Textbooks, assignments and syllabi, OH MY!

Well, Tuesday the world drew a collective sigh of.....what.....despair? excitement? relief? dread??? Yes, Tuesday marked the first official day of classes. Not only at my college, but at colleges nationwide, including classes I am taking to complete my grad degree.

I was filled with dread at beginning my final semester of my own classes. My Tuesday class started with a prof who has 2 PhD's and a 12 page syllabus! I mean, c'mon! Heading into my 3rd and final year of the program- my excitement is waning a bit. It’s Iowa, it’s August- therefore twice a week, I hurry to the babysitter’s to swiftly nab my sweet child, stuff her little curly-headed self into a car seat- drive home- hurriedly feed her, give her kisses and head back out into the night. Where, as it turns out- most people are playing, reading, relaxing, swimming, running, eating, smiling, or doing any number of things that don't have to do with any words like "financial, strategic, corporate, flows, applications, accounting, management, statistics or processes." As is turns out I am not so lucky. I’m hungry and I have to sit for the next 3 hours listening to an MBA professor fill my head full of reasons I should care about running a top-down beta verses a regression (no offense to said professor- I’m sure it’s useful to somebody). When the suffering ends- I trudge to my car- relinquish yet another $2.50 parking “dot”- and spend the next 35 minutes wondering what the heck I am doing to myself as I commute back to my little slice of heaven.

Maybe I am, after all, insane for enduring this self-inflicted torture. I mean, after my Tuesday class I did fall into convulsions of laughter, rocking back and forth until I was foaming at the mouth. (that's normal, right?)
I digress......

Harry Potter and the Dairy Deluge!

OK, what has deep fried *insert food here* (seriously anything will work- hot dogs, bananas, snickers, pickles...) on a stick, top notch musical acts from around the world, and a few thousand sticks of buttery goodness artistically sculpted into the form of my favorite boy-wizard? If you guessed a popcorn factory on a busy British street corner during RockStock 2007 you'd be wrong. It's actually the Iowa State Fair, in all of it's 100 degree, sweat dripping, food-on-a-stick licking, "you've got to be kidding me she's not really wearing that in public," glory. It's got to be the only place where you can watch tractor square-dancing, then rock out a few hours later to Alice Cooper. Very nice indeed.

Bottom line is this-friends,family- if you're going to be in Des Moines anyway, try your hand at the rooster clucking contest or cow patty flinging, then zoom on down to my house- we're only about 15 minutes out of the way. Maybe I'll even show you my attempt at immortalizing my husband in the form of butter. I mean, come on, if it's good enough for Harry Potter! ? !

A day of mourning...

You know those relationships that just get better over time? You really learn about the other, come to appreciate their imperfections and devote hours of time and attention really listening to them? Well, this morning that was abruptly ripped away from me and I have to say I am reeling. My morning started like any other. I groaned when the alarm clock went off. I showered in a sleepy daze. I made myself presentable and with 4 minutes to spare, I sat down at my computer, knowing that it would probably make me 5 minutes late to work. But then the awful reality really hit me. My Itunes went wonky! All of my songs, all of my playlists---- gone. Just like that. There was no warning, no horrible freeze-up, no blue-screen of death. One day my 800 songs in all of their toe-tapping, air-guitar prompting glory were there, and the next they were gone. I think there are stages of grief. Something about denial, anger and then maybe acceptance? I'm not sure where horrifically distraught fits in there... any psych majors out there???
Until next time----Beth

Big dreams

One of the most fun things about having a child, is wondering what their dreams are, what they'll grow up to be. Granted, right now my daughter's interests center around the Wiggles, diced pears and "Baby" her plastic doll, but someday, I imagine those interests will become slightly more diverse.

I have a great family, nice job, beautiful home, but I wonder in my mind what other paths my life might have taken, given different circumstances? Here are my top contenders:

I'd travel frequently in Africa. I've long had a healthy obsession with Africa. I love seeing it, reading about it, imagining the rawness of it. I read plenty of Robert Ruark, a vivid writer from the 1960's era of big game hunting in Africa. Maybe I'd find a career as a nature photographer, snapping pictures of dramatic African sunsets overseeing the Ngorongoro crater. There'd probably be silhouettes of giraffes in the foreground, just for good measure. I'd be earthy and plain, but in tune with the continent, sort of a Jane Goodall type. Heck, maybe I'd even be a primate researcher. Watching patiently from my perch in the rainforest as gorillas and orangatans eat bugs off of one another. But alas, I hate bugs, especially big rainforest bugs, and malaria carrying mosquitoes. I'm terribly saddened by famine and extreme poverty, especially image of little African children with swollen bellies and flies swarming around them. And I'd prefer not to get munched by a crocodile, ripped to shreds by a lion or trampled by an elephant. So there Africa will remain, a dream, a dustbowl in my imagination, nothing more.

I could also see myself as a writer. Probably some indie chic type. Living independently somewhere beautiful and secluded, overlooking mountains or oceans. I'd probably wear thick black rimmed glasses, drinks lots of chai tea and refuse to shave my armpits or something. I'd type away for hours, losing track of days. I'd have some interesting tattoos, foreign letters with deep meaning. I'd have a psuedo name of course- something catchy like Stella Cruise or W.R. Stantz.

Lastly, I could see myself as country bumpkin. Living in the hills, but close to the life of honky tonk. Baking breads, seweing quilts, painting pictures, breathing in the fresh air of a Montana ranch. Glamourous? Not really. But fascinating none the less. I'd live in a beautiful rustic cabin, rustic cosmetically but with the necessary ammenities of central AC, high speed internet and Guitar Hero of course. On the weekends I's stroll into town, and maybe even partake in a square dance or two-step. Some wiry cowboy would twirl be around the dancefloor then tip his dusty hat and say "thank you ma'am." Yes, country life could be down right peachy y'all.

But back here in reality, back in Indianola, I sit here, amongst piles of folded laundry, shopping lists, and a to do list a mile long. My husband is mowing, my daughter is napping and ultimately I know that my life may not be as exciting as authoring a novel or as....buggy... as a trip to Africa, but it's mine and the people in it are amazing!