biggest problem, looking back, was that sex simply wasn''t discussed much</strong>—at church, home, or school for that matter.\r\n\r\nI knew, though, that my parents would be greatly disappointed in me if they knew I had sex before I was married. I also connected that viewpoint to their religious beliefs.\r\n\r\nIt follows, of course, that living with my college boyfriend after we graduated was also <em>not</em> going to be OK, which is the main reason I got married at 22. <strong>How long can healthy young adults be expected to exist without sex? Or how long can they sneak around trying to <em>hide</em> the fact they''re having sex, whichever the case might be?</strong>\r\n\r\nI know LOTS of people who married young for essentially the same reason—they were either tired of waiting to have sex or they were tired of living a lie and feeling guilty about it. My second husband, Jason, is one of those people, too. Unfortunately, as the <em>New Yorker</em> article points out, “women who marry before their mid-twenties are significantly more likely to divorce than those who marry later.â€\r\n\r\nThat doesn''t mean everyone who gets married too young gets a divorce, or that I directly blame my parents or our religious beliefs for my early marriage and divorce. It does mean, though, that <strong>encouraging my daughters to not get married too young is a greater priority to me than encouraging them to hang on to their virginity, at all costs.</strong>\r\n<h4>Encouraging waiting, while promoting "sex is good!"</h4>\r\n<strong>It is also very important to me that our kids understand their sexuality as a good thing, not a bad thing. </strong>When parents pound the "sex is bad" idea into their kids'' heads, in an attempt to convince them to avoid it, it can seriously backfire. Not only does it <em>not</em> keep them from having sex, but it develops in them a deep sense of shame and guilt in relationship to their sexuality. I suspect that issue played a complex, negative role in the problems in my first marriage, too. <strong>It''s time for churches to break the guilt-spreading cycle!</strong>\r\n\r\nThere''s no doubt that this issue is more complex even than it was when I was growing up. Here''s another good summary of the problem from the "Red Sex, Blue Sex" article:\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>Like other American teens, young evangelicals live in a world of Internet porn, celebrity sex scandals, and raunchy reality TV, and they have the same hormonal urges that their peers have. Yet they come from families and communities in which sexual life is supposed to be forestalled until the first night of a transcendent honeymoon.</em></p>\r\nIt''s confusing. I <em>do</em> really want my daughters to wait—to respect their bodies and their sexuality, and to take every decision they make very seriously. I want them to be extremely cautious and safe. I don''t, however, want them to mess themselves up in the process of waiting.\r\n\r\nSo I''m not sure how I''ll tackle the problem with my girls in the coming years. <strong>What I do know for certain, though, is that <em>not</em> talking about it is not the answer. Continuing to blindly present sex to our kids in the same way it was presented to us in our churches and homes and schools is not the answer, either.</strong>\r\n\r\nHonesty and lots of information are always good places to start, as parents. Maybe I''ll just say to my girls something like this: "I love you so much, and I want the best for you. It''s really complicated. There are so many angles to consider, some which will affect you now, and some which will affect you down the road. Here''s how I messed up, and what I learned. Here''s a vision of the hopes I have for you."\r\n\r\nAnd then maybe I''ll  let them read this post, too. Is there anything to lose in that?', 'Politics, religion & sex', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'the-fuzzy-lines-between-politics-religion-sex', '', '', '2009-07-23 00:22:42', '2009-07-23 04:22:42', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=143', 0, 'post', '', 28),
(144, 1, '2008-11-10 16:08:00', '2008-11-10 20:08:00', '', '321699721_9002c5cebd_m', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', '321699721_9002c5cebd_m', '', '', '2008-11-10 16:08:00', '2008-11-10 20:08:00', '', 143, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/321699721_9002c5cebd_m.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0),
(145, 1, '2008-11-12 20:28:43', '2008-11-13 00:28:43', '<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/1205847589_41cb473f2c.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-149" title="1205847589_41cb473f2c" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/1205847589_41cb473f2c.jpg" alt="" width="349" height="500" /></a>\r\n<h5 style="padding-left: 240px;">Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/djbrady/">Dan Brady</a></h5>\r\nThe kids didn''t have school yesterday, so S, my eight-year-old, decided to spend part of the day doing what any dutiful writer''s child would do: churning out poetry.\r\n\r\nShe wrote eight poems in total, including this one, which made me laugh. It also happens to serve as the perfect intro to the post I want to write today. (Sometimes my kids are helpful, without even knowing it.)\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><strong>Rules Are Made To Be Broken</strong></p>\r\n\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;">If your mother says…\r\nDo not play with bears,\r\nor eat a pickled skunk,\r\nDo not race with hares,\r\nor play monkeys on your bunk,\r\nDo not invite\r\nan elephant to bed,\r\nDo not drink three cups of coffee,\r\ninstead…\r\nDo the opposite!</p>\r\nWhat''s especially funny about the poem to me, the poet''s mother, is that of our three girls, S is the one most bound by rules. She''s cautious and careful, and is more eager than either of her older sisters to please us.\r\n\r\nSo why did she write this poem?\r\n\r\nI think it speaks mostly to her quirky sense of humor and her love for poetry written by the likes of Shel Silverstein. But there''s certainly a bit of deviousness in her, too, and a desire to break some rules, just like there is in all of us. It''s inherent.\r\n\r\nIf that''s a true assessment of human nature—that deep down inside we feel like rules are made to be broken, or at least bent as creatively as possible—is it possible that kids might feel that way about promises, too?<strong> </strong>\r\n\r\nAnd if so, can someone please tell me this: <strong>Who on earth decided that pressuring kids to make definitive, public promises is a good idea? Aren''t we setting our kids up by presenting them with so many varieties of "forbidden fruit?"\r\n</strong>\r\n<h4>Politics, religion, sex, and the psychology of  promising</h4>\r\nThis is essentially Part II of my last post, <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=143">Politics, religion and sex,</a> which I wrote after reading the <em>New Yorker</em> article <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/11/03/081103fa_fact_talbot">Red Sex, Blue Sex: Why do so many evangelical teen-agers become pregnant?</a>. There was so much to chew on that I couldn''t resist writing at least one more post.\r\n\r\nTo me, one of the most fascinating issues addressed in the article is the clear "gulf between sexual belief and sexual behavior," especially among Christian teens. The gulf is particularly apparent when you look at teens who have participated in "abstinence-pledge movements."\r\n\r\nAs far as I''m aware, no one I personally know has made a public promise about remaining abstinent. That''s why I was shocked to read that somewhere around two and a half million people have pledged to remain celibate until marriage.\r\n\r\nI wasn''t surprised, however, to read that more than half of those who make the pledge end up having sex before marriage, or that the rate of S.T.D''s goes up in communities with high rates of such promising.\r\n\r\nWhat is perhaps most interesting, on a macro "psychology of promising" level, is this:\r\n<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>In some schools, if too many teens pledge, the effort basically collapses. Pledgers apparently gather strength from the sense that they are an embattled minority; once their numbers exceed thirty per cent, and proclaimed chastity becomes the norm, that special identity is lost. With such a fragile formula, it’s hard to imagine how educators can ever get it right: once the self-proclaimed virgin clique hits the thirty-one-per-cent mark, suddenly it’s Sodom and Gomorrah.</em></p>\r\nThat just tells me that adolescents will be adolescents. They''re not carefully thinking through a promise they''re about to make and asking themselves if it''s reasonable and helpful in the long-run. They''re making choices based on a very complex system of social rules—the same ones that create the push-and-pull that is Teenagerdom. It''s a formula we seem to forget as adults, along with most of what we learned in math: <em>If no one else does/wears this it''s not cool, but if too many people do/wear this, it''s not cool again. </em>\r\n\r\nWhatever the formula is, it''s not a good one to apply to promise-making or -keeping.\r\n<h3>In search of good alternatives for our kids</h3>\r\nJason and I were talking about this for quite a while last night. I said I was glad our girls would never be in a situation (in their church or school, at least) where they would be asked to make such a pledge.\r\n\r\nThen I remembered that one day at school last year, when she was in fourth grade, Q made a pledge to never use tobacco or drugs. It was not something that was sent home for parents to discuss with their children, and ultimately give the proper weight. The kids just listened to someone, then signed something, en mass, and then were given certificates.\r\n\r\n<strong>Please understand—I''m not against the concept of promises. I think they''re important. I just can''t figure out what this highly-public, peer-pressure-affected, stern-adult-induced form of promising teaches our children.</strong>\r\n\r\nAfter all, one of the highest moral achievements in our society isn''t <em>making</em> a promise, it''s <em>keeping</em> it. When kids are being asked to make promises they don''t fully understand or have good strategies to keep, aren''t we setting them up for lives of chronic disappointment, distrust, and guilt? (Yes, there''s that nasty G-word again.)\r\n\r\nI''m just thinking out loud here, but how about this. Maybe instead of urging kids to make big promises in churches and schools, we should be teaching them to <em>respect</em> the concept of a promise, with all the awe and grandeur they can muster. We should have them look closely at all the promising and oath-making that''s at the heart of Shakespearean dramas and ancient Greek tragedies—and then at all the drama and tragedy that ensues, in the wake.\r\n\r\nFinally, maybe we need to give them permission to keep promises they <em>haven''t</em> made, so to speak, and to not make promises to anyone that they <em>might</em> but might not keep—even if the intention behind the promise is good and truthful.', 'Rules are made to be broken (so how do we teach kids about sex?)', 0, '', 'publish', 'open', 'open', '', 'rules-are-made-to-be-broken', '', '\nhttp://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=143', '2009-02-17 11:52:04', '2009-02-17 15:52:04', '', 0, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=145', 0, 'post', '', 5),
(146, 1, '2008-11-12 20:08:05', '2008-11-13 00:08:05', '', '2701975790_75ecb767b9', 0, '', 'inherit', 'open', 'open', '', '2701975790_75ecb767b9', '', '', '2008-11-12 20:08:05', '2008-11-13 00:08:05', '', 145, 'http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/2701975790_75ecb767b9.jpg', 0, 'attachment', 'image/jpeg', 0);
