Four years in the making

So much to tell and so little time. I spent the better part of the holiday weekend visiting my Dad's parents. (My Grammy is in her mid-80's and my Pop-Pop is 90.) While visiting, my sister and I uncovered a photo album. It wasn't full of my dad's childhood photos. Rather, it was images from my Pop-Pop's stint during World War II. He was so handsome, so very young. And that buxom brunette on his arm? Not my Grammy. A very excited Checklosovakian girl who greeted the oncoming American troops.

My Pop-Pop has this whole history, whole existance, beyond our understanding. His life is so rich, so ready for the telling, but it's quieted by his humble nature, by the fact that his experience is so commonplace for the time. Happy Memorial Day. So much history is lost in quiet men.

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And bringing everything up to date: I'm drowning in freelance work for the former mag I worked for. (Gotta try to counter balance those $1,000 plane tickets to Peru.) This week is short and pack-full.

And tomorrow is The Banker and my fourth anniversary. Technically speaking, he's been in my life for over a decade. He stalked me when I wasn't interested. He cleaned bathrooms with me when we were friends, just so he could spend time with me during my work hours.

Now, he lets me watch my crap T.V. shows when I ask. And he's let me add chaos after chaos to our lives in the form of furry beings. And at the moment, when I struggle to make sense of this baby thing, he quietly listens. He knows my gypsy spirit. Perhaps, almost as well as the sound of his own breathing. He tries to understand. And almost 15 years later, he's still there. Through the good, the bad, the ugly, and the damn funny.

He's my babe. The only one who I think could handle what I am. What I'm becoming. What I will be. (Not to mention my family...) =-)

I love you, babe. Thank you for all these years. May God bless us with countless many more...

But then what?

So the Farewell to Independence Tour is booked, but it's left me wondering what will happen after the trip. This weekend raised a lot of questions and left me decidely uncomfortable.

We spent most of Saturday at our best friends' country home--and The Banker and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. We brought the dogs out and let them swim in the pond, rode the tractor, chatted, ate ourselves silly, and played with their adorable son. This little boy is the happiest, most loving little one I've ever encountered. While I know he's not an angel all the time, he does have an amazing disposition and is an utter joy. He was in a great mood all day, and I was left with the impression that, yes, I could see myself doing this one day.

But then Sunday night rolled around, and The Banker and I babysat his nephew for a few hours. A few long hours. The longest, most uncomfortable few hours I'd spent in a long time. And here my blissful thoughts of childbearing came to a screeching halt.

I hate to admit this. It's proof that I'm really not a very good person. You see, as much as I adore my best friends' child, I don't have any feelings for a babe who is, technically, family. Yes the kid is cute, but he doesn't pull at my heartstrings. In fact, on Sunday night, he turned my stomach again and again. No, it wasn't the diapers--that doesn't faze me. But the poor thing was fighting a cold so there were constant rivulets of snot rolling down his face. And he refused to eat, smashing what little morsels he would take into his eyes and hair. The rest? He tossed on the floor. He even took his bottle and slammed it nipple-down to watch the formula squirt out. And when I firmly said "No!" to this behavior, he screamed. And screamed. And screamed. And it was then I understood why some parents walk away. Why some parents drink.

And it struck me that maybe I don't have what it takes to be a mom. If snot and messy eating heighten my gag reflex, if screaming and obstinate little ones make me question my sanity, then maybe I'm not the best person to have kids. How can I feel it's so right one day and so terrible the next? And why do I feel so thoroughly crappy for feeling this way?

A hike to remember

First off, thanks to all who passed on such nice comments about my supposed ASBPE win. I've yet to hear anything else about it, but I'm hoping I'll get more details soon.

And to end the week on another good note, The Banker and I finally booked our trip to Peru! It's a fifteen day tour through GAP Adventures. We'll be taking off on September 9, returning September 24. Here's the itinerary:

Day 1 Arrive Lima

Day 2-3 Amazon Jungle
Take a morning flight into the Amazon lowlands and the town of Puerto Maldonado. Travel by motorized canoe to our lodge in the Tambopata Rainforest Area, which holds the world record for the most bird sightings in one area. Explore the jungle with expert local guides.

Day 4 Cuzco
Cuzco is considered the mecca of Peru, and rightly so. With a friendly, colonial atmosphere, Cuzco offers much to the visitor: nearby Inca ruins, cobblestone streets, museums, markets and churches. Optional activities include rafting, horseback riding and mountain biking.

Day 5 Ollantaytambo
Travel with our local guide through the Sacred Valley and visit the Pisac ruins. In the afternoon continue the picturesque town and Inca ruins of Ollantaytambo before preparing for the hike ahead.

Day 6-9 Inca Trail to Machu Picchu
A morning trip to km 82 begins a once in a lifetime journey on the ancient trail of the Incas. Local porters and guides ensure that the trip is worry-free. Fascinating ruins and spectacular mountain scenery fill every day of the hike. On the final day, climb the steps to Intipunku, the 'Sun Gate', to watch the sunrise over Machu Picchu. Return to Cuzco by train in the afternoon.

Day 10 Cuzco
Relax, shop and explore the sights and sounds of Cuzco on this free day. Stroll around the cobblestone streets of this beautiful colonial town or visit museums and churches built on Inca ruins.

Day 11-12 Puno / Lake Titicaca
Enjoy spectacular views of the countryside on a full day of travel from Cuzco to Puno and Lake Titicaca. The next morning head out by boat across Lake Titicaca for a visit to the floating reed islands of Uros. We stop at various islands to enjoy the lake’s scenic splendour and to meet the friendly people of these communities.

Day 13 La Paz
La Paz, the highest capital city in the world, is often a surprise highlight for travellers. A visitor’s initial impression of the bustle of more than a million Bolivians won’t be forgotten.

Day 14 La Paz / Tiahuanaco
The mysterious Tiahuanaco people constructed this great ceremonial centre on the southern shore of Lake Titicaca over 1000 years ago. Spend most of the day visiting these fantastic ruins and try to unravel the ancient mystery yourself.

Day 15 Depart La Paz

So I've got the Yellow Fever and Hep A immunizations coursing through my bloodstream. I've got prescriptions for Malaria tablets, anti-altitude sickness pills, and sleeping aids. And I've started running a mile several times a night to get into shape.

And I'm ready to leave. Like right now!

A little bit of "wheeee!"

As if in affirmation of my last post--about learning to be okay with where I am and what I've accomplished--today I got a surprise e-mail. A designer for the former mag I worked for (and fabulously talented friend) e-mailed to tell me that a nine-part series I'd written on personnel solutions had won a regional award from the ASBPE (American Society of Business Publication Editors).

While it's not a huge deal, it does make me kinda happy. It's the first such award I've won. Yeah, I didn't end up in New York working for some impressive magazine. And yeah, I've yet to publish anything really profound. But it's something. A reminder that maybe I'm not totally in the wrong line of work after all. And the fact that it's far from my best work? That's just confusing and a wee bit irritating. But you know? I'll take it!

A whirlwind weekend

One wedding. One birthday party. Two Mother's Day celebrations.

There was too little weekend for my weekend.

The high point: An old high-school classmate got married, and while the only reason I was invited to the nuptials was because my parents still socialize with the bride's parents, it was fun nonetheless. The bride was beautiful, the couple adorable, and the union very happy. And I saw classmates I'd not seen since graduation. Accordingly, we all played the usual game of catch up--who'd moved out of state, current occupations, and who was married, divorced, engaged, and had changed their sexual orientation. It was interesting, amusing, and eye-opening.

A few of those girls who weren't married stressed over their single status. "If I'm not married by..." was one of the common vows. But the singles never give thought to the fears of those who are married. "Do I seem old and boring now?" "Do they think I married too soon. Am I missing something?" And in the common way females have, we silently took stock of who'd kept themselves up, who'd let themselves go. A few of my classmates had moved to Chicago, stirring a bit of envy in me.

Even though almost a decade has passed, somethings never change. We're still measuring ourselves up against one another, wondering about the paths we chose, and trying to gauge our success by each other's action...or inaction.

All in all, though, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, even going out into the wee hours of the morning with some old friends who'd traveled in for the wedding. But I'm hoping the next time I gather with these people, I'll remember to trust where I am. To be proud of where I've come...even if that's home again.

Saudade

I experienced this feeling this weekend. What is it exactly? According to Wikipedia:
Saudade is "a Portuguese word for a feeling of longing for something you are fond of, which is gone, but might return in a distant future. It often carries a fatalist tone and a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might really never return."

I was missing one magic, perfect summer.

I think everyone must surely have that one summer that feels so alive, so vibrant, filled to overflowing. Everything appears so effortless and perfect, but all the while, a knowledge lingers, a realization that it won't last. Can't last.

A group of us were between our sophomore and junior years at our respective colleges. Aside from lame summer jobs, we had no responsibilities. We were so free--so full of energy--and we took that opportunity to go camping, gather for late night drinks, endless talking, and the occasional tensions as we coupled off. A sense of limitless possibilities permeated those warm months. We were on the cusp of adulthood, all about to go our own ways, but that one summer we were a united front.

And I miss that feeling. That freedom, that untouched potential, that thrill as we stood on the brink of becoming who we'd become, but secure in the friendships that encircled us.

We've since scattered to the winds: Alaska, California, God-Knows-Where. Only a few of us remain in close touch. And even then, that irreverence and simplicity is gone. We've seen broken hearts, death, divorce, and separate paths all take their toll.

But for one summer, we had it all. It was messy, irresponsible, filled with longing, laughter, and some of the best friendships I've known. I catch just the tiniest hint of that summer at dusk--the electricity of the day changing to night, the world around turned soft and hazy. And like that summer, it’s all too brief.

No rest for the wicked

Or so my mother always claims. I've also heard it as "No rest for the weary," but wicked apparently is a better fit in my family.

Regardless, yesterday this seemed to be my personal motto. My first day back at work after Monday's sick day, I'm tired, achy, and loopy from the various drugs coursing through my body--all of which can make a long day in cubicleland that much worse. The day creeps by in a most painful fashion, and finally giving in, I slip out early to take a short nap at home.

The Banker calls only an hour after I've slipped under the covers. It seems he needs me at the cell-phone shop so I can sign a sheet of paper agreeing to let his cell-phone number be transferred to his new bank phone (all shiny, expensive, and PDA-equipped). A 20-minute drive later we're greeted by the most unhelpful employee. She can't possibly do what we're asking of her (even though the other bank employees have had no problem), nor can The Banker complete this transaction without someone from the bank there to witness it. WTF? One hour, one pissed-off bank employee, and one exhausted me later, I sign the sheet and slump home.

I immediately check on the girls in the backyard, walking carefully through the grass to avoid any "surprises." And instead I spot the tiniest, fluffiest fledgling, open and closing his beak but not moving otherwise. Shit. The old oak has been trimmed back to over 70-feet high. There are no other trees in reach and this little guy won't survive the aggressive crows and curious pugs. I carefully scoop him into the shoebox The Banker has found and off we go again, racing to the nearest emergency vet clinic that will take the little guy for the night and then hand him over to a backyard wildlife group that can re-release him once he's strong enough. The first emergency clinic is a no-go. The clinic that can take him? Thirty minutes away.

Thankfully by the time we reach the second clinic the little fledgling has proven himself quite the fighter. He's hoping madly about the box (yeah! hopefully nothing broken!) and is chirping like crazy. His antics make us both laugh despite ourselves. He manages to renew our energy and also proves there's no rest for the wicked, but that's okay, too.

Brainless, pointless quiz

I found this little quiz while breezing through some blogs, and I couldn't help myself. It seems so random but is an eye opener!

Are you spoiled?
You are if you can BOLD 40 of the following:

Do you own:
your own cell phone
a television in your bedroom
an iPod
a photo printer
your own phone line
TiVo or a generic digital video recorder
high-speed internet access (i.e., not dialup)
a surround sound system in bedroom
DVD player in bedroom
at least a hundred DVDs
a childfree bathroom (but we have no children, so that might not count...)
your own in-house office (I have to share it with The Banker, two dogs, and a cat. Does this count?)
a pool
a guest house
a game room
a queen-size bed
a stocked bar
a working dishwasher
an icemaker
a working washer and dryer
more than 20 pairs of shoes
at least ten things from a designer store (I’m not sure about this one…but to be on the safe side…)
expensive sunglasses
Egyptian cotton sheets or towels
a multi-speed bike
a gym membership
large exercise equipment at home
your own set of golf clubs (The Banker assembled an old group of clubs thrown away by his brothers and sisters. Surely this doesn’t count?!)
a pool table
a tennis court
local access to a lake, large pond, or the sea
your own pair of skis (Haha! Only boots!)
enough camping gear for a weekend trip in an isolated area
a boat
a jet ski
a neighborhood committee membership
a beach house or a vacation house/cabin
wealthy family members
two or more family cars
a walk-in closet or pantry (closet)
a yard
a hammock
a personal trainer
good credit (Why would this count?!?)
expensive jewelry (Okay, what's the threshold here? There are no skating rings on my fingers...)
a designer bag that required being on a waiting list to get
at least $100 cash in your possession right now
more than two credit cards bearing your name
a stock portfolio
a passport
a horse (How I wish!)
a trust fund
private medical insurance
a college degree, and no outstanding student loans

Do you:
shop for non-needed items for yourself (like clothes, jewelry, electronics)at least once a week
do your regular grocery shopping at high-end or specialty stores
pay someone else to clean your house, do dishes, or launder your clothes (oh, how I wish...)
go on weekend mini-vacations (Only one, and just recently!)
send dinners back with every flaw
wear perfume or cologne (Again, why does this count? What next, deoderant?!?)
regularly get your hair styled or nails done in a salon (NOT styled--cut. Different thing altogether.)
have a job but don't need the money OR stay at home with little financial sacrifice
pay someone else to cook your meals
pay someone else to watch your children or walk your dogs
regularly pay someone else to drive you
expect a gift after you fight with your partner

Are you:
an only child
married/partnered to a wealthy person
baffled/surprised when you don't get your way

Have you:
been on a cruise
traveled out of the country
met a celebrity
been to the Caribbean
been to Europe
been to Hong Kong
been to Hawaii
been to New York
eaten at the space needle in Seattle
been to the Mall of America
been on the Eiffel tower in Paris
been on the Statue of Liberty in New York (rode around it in a boat!!)
moved more than three times because you wanted to
dined with local political figures
been to both the Atlantic coast and the Pacific coast

Did you:
go to another country for your honeymoon
hire a professional photographer for your wedding or party
take riding or swimming lessons as a child
attend private school
have a Sweet 16 birthday party thrown for you (Umm…limo ride to restaurant
with friends must surely count)

Well, I must admit, I always knew I’ve been very fortunate (read: spoiled). But it seems according to this I fared relatively well.

The houseguest from hell

What kind of houseguest is sick for a full week but climbs into a plane to deliver his presence anyway? What kind of houseguest lets you clean, cook, and nurse his sorry ass, all the while extending those germs to you?

The kind of houseguest that WILL NOT be invited back.

Here I sit, white spots covering my throat, a fever only recently broken, and Sister #1's birthday dinner tonight.

Sorry, kiddo. But I hope your birthday is truly wonderful, even without my company this evening. I hope you rock 24 liked you rocked 23. Love you!

And there went the weekend

This weekend we had one of The Banker's friends in from Chicago. They were to play golf and piss away the weekend talking about the crap that men talk about. Namely: golf, football, baseball, finances, and business. (Or at least so I'd like to delude myself, thank you.)

A heavy deluge of rain left me in a mild panic. If they couldn't spend an entire day golfing, I would have to entertain them. That meant after my hours of cleaning and cooking, I'd then have to be hospitable for grueling hours on end while every ounce of my being screamed, "Good Lord, help me!"

Thankfully, Someone was kind to me and the storms passed long enough for the boys to tinker about the sodden greens trying to hit their balls with tiny, tiny clubs...Leaving me free to run some errands and to attend my book club on Sunday.

I can't begin to tell you what a bright spot this was in my weekend. It was so wonderful catching up with these talented women, sharing stories, and then freely exchanging our views on a piece of literature. If I could, I'd have the book club meet more often…But then I'd have to find more time to read.

In any case, to all those amazing women with whom I gathered, thank you. Your company, humor, and intellect are adored more than you could ever know.

Expensive medicine

The Banker came into the really big company I work for yesterday so we could meet with a doctor who visits the campus on Mondays. The purpose of the visit was to discuss the immunizations and medications we would need on our Peru trip roughly scheduled for this September. This doctor has traveled extensively and often orders immunizations--at cost--and writes out the proper prescriptions for travelers.

The damage? We'll both require Hepatitis A and Yellow Fever vaccinations, Malaria tablets, and Anti-Altitude Sickness pills (plus some Ambien, something the doctor recommended for sweaty, sleepless nights in the rainforest). Yellow Fever is on backorder, but the Hep A, which is a set of two shots, comes in at $60 a shot. And the Malaria pills that need to be taken for two weeks before and four weeks after the trip? Five bucks a pill. So without knowing how much the Yellow Fever will cost or the anti-altitude sickness pills, we're over $500.

Can you say "Ouch"?

A cold reception on our weekend away

So our weekend away was, by most accounts, relaxing, fun, and refreshing. We escaped Saturday afternoon to a little historic town not far from our home, checked into a bed and breakfast, went antiquing, picnicked at a local winery, and visited an underground Irish pub--all before gorging ourselves on a gourmet dinner.

Have you ever eaten so much you're in pain? The Banker and I'd had a great meal of warm bread, cheese, summer sausage, and fruit at the little winery around 3 o'clock. Our dinner reservations weren't until 8, but after a bottle of wine and a full picnic basket, we weren't remotely hungry enough for the four-course meal that followed.

But we ate it all anyway, including the soup made up almost entirely of heavy cream. Sensibly, we passed on dessert, but only because we didn't want to vomit on the linen-clad tables. Add to that severe pain a good hour (and a few pints) at this amazing pub that's 60-feet underground, and it was 11:30 before we struggled back to the B&B, overly, painfully full. It was humid, but as we waddled we watched a storm slowly roll in, complete with a beautiful display of lightening.

Our Victorian-styled room was equally humid. The owner clearly wasn't ready to put the AC on yet, and a sole ceiling fan labored to cool our little room. But our food coma taking its toll, The Banker and I were asleep in no time.

But my dear husband's pain continued into the wee hours of the night--I awoke to his distinctive moaning and kicking a little past 3 in the morning. Laughing to myself, I rolled over and was just about to slip off to sleep again when my body suddenly felt as if it had been drenched in ice-cold water. My chest felt heavy and every hair on my body stood on end. I was instantly awake--and terrified beyond words. I was so frightened I refused to open my eyes. The feeling lasted for a minute, maybe two, and was just as quickly gone. I woke up The Banker but was unable to really explain what had happened. What had happened? Essentially, nothing extraordinary had occurred. But I was freaked out--so much so that while teasing would have been his immediate, good-natured response, The Banker held me until I quit shaking.

Needless to say, sleep eluded me for the better part of the night. And that cold sensation? It revisited me some hours later, but again I refused to open my eyes, and this time didn't wake up The Banker.

So is there some medical malady that hits you--twice--with the sense of freezing temperatures, only to subside minutes later? Is there some explanation I can place on this disturbing experience? Please, please, please, someone, let me know. Because it was awful. And I need someone to put my mind at ease.

At least someone other than the owner, who informed me the next morning that the B&B--built in 1848--was said to be frequented by a friendly spirit?!?

Growing Up

The Banker and I are still on the hunt for a new home on a few acres of God's green earth. And while my parents and in-laws haven't been supportive, we continue unabated.

One of the main objections was how far out South we'd been looking. There's good reason we're forced to look so damn far out: Land prices have gone ridiculously high and the only affordable homes are located in BFE. As an act of compromise, though, The Banker and I began to look for homes within my parents' school district--considerably closer in to town, so the number of available homes immediately dwindled and the costs crept upward. But my parents, for the moment, seemed more open to our plan.

The other weekend The Banker and I stumbled on a house situated on 7 acres within the new search area. The green pastures ran up against a beautiful pond and the house--while not quite what we were looking for--had potential. My father is in the construction business and owns one home, a condo, and is in plans to build a retirement home. So needless to say, he knows his shit and we respect his opinion greatly when it comes to this sort of thing. He was instrumental in the purchase of our first home and we wanted him to weigh on this new possibility we'd found.

My dad had no real reservations about the quality of the home, the location, or even the lay of the land. But he couldn't necessarily find anything positive to say either and ended up urging us to find another home, one in a neighborhood, one in town. Finally in frustration, he admitted he didn't understand the appeal of land, thought we were being foolish, and said he wouldn't look at any other homes with us.

I thought he was being grumpy...but I didn't really take him at his word. I brushed it off a bit, and The Banker and I agreed that maybe we should continue looking for a home that required less work to fit our needs.

Today an incredibly beautiful home, formerly out of our price range, was listed again with a substantially lower price. While still a little over what we want to spend, I couldn't help but get excited and called my dad. His response? "I told you I wouldn't look at any more homes with you."

So there it is. I'm so disappointed. What my dad means is that he won't look at any more homes that don't meet his plans for us. If we were to find a home in a quaint neighborhood with house after identical house atop each other, he'd be there in a second. And even though we were open to compromise, even though we tried harder to make our dream fit his comfort level, it doesn't matter.

So it looks like we'll be doing this on our own without the support and insight I've always respected and valued. The Banker and I will continue looking and when we find something we love, we'll put our home on the market.

And I guess my parents will find out when they drive by and see the For Sale sign in the yard. And I hate that.

Me and Batman

On Wednesday, I had my picture taken with Batman. I really wanted to catch Scooby-Doo, as he was my childhood favorite, but he had to take a potty break. And Tweety ran out of film. And Wonder Woman was half naked--her perky little butt cheeks hanging out of her super suit--so why would I want to take a picture with her?

So I settled for Batman--who was HOT. Mmmmmm...the strong jawline and bulging muscles under tight spandex. He complimented me on my eyes. I wanted to compliment him on his impressive codpiece, but refrained.

I got paid to pass this hunky hour. Only at the company I work for...

The Mysteries of MySpace

A friend of mine who recently moved to Seattle asked me to join MySpace.com so we could easily keep in touch. Then another friend was transferred to Georgia and asked me to do the same. I'm not tech-savvy and never have been. This blogging thing is the closest I come to Internet culture and all three of my readers don't exactly constitute a huge following. But I decided to go ahead and humor my friends. Besides, I'd read a lot about MySpace in Time magazine and such and was interested in finding out just what the deal was. (Not to mention Sister #1 and #2 use FaceBook religiously. Since I graduated much too late to join this fad, I felt a wee left out.)

So I signed up and filled out the basic information: Married, Hometown, Colleges I Attended, Occupation, and that I was online to meet Friends. Then, to ensure my long-lost highschool friends, old roommates, and study abroad pals found the right Kat, I posted a picture of myself. I don't usually do that. In fact, I've yet to post an image of myself here, and I've been doing this since September. Why? Well, I'm one of those gals who pretty much abhors any picture she's in. In all my years of cheesing it for the camera, only a handful of shots don't make me want to burn every last photo and negative.

But I managed to find an okay photo that didn't make me squirm:



I'm the one on the right in the pink bridesmaid dress slightly tipsy at Sister #1's June nuptials. Next to me is one of my nearest and dearest friends. It's a safe photo. I'm not trotting about in my underwear or straddling a car or any of the other nonsense people have captured themselves doing and posted for the world to see. This was about connecting with friends from afar, not discovering new "friends" who wanted to talk dirty.

And so began my confusing encounter with MySpace.com. Because I only have four friends after this first week or so, and two are family and therefore don't count. But I've had plenty of invites from complete strangers who want to be my buddy. There was the guy dressed like Darth Maul. Or GirlsXposed. Or the Marilyn-Manson lookalike.

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? I don't understand why I'd list a complete stranger as a friend. Maybe I'm taking that term to mean more than it does. Maybe friend now means "complete stranger I can stalk over the Internet." I must be missing the appeal of this whole thing. It isn't like blogging, where you can get a sense for a person. Where you can respect someone's craft. This is my picture and some scant information. Nothing more.

But what really boggles my mind are the comments I've begun to receive. From the 30-year-old glass cutter looking for some fun. From the father and husband oohing over my "gorgeous smile." From the weird guy who likes to dress up. No, I don't want to get together over the weekend. No, I don't want to have a naughty exchange. Did you miss the big MARRIED indicator on my profile? There was nothing insinuating about my photo, right? How come all the freaks have found me and none of my friends?!?

A little spot of green

Nature has always held strong sway over me. I'm drawn to the outdoors and its furry inhabitants and the simple beauties and truths they hold. So in turn, part of me mourns when another open field is churned up and then smothered with a layer of concrete, another box structure, another enclave of cookie-cutter houses. I watched for years as the deer and other wildlife that made their home around my parents' neighborhood slowly dwindle and then disappear altogether. I hate the way we binge on land, expanding ourselves until there's very little open, natural space left. Because of this, I've always wanted to have some land of my own---just a few acres---where green space could flourish, hundreds of animals could romp, and millions of babies could roam, reveling in the outdoors, appreciating nature, imagining and being creative. I know I've idealized the hell out of owning acreage. I know that it can be a pain in the ass, countless hours of work, a lot of inconvenience, and a major flippin' investment.

But I still want my own little plot of green Earth.

This tiny desire planted itself in The Banker as well. So we've begun to look for a larger house with 7 to 10 acres or plots of land on which we could build. Our list of demands is long: good school district, close to a highway, close to a hospital, in a neighborhood setting, and not too far from the city. It's crushing to admit that we're about 5 or 10 years too late to find affordable land that meets these demands. But rather than dampen our spirits, this fact has put a desperate edge to our resolve. We want land, and we need to find it soon.

It's really disheartening that neither my parents nor The Banker's support this search at all. They are suburbia people. They don't understand. "Why can't you be happy in a nice, manicured suburb?" "Do you know what that kind of move would entail?" "You don't know what you're asking for." And surprisingly, my parents are far worse than the in-laws. They’ve condemned our efforts and been outwardly snide about our plans. It's one of the first times I've not had my parents support on something that means so much to me. It leaves a dull ache in the pit of my stomach.

But their negativity won't change my mind. While it may cause a tiny breech in our relationship, I can only hope that with time they'll learn to respect my decision. Because it's mine. It's my desire. It’s my dream and has been since I was little.

Now I only hope I can find that perfect plot of green.

A move but little closure

I moved cubicles, floors, and teams today, but still have no sense of what this will mean for my career, not to mention my daily enjoyment of the job. So I'm still measuring up this new set of circumstances. Not that I've had much energy to do so. Last night we had dinner out with one of The Banker's clients, the night before, dinner with my parents, Sunday night dinner with the sisters, Friday night dinner with The Banker's parents, and the list goes on and on. Sleep has been hard to come by and down time is damn non-existant. We need to decide on our Farewell to Independence Tour itinerary, the pressure is mounting to find some land that's affordable before acreage prices *really* go through the roof, and our calendar is fit to bust.

So it's easy to see how I really, fantastically lost it the other day. The Banker responded by offering a weekend retreat to a cute little town about an hour away. It's a historic town filled with adorable bed and breakfasts, antique stores, and a winery. (Confession: Okay, I know wine grown in the Midwest can't possibly be that good, but let's not be a downer, 'kay?) So I'm holding on by my fingernails until the weekend of the 22nd rolls around...

Annoying!!!

I'm eating at the computer while The Banker and I watch Lost. Yeah, I know. Not an ideal eating situation. But I have a freelance article to complete...and The Banker likes to joke that I'm addicted to the Internet. Ha ha.

So I run to the other room for two minutes and return to find The Banker absorbed in a commercial. And the cat eating my chicken. All of two feet from The Banker's face. How is it that a TV can absorb a man's entire focus?

Grrrr and hissss.

An adventure of a lifetime

While living in the city, I had the honor of working for a really incredible editor--one of those funny, kind-hearted men who make you feel instantly at ease. He also had the ability to undo the damage done by my former boss, who'd left me thinking I was pretty much useless.

This very wise man had a young and wonderfully chaotic family that he adored. He'd share the highs and lows with me each morning, offering his insights on parenting along the way. Among his great advice? Take a Farewell to Independence Tour before The Banker and I decide to start thinking about having a family.

So this September 2nd or 3rd, if everything goes according to plan, The Banker and I--and hopefully some friends--will take off for Lima, Peru, where the adventure of a lifetime awaits. My old editor always talked about hiking up to Machu Picchu. It's an adventure I soon embraced and one I hope to conquer.

And then? And then there is no plan. We go off the map. And we'll have to hope and pray that The Banker and I will be blessed. And then the REAL adventure will begin.

Ummm, is this a good thing?

I'm being moved at work--to a new team, a new line, a new floor, everything. My training period at a quick end, I'm now going to have more visibility, more creative opportunity, and more responsibility. So technically, this is a good thing. But it leaves me feeling nauseous. Flying under the radar in my dark, discount-line floor was getting rather comfortable. Now I find out if I can play nice in the light, under a lot of watchful eyes. And no, as The Banker asked immediately, this doesn't entail any more money!