Bluebird Down

The pursuit of domestic bliss, one glorious debacle at a time.

Fillin’ the Belly August 28, 2011

Filed under: College Football,Cooking,Food,NFL,NHL,Penguins,Recipes — Teri @ 10:47 pm

I’ve gotten into a pattern of over-analyzing everything. It took me forever to write out our September menus. Our formula is pretty simple: one night of vegetarian, one night of red meat, one night of salmon. The rest usually turns out to be chicken. I was hoping to up the number of vegetarian meals this month, but instead I doubled up on red meat some weeks. That’s what happens when you over-analyze — often times, you move in reverse. Speaking of red meat, I made Slow Cooker Barbeque Beef Sandwiches from Southern Living tonight. Z ate four sandwiches with baked barbeque potato chips and cole slaw. The recipe is a keeper.

  • 1 (3 1/2-pound) eye-of-round roast, cut in half vertically [I used a 2 and a 1/2 pounder from Carolina Grown of grass fed beef.]
  • 2 teaspoons salt, divided
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 1 (10-ounce) can condensed beef broth
  • 1 cup ketchup
  • 1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
  • 1/2 cup lemon juice
  • 3 tablespoons steak sauce
  • 1 teaspoon coarse ground pepper
  • 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
  • 12 Kaiser rolls or sandwich buns [I used whole wheat hamburger buns.]
  • Dill pickle slices [Omitted. Z hates pickles.]

Preparation

  • Sprinkle beef evenly with 1 teaspoon salt.
  • Stir together remaining 1 teaspoon salt, garlic, and next 7 ingredients. Pour half of mixture into a 5 1/2-quart slow cooker. Place beef in slow cooker, and pour remaining mixture over beef.
  • Cover and cook on HIGH 7 hours.
  • Shred beef in slow cooker with two forks. Serve in rolls or buns with dill pickle slices.

 

That steely eyed bluebird is on the hunt for leaves and sticks and berries for her fabulous vegetarian meal.

 

Here’s what we’re having for the next 28 days. [I still haven’t gotten a proper calendar.] Maybe I’ll do better at sharing recipes this month.

August 29 – Salmon, spinach and rice
August 30 – Veggie Sausage & Egg Burritos
August 31 – Stovetop Chicken Pie
September 1 – Pork Tenderloin Medallions with Balsamic Reduction
September 2 – Beef & Mushroom Sloppy Joes
September 3 – Out for Family Birthday Dinners
September 4 – Shrimp Fettucine Alfredo with Asparagus
September 5 – Grilled Bison Burgers with French Fries
September 6 – Salmon, Broccoli, Couscous
September 7 – Three Cheese Chicken Penne Florentine
September 8 – Chili with Guacamole and Chips [NFL Season Opener]
September 9 – Eat Out [Hopefully the new Mellow Mushroom!]
September 10 – Grilled Chicken Wraps
September 11 – Linguine with Two Cheese Sauce
September 12 – Mexicali Meatless Tostadas
September 13 – Creamy Chicken Salad
September 14 – Salmon, Asparagus and Rice
September 15 – Grilled Flank Steak with Onion, Avocado and Tomato
September 16 – Pizza and Beer at the Midnight Madness 5K
September 17 – Chicken and Black Bean Stuffed Burritos
September 18 – Spaghetti
September 19 – Wild Mushroom Stroganoff
September 20 – Chipotle Rubbed Flank Steak
September 21 – Chicken & Bacon Roll-ups
September 22 – Salmon, Brussel Sprouts, Red Potatoes
September 23 – Chicken Strips with Blue Cheese Dressing
September 24 – Chicken Tostadas & Avocado Dressing
September 25 – Lasagna

Should Just Give Up Reading: The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin

Training Log: I used Hurricane Irene as an excuse to sleep a lot this weekend.

Days Until: College Football: 6; NFL: 11; NHL: 46

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Scout and Her Latin Lovers August 27, 2011

Scout, caught on the couch. Gateway behavior to her alternative lifestyle.

Scout, AKA Backyard Kitty, has a squirrel boyfriend. We named him Raul. She shares her expensive Old Girl Cat Food with him. I suspect she wants to share her igloo cat house with him. Raul is not a stay-the-night kind of squirrel though. I can see it in his eyes. I try to tell her that she can’t trust a squirrel that sits on the corner of the fence and yells at her mom. If he were a Real Squirrel, he would come up on the deck and say hello properly.

Turns out that she may have taken my advice, but not told Raul. I woke up at 4:00 a.m. Friday morning to the horrific sound of an animal trapped under our kitchen cabinets. It was scratching to get out with its teeth, and claws and broken bones. Z had already been dealing with it for an hour before I woke up. He tried to get Mike the Toothless Cat and Pete! the Wonder Pup to meow, bark or scratch in defensive of our home. Apparently they looked at the cabinet and turned around and went back to their beds. The scratching coming from the cabinet turned my stomach. I banged on the door with my Life is Good water bottle. The scratching stopped. Z thought it was a mouse. No way, I said. That’s bigger than a mouse. Oh no, I bet it’s a squirrel. We concluded we had a R. Kelly Trapped in the Closet scenario going on under my soup pots. There’s a new squirrel in the cat house. We named him Julio. I hope he’s good looking, because he’s obviously too stupid to find his way out from under the house. [How did he get under there anyway?!] Every time he scratched, I banged on the counter. I’m sure he was frightened, but I have a general lack of compassion at 4 a.m. I have to sleep, I whined to Zef. He set up his iPad to play gun show podcasts for the poor squirrel. As I fell back to sleep, Z said the podcasts were working. I said the squirrel probably passed out from boredom. Or maybe that was the final push he needed to save himself. No scratching has been heard in 24 hours. Run free, Julio.

Hopes to Finish Reading Today So I Can Start Sarah’s Key: The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin

Training Log: The Holden Uganda Run for Water 5K was cancelled due to Hurricane Irene. Off to the gym this morning if the power stays on.

 

Race Report: Run Wild! 5K at the NC Zoo August 21, 2011

Filed under: 5K,Exercise Follies,Road Trip,Training Log — Teri @ 4:05 pm

I had to reassure him that my headband is faux giraffe print.

No one told me that the zoo has hills. I take that back. Patterson told me, but I didn’t believe her. We were sitting at the Ale House Friday after work when I reminded everyone, as I ate fried pickles and drank sweet tea, that I was running my first 5K race the next morning. There are a lot of hills at the zoo, Patterson said. No there isn’t, I countered. I have always lived within a few hours of the North Carolina Zoo and have been at least a handful of times, if not more. I didn’t remember any hills. Apparently I have early onset dementia.

Z and I rose at 5 o’clock, so we could hit the road to Asheboro by 5:30 a.m. I drive through Asheboro and past the zoo every time I go home to visit my family, so I knew it would be about an hour and a half of travel time. The race started at 7:30 a.m., so there would be time to pick up our race packets and stretch before the start of the race. I banked on there being even more time since I assumed no one other than us would be on the road in the predawn of Saturday morning. I totally miscalculated. It took two hours and we got there just in time to make it to the starting line. [I won’t talk about how we took a wrong turn and lost even more time because Z trusted the GPS over me. I also won’t mention how snarky he was when giving those misguided directions.]

I figured my frustration would propel me through the race. I don’t think Z wanted to be near me any more than I wanted to be near him, so he bolted through the crowd. The starting gate was a narrow walkway leading back to the African exhibits. The beginning of the race was incredibly congested with strollers and walkers and shufflers. The serious runners were mad because the congestion cut into their finishing times. I was just glad that everyone didn’t break out into a sprint. The zoo is a beautiful place for a run though. Unfortunately, It was too early for the animals to be strolling around their exhibits. I don’t think they had to be at work until 9.

I felt good starting out. I decided to keep pace with a girl wearing an orange bandana in her hair. I guessed she was about my size and my fitness level. By the end of the first mile, she left me. Clearly, we are not the same fitness level. I lowered my expectations and focused on a middle aged man and his son. The kid was probably five or six. The dad was a runner. He had that lean look about him. If nothing else, I could keep pace with the kid who was verbalizing the whines I was screaming in my head. Another hillllllll?! By the end of the second mile, they left me. Turns out that kid is pretty scrappy when promised a breakfast of ice cream. By then I was running down the hills and walking up them. I settled in beside a huge kid in his early 20s. You could tell he played the defensive line in high school football. He was probably 6’2″ and chunky. He huffed loudly as he pounded down the hills, gravity pulling him along. That’s OK. When I was keeping up with Orange Bandana, I could barely hear my iPod over the sound of my panting. We only had a 1/3 of a mile to go (Big Kid asked a route volunteer.) when I saw Z coming down the trail toward me. He had already crossed the finish line but came back to finish with me. He finished in 30 minutes and I finished in 44 minutes.

My goal when I concocted this goofy 5K plan was to run my entire first race without walking. Well, I didn’t meet that goal. I probably split the time between running and walking. I didn’t really keep up with it. I was more focused on avoiding runaway strollers on those freakin’ hills that weren’t supposed to be there. So new goal is this: By the October races, I should be running all the way. Then as I work my way through the November and December races, I just want each one to have a better finishing time than the last. I have a long way to go. To make it happen I need to follow my training schedule. I need to lay off the fried pickles. And maybe next time they should just release the lions to motivate the chubby runners in the back of the pack.

 

My Albatross’ Name is Cookie August 16, 2011

Filed under: Currently Reading,Exercise Follies,Food,Training Log — Teri @ 10:38 pm

Yup.

Whoops. I grew out of my work clothes. My weight started creeping up after my surgery in January, but this summer’s good times with it’s food and wine popped the button. When I was younger, I would have cried as I tried on all of the pants and skirts in my closet, desperate for just one pair to fit. I huffed at myself in the mirror tonight, but I didn’t cry. I developed a stress headache, but I didn’t cry.

I’ve carried too much weight around with me for most of my life. Sometimes it was only five pounds, occasionally ten times that. For one glorious summer I was actually at the very bottom of my CDC determined healthy weight range, but I only ate fat free cheese and fig newtons. Then I spent most of my 20’s hovering at the top of the range. And then I just blew off caring about the range altogether. So I’ve been there and back… and there and back again.

I’ve done Weight Watchers with some success. When I was younger, I could lose 10 pounds just by keeping busy. I’m not that lucky anymore. But I do exercise. I can be sporadic, but at least I’m not a couch potato. I eat lots of veggies and whole grains and lean meats. “Lots” being the operative word. My portion sizes are as plump as I am.

So as I stood in front of the mirror in my skin tight work pants (hey, at least I could zip them up!), I thought, “So what are you going to do about it?” Well, I’m going to cut back on my Coke consumption, which has skyrocketed this summer. That will save 280 calories a day. That’s 1,960 calories a week. (Good grief, is it really?!) You have to cut or burn 3,500 calories to lose a pound, so I’ll have to cut back on food too. Oh, how I love to eat. I think I’ll have to cut back to 1500 calories a day. Any less than that and I’ll be hateful. I’m not sure how many calories I’ve been eating, so I don’t know how much that will save. And, then, of course I have to stop putzing around and make every scheduled workout. Six days a week. I already do a ton of cardio, so I need to add in weight training. Muscle burns calories. So what am I going to do about it? That’s what I’m going to do about it. I’m guessing I need to lose 10 pounds to fit back into my clothes. Fifteen pounds wouldn’t hurt. So I’ll start with a goal of 15 pounds lost by October 11th. We’ll reassess at that point.

Of course, it would be nice if I didn’t have to spend so much time thinking about my weight and feel inadequate because I don’t manage it well. Every year I promise myself that this will be the year I am done dealing with it. I will be healthy. I will be fit. I will make the CDC proud. Too bad there isn’t a fortune cookie box you can crack open to reveal the secrets of why you do destructive things to yourself. Truth is I don’t want to lose weight because I need to be the fashion magazine version of attractive. I want to lose weight because I want to progress as a person and leave behind this albatross. And, OK, I want to fit into my pants.

(And for the record, if you are a grown woman who still talks about other people’s weight, then I’m going to need you to go out and get yourself a hobby.)

All Done Reading: Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby; Now Reading: The Happiness Project (No, I’m not unhappy. I’ll explain tomorrow.)

Training Log: Kind of blew today, but tomorrow is running and yoga. Time to pull up my extra large big girl panties and get on with it.

 

Be good. Be glad. Be brave. August 14, 2011

Filed under: Public Service Announcement — Teri @ 8:43 pm

4th Grade, 1980-81

“I have never let schooling interfere with my education.” ~ Mark Twain

I’m a horrible student, but I’m a pretty active learner. I wouldn’t say quick learner. More like a I’ll-come-around-to-it-in-my-own-time learner. But I’m open minded, I have a good imagination and I don’t mind busting through the boundaries of the proverbial box. These are all things I came to appreciate about myself as I grew. These were not things that were particularly appreciated while I was in school.

I probably started making school year resolutions when I was in 4th grade. It was the year I laid down a set of expectations that I would rekindle every year until I finished my first round of college. How old was I in 4th grade? 10 years old? Either I was a genius for being so reflective at a young age or an idiot for continually following the desires of a 10 year old. Or maybe what we all want in life is simple enough that a child can articulate it. I kept the list simple:

Goal 1: I will do my school work. I had good intentions of being like the kids in the ABC Afterschool Specials. I would sit at the kitchen table after school, with a snack freshly made by my mom, and finish my homework before dinner.
Reality 1: My homework was always done on the bus or in the hallway before class. And forget about getting it done in class. I don’t know what I was doing in class, but it wasn’t my classwork. I was the “not working up to potential” kid.

Goal 2: Make more friends.
Reality 2: This resolution had limited success. I did have friends and a wide variety of friends, but I would have had better friendships if I were kinder. My house was a sad place to grow up and that created an angry child. I could be cruel. But not in a Queen Bee way. I wasn’t Benny Hanson or Caroline Mulford. I didn’t have the social status for that. I was more like Molly Ringwald‘s hostile sidekicks — minus the smoking and cursing.

Goal 3: Be cute – dress fashionably, comb hair.
Reality 3: I started out as a tomboy, transitioned into awkward and went straight into chubby. Nothing says that you can’t be cute at any of those stages, but for the most part, I was not. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. And I didn’t really have anybody to tell me that I shouldn’t be.

I carried around these resolutions from year to year to year to year — probably right up to grad school. [OK, so it really was up until grad school.] Now that I work for a school system, I still have the same old “This year I’m going to…” notions popping up in my head. I’ll ignore the Mean Girl Teachers (oh yes, they exist!). I’ll get my reports done on time. I’ll get up early enough to put on make-up. And this is after several years and thousands of dollars of therapy. I’m not so hard on myself anymore though. And I try to tell the kids that I work with not to be so hard on themselves and each other. It’s not easy to convince a 12 year old that you know what you are talking about. They can’t see outside of their heads, outside of their situations. Life will get better, I tell them. You are not and do not have to be pigeonholed into a stereotype. I tell them that my favorite quote is “Be good. Be glad. Be brave.” They wrinkle their noses at me and furrow their brows. I keep going… Be good: Do what you need to do, because believe it or not, life is easier that way. Be glad: There is just as much good in the world as bad. Focus on the good. Be brave: Dare to imagine yourself as great. Dare to be nice. Through bravery you will find integrity. And if you don’t remember your math equations, then remember this. This is your education.

 

Tiny Room Tour: Out With a Bang August 12, 2011

Filed under: Currently Reading,Family,Field Trips,Food,Road Trip,Writing — Teri @ 8:35 pm

Oh, the luxury! The Tiny Room Tour finished up the summer dates in spectacular style. Monday afternoon we loaded up and headed out to Banner Elk, NC to stay at the Mast Farm Inn. Along the way, I was making phone calls and recording interviews for my article due to the community paper the next day. I tell myself that I work best under pressure. By the time we rolled through Boone, then along the back roads of Banner Elk I was thrilled to see the green roof of the inn. We walk in and meet Danielle, the innkeeper. I instantly love her. She’s loud and friendly and laughs a lot. When we asked about local restaurants for dinner, she enthusiastically told us about her favorites. She won my heart when she kept saying, “they specialize in local, organic food.” She asked what we wanted to do while we were there. I said, “We — oh,” and looked over at Zef. “OK, well, I used ‘we’ loosely, because I haven’t asked Zef, but ‘we’ want to hike and kayak.” Z cocked his head to the side and look at me as if he hasn’t had a say about anything since five minutes into our first date. Danielle howled. She took us up to the Aunt Leona Room, a third floor dormer room without a TV and directed us to Vidalia for dinner. Danielle promised the onion rings were amazing and they were. Z had spaghetti with lamb meatballs and I had a tomato and goat cheese salad. Z loved the lamb. I told him to enjoy it, because I was never, ever making it at home.

 

Profile View. See the Indian head?

 

The next morning we woke to our 8 o’clock coffee delivery. Breakfast was at 8:30 in the dining room. It was a vast and amazing plate of homemade yogurt with granola, vegetable quiche. ham and biscuits. I was stuffed and the forecast said it may rain, so we opted to go for a hike and put off kayaking until better weather the next day. My idea was to wander down some paths, maybe take in a waterfall or two, then head back to town for some shopping. Z had other plans. He looked at the list of trails and immediately zeroed in on Grandfather Trail, where you access part of the trail by climbing up wooden ladders on the mountain face. I thought he was insane, and luckily so did the park service, because they closed the trail for the day because of high winds. We were told we could go to the west side of the mountain and take the Profile Trail. I suppose because we were still full from breakfast, we didn’t pack very much water or food for the hike. I suspect we also thought Profile Trail would be easy. And the first mile was easy. We passed a rocky stream where we played in the cool water. We marched up the inclines past Foscoe View, Profile Campsite and Profile View. Once we reached Shanty Springs, I was starting to think this wasn’t much fun anymore. This is where the climb became technically strenuous. I had already finished most of my water and it was starting to get hot. We passed a couple on the way down. The man, probably in his late 20’s with a bandana wrapped around his head and a professional camera hanging from his neck, was invigorated! He told us to keep going, it was totally worth it. A girl about his age came down the rocks a few minutes after he did. She nodded meekly to his enthusiasm. I looked her in the eye. We exchanged an all-knowing glance that all men are deranged. The couple moved pasted us and kept descending as Z and I started up the rocks. The path is a series of rock formations that we had to navigate. At some parts I found it easier to climb up on my hands and knees. Other parts, I slid on my butt. I asked Z how far we were going. He wanted to make it to the west side head of the Grandfather Trail. “It’s about three miles. Actually, 3.1,” he yelled back at me. It was like a 5K to the sky. I could do that, I told myself. When we reached Calloway Gap, Z decided we should go a little longer. “We’re almost to the peak,” he pleaded. I dragged behind him. My big breakfast had fueled the way up but was now gone. I didn’t have any water left. My legs were shaking. We had the option of going to the Watagua View or Calloway Peak and the elusive Grandfather Trail. Watagua View was closer. “I’m not going the long way,” I told Z. That climb was the hardest thing I had done in a while and I was done. But first I had to get back down. Where going up the trail was physically challenging, going down was mentally challenging. I turned my left ankle three times since I lost the ability to land my foot squarely. I slid down rocks. I was slightly concerned about falling off the trail and down the mountain. When we reached the bottom, I chugged a hot Coke and downed a snack pack of walnuts from the truck. My hands were shaking and I had no strength in my legs. Z, on the other hand, was fine. He leaned against the back of the truck and stretched his legs while I debated going into diabetic shock. When he hopped into the driver’s seat, I informed him that we were going straight to Mellow Mushroom Pizza — despite dusty ankles, despite reeking of bug spray and sunblock and despite the wild look in my eyes. When we got back to the inn, I was still feeling pretty down on myself for having such a hard time on the trail. We met Danielle’s husband, Ken, in the hallway. We told him about our day. He seemed genuinely impressed that we finished the trail in four hours. I used the burst of confidence to will my tired legs up to our third floor room.

 

I think I said an expletive when I saw this portion. Silly me, I wasn't even to the strenuous part yet. (Trail is much steeper and rockier than appears in photo.)

 

The next morning I had to roll myself out of bed because all of my muscles were locked into position. I winced going down the stairs. My upper thigh muscles were unforgiving. I tried to convince Z that antiquing would be a fun alternative to kayaking. He scowled at me and asked for the nearest outfitter. As I ate my fruit danish and drank my OJ, I was grateful that you sit while kayaking. We were the only kayakers on the river with a few tubers and fishermen. And why were we the only kayakers? Because everyone else had the sense to know that it was too shallow to kayak. The mountains, it seems, are also suffering through a drought. At points in the river, we had to get out and drag our kayaks through ankle deep water. Other times, I just reached out and pushed off of the river bed. Z christened our outfitter Rocky Bottom Kayaks. I hate this was Z’s first kayaking trip because it wasn’t as fun as it should have been. Luckily we have a knack for coming away with stories even in the dullest of circumstances.

Currently Reading: Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby

Finished Reading and Loved: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

 

When the Walls Came Tumbling Down August 6, 2011

Filed under: Currently Reading,Training Log — Teri @ 1:50 pm

9/11/01 9:03 a.m.

I saw a commercial last night for the new Steven Spielberg special about 9/11. Just a few weeks ago, I was reading through Facebook and noticed that someone “liked” a 9/11 Tenth Anniversary page. “Has it really been 10 years,” I said to Zef. “Seems like longer,” he said. And he’s right. I can barely remember what life was like before 9/11. Before plane travel became a pain and the stock market lost it’s mind and gas prices became outrageous. I remember the day everything changed though.

I was at my desk that Tuesday morning when a co-worker popped up out of his cubicle and said a plane has just crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. His wife had called. She was a nice lady, but as a housewife with a cleaning lady and a grown child, she was prone to calling her husband in fits of contrived hysteria. If I remember correctly, I rolled my eyes as he darted down the aisle and into the conference room with the TV. My friend stopped at my cubicle, “Let’s see what’s going on.” Peter Jennings was giving the news report. The three of us watched without understanding. Surely it was an accident. Who flies a plane into a building? Some of the company executives were starting to file in the room now. They had a meeting at 9:00 am and were only vaguely interested in what the Marketing Kids were doing watching TV in their space. Because the president of the company was running late for the meeting, we were still standing there watching the live broadcast when the second plane crashed in the South Tower. The men in the room all jumped out of their chairs. They knew something was wrong, but I just stood there dumbfounded. “What does this mean?” I asked the company vice president. I had grabbed his arm without realizing it. “I don’t know,” he said. He put his arm around my shoulders like a dad comforting his child. We were the only ones who had spoken. Everyone else seemed to be holding their breath. It’s amazing to me that 30 minutes passed before anyone moved again. We were transfixed on the news. When Peter Jennings announced that the Pentagon had been hit, the VP, who still had his arm around my shoulders, spun me around, took my shoulders in both of his hands and said, “Go clear the other conference rooms and tell everyone to get back to their desks.” I was shaking. I was terrified. I knocked on the door of the adjoining conference room. Most of the people already knew about the first plane crashing into the WTC. Some were annoyed I was disrupting their meeting. “The Pentagon has been hit,” I said with no fanfare at all. My throat was dry and I felt pale. I did as I was asked and went back to watch the news. When the first tower collapsed, I naively assumed the building was already evacuated. When the plane went down in Pennsylvania, it never occurred to me that it was supposed to be rerouted for the White House. At 11 o’clock, I went back to my desk. I turned my CD player over to radio and turned the dial to NPR. I shuffled papers on my desk and listened. There was a frustrating lack of information. I wanted to go home and see my mom, but the building was on lockdown. We weren’t going anywhere.

In the days after 9/11, I was glued to the news reports. The whole thing was so diabolical I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. I cried as reports came out about workers in the WTC making last phone calls home. Their families were still looking for them, putting up posters, making pleas on TV. I have a memory of President Bush having tears in his eyes when he visits Ground Zero, but I can’t remember exactly when that happened. My heart broke for him and I wasn’t even much of a fan of his. In 2008, I was giving a presentation to soldiers returning from Iraq about PTSD. I told them PTSD comes in varying degrees. I made an offhanded statement that I seriously thought I had PTSD from the news reports after 9/11. I couldn’t watch the news or violence of any kind for a good nine months afterward. I thought they would laugh at me. They were quiet, some of them nodded.

It seems to me that there is a underlying agreement that life changed forever that day. That’s why the soldiers didn’t laugh. They understood. Even though I was 30 years old on September 11, 2001, I was still a very sheltered girl. The events of 9/11 jerked a knot in my very being. I knew I had to stop being an irresponsible, impetuous girl and start being a grown up with some investment in the world. It took a while, but I got myself in order. I left my marketing job and went back to school to become a social worker. And I think there is a part of me, somewhere in the back of my heart and mind, that tries every day to be worthy of living past that day.

Where were you on the morning of 9/11/2001?

Currently Slowly Reading: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Training Log: Activity: C25K W4D3; Activity: Cycling, Time: 45 minutes, Miles: 20