Over or under?

Tonight, as I often do, I fed my husband couscous. Historically, this is a food he's hated. Until he met me and was forced to eat it on a weekly basis. Right now, he's lying on the couch. Petting our cat. Whom he refused to even fathom allowing to live inside. Until we got married. My, how things change.

As I reflect on the past 4 years of our lives together, the theme that recurs again and again...is compromise. Mostly his. He embraces the cat. He tolerates my shopping. And my non-stop talking. He accepts my bi-weekly emptying/cleaning/reorganizing of the refrigerator. He assuages my anxieties.

As for me, I've done my share of meeting in the middle. I just laugh now when I think how excited I was about setting up a home together and getting new furniture. We've bought none. Nada. Well, other than a futon and a hand-me-down table and chairs for the kitchen. I'm still living with the same leather/vinyl beige couch he had when we met. I'd love to lobby to get rid of it. But it's difficult when it's still in good shape (barring a few places where the pleather is getting worn) and is long enough for David to stretch all the way out on. For our third anniversary (leather), we did jointly buy ourselves a new leather recliner...which the cat subsequently scratched. Oops.

I finally just gave up and broke down and painted our $149 Kmart entertainment center, which houses our 9-year-old, 175 pound, hands-down, oldest. picture tube. TV. still. alive. I use the term "still alive" loosely as it's recently started having lines run across it that can only be corrected by one of us banging our fist on the top of the screen. Over the years I've also allowed the head of a dead animal to be mounted on my wall, learned to cook and eat said animal, agreed to attempt to stick to a budget, and grown accustomed to a thermostat setting that's sometimes 5 degrees below what I'd prefer.

While we've learned to see eye-to-eye on most of the major issues, there are still some inconsequential ones on which neither of us seems willing to budge. Take the toothpaste, for instance. David feels it should be squeezed from the bottom up on every use. I, on the other hand, feel this extra effort is a waste of time. That is, until the tube is almost empty...at which point I'll make a last ditch effort to conserve.

Another area of contention is our T-shirt folding methods. He finds the way I fold T-shirts to be unacceptable. His method results in a folded shirt that readily displays the pocket or the logo in the pocket area, so he can easily tell exactly which shirt it is without having to unfold it at all. I've tried to learn his bass-ackwards way of folding T-shirts, but it just feels wrong. Some habits die hard.

But of all the differences of opinion, the one that I find most difficult to resolve is the issue of the toilet paper. I wish I could say it didn't matter to me. But, unfortunately, it does. I honestly prefer for the loose end of the toilet paper to come from underneath the roll. For one reason and one reason only...it's easier to tear. End of discussion. Then again...in our crazy, hectic lives these days...we're doing good if we even manage to get the roll changed out at all!

Q: Over or under?
A:

Why do I dream that my teeth are falling out?!

That's right. The title of this post should immediately separate anyone who is reading this blog into two categories. The first category consists of those of you who read the question and immediately thought, "Girl, you must seriously need to floss!" (And you're probably right because I don't do so nearly as often as I should.) For those of you who had that reaction, you have my permission to stop reading now. You will never, nor do I expect you to, understand.
Now, on to those of you whose reaction was "OMG! OMG! I dream that too!!! What DOES that mean?!?!"...keep reading. Not because I have the answer. Well, the RIGHT answer, anyway. Just read on to know you're not alone.

I've had this dream for years. Not all that often. Just once a month or so. Maybe more if I'm under a lot of stress. I had it last night. And it was even more traumatizing that usual. For the most part, I usually dream that I'm chewing something, when I suddenly realize that a tooth has fallen out. Followed by another tooth. Then another. And then, before I know what's happened, I end up spitting out a mouthful of teeth. (I know this is gross...if you don't identify...in which case you should've stopped reading like I advised you to do.) The dreams are always so vivid that I often wake up feeling like they were real. Only to breathe a sigh of relief once I realize my incisors are still intact.

I never realized how common my dream was until someone brought it up once at a family reunion. I was SHOCKED (and relieved?!) at how many people confessed to dreaming the very same thing! I've since found myself in more than one setting where the topic was introduced and even more people were both amazed and perplexed by the fact that they share a common nightmare.

Now I should point out that I'm not one who believes that dreams have some underlying meaning, or that they can be foreshadowing or prophetic. I don't even know how much I buy into the fact that they symbolize anything about what's really going on in your life. I tend to think they're just an assortment of people/places/elements, that you experienced or thought about (maybe even subconsciously) during the day, that randomly come together during REM sleep to form meaningless, abstract combinations. But the fact that so many people share a common dream must mean SOMETHING. Much like dreams about falling. Or about showing up for school or work naked. I mean, who has that EVER happened to?! So, if we're not dreaming about it because it did or could happen, then why?!

Well, I did some "research." By research, I mean...I Googled. Just to see what the sources out there had to say on the issue. And, MAN, is there a broad spectrum of sources on the internet giving information about dreams! Here are some possible explanations that I found for this particular nightmare:

Anxieties about health or appearance: Dreaming about losing your teeth, which are symbols of good health and beauty, could symbolize an underlying fear of illness or of feeling less attractive.

Fear of growing older or death: There are two times in life when we lose teeth...when we lose our baby teeth as children, and when our teeth deteriorate as older adults. Dreaming of losing teeth could reflect a concern about growing older, the realization of our mortality, or even the mere fact of nearing a milestone birthday.

Feelings of powerlessness/abandonment: Often in dreams about losing teeth, the dreamer realizes one tooth is falling out and tries to stop or prevent what's happening...but to no avail. This could represent an area of the dreamer's life where he or she feels powerless.

Secrets/Embarrassment: Losing or spitting out teeth can represent admitting or expressing something that's been concealed, as well as a desire to hide something that might cause embarrassment. It can also symbolize lying or a feeling of being lied to.

An actual physical problem: What manifests itself in our dreams could be a result of a real physical problem we're experiencing, even one so subtle that we're not cognizant of it during our waking hours.

Q: Why do I dream that my teeth are falling out?!
A: Probably because I grind them in my sleep!*

*See future post about causes for grinding one's teeth...

Does my husband intentionally annoy me to keep me from soliciting his help in the kitchen?

My household has been awfully lazy today. A combination of staying up late to ring in the New Year with friends, being awakened in the wee hours by the storms, and finding ourselves lulled into a stupor by the heavy early morning rains caused us to sleep later than usual. Especially me. In fact, I climbed out of bed this morning to find that coffee, biscuits, and bacon awaited me, courtesy of my sweet husband.

A late breakfast led to a late lunch and then, ironically, a nap. When I woke up, it was dangerously close to dinnertime. I had no groceries and no plan. Deciding to do my small part to keep New Years Day traditions alive, I dashed off to the grocery store to buy the necessary ingredients for black-eyed pea soup and accompanying jalapeno corn muffins, one of our favorite meals.

Because time was of the essence and the ten minutes of preparation the muffins required would have seriously cut into the prep time I needed for the soup, I reluctantly asked my husband if he could please just follows the directions and make the muffins for me. Since he had already told me that the football game he was watching had ended, he basically had no excuse. He agreed. I removed the page from my recipe binder...a recipe, I might add, that he's helped me make before...and got straight to work on my chopping. Hilarity ensued. Here's a play-by-play of what took place after that point.

1. He stalled.

2. Stalled some more.

3. Detecting a hesitation in the movement of the oven drawer (while securing the muffin pan) he proceeded to rattle it around, rearrange its contents, study the drawer's design, and finally close it to resume the muffin preparation.

4. Solicited my help in selecting a "medium bowl" to house the cornbread mixture.

5. Diagnosed himself with an acute allergy to celery, due to his aversion to the stench from the stalks I was chopping.

6. Was suddenly overtaken by an intense stomach pain.

7. Complained that the onions (that I was chopping!) were bothering his eyes.

8. Farted.

9. Upon my asking if it was okay for me to blog about this experience, responded that it didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to read it anyway due to the onset of his blindess from the onions.

10. More complaints, sniffling, about the celery, onions, shallots.

11. Required a break due to the effects of the onions. (Said break involved him walking approximately 4 feet to the kitchen doorway that leads to the living room, where he watched a few minutes of ESPN.)

12. Reacted dramatically to a piercing sound that resulted from the knife meeting the plate as he chopped jalapenos.

13. Finally (roughly half an hour later) poured the batter in the cups, slid the pan into the oven, set the timer, and went directly outside to let his eyes recover.

My emotions during this entire episode ranged from gratitude to irritation to amusement to homicidal. There was a point when I almost exiled him from the kitchen, another instant when I just shook my head laughing at his OCD tendencies, and then another where I looked at the extremely sharp knife in my hands and thought about my options. Then I remembered that I look good in neither orange nor jumpsuits.

I questioned my own sanity for having asked for his assistance (because, after almost four years of marriage, this should be an experience I'm all too familiar with). I questioned (and still do) whether his actions were all intentional (as it usually only takes a few seconds of him exhibiting a general lack of urgency before I just give in and do it myself).

All in all, though, dinner was a success! His corn muffins were excellent, a little easy on the heat because he used the exact 2 tablespoon of jalapenos the recipe calls for instead of adding a little more like I often do. He declared my soup to be the best it's ever been, likely because I added a little extra hot sauce in anticipation of a milder-than-usual muffin alongside it. We even managed to get everything ready and sit down to dinner at a somewhat reasonable hour.

However I must say that, if I had it to do over again, I might just accept the fact that we'd be eating dinner at 8:30 and prepare the whole meal myself. Alone. In a stress-free, whine-free, flatulence-free environment.

Then again, what fun would that be?

Q: Does my husband intentionally annoy me to keep me from soliciting his help in the kitchen?

A: If so, it isn't working.

What's the best kind of gift to receive?

I don't spend a lot of time deciding what to wear in the morning. I usually already know what I want to eat when the waiter asks for my drink order. I've been known to purchase shoes and even furniture on impulse. All in all, I'm a pretty quick decision-maker. But when it comes to buying gifts for others...I'm p-a-i-n-s-t-a-k-i-n-g-l-y...s-l-o-w.

I can't help it. I love to give gifts. But just any gift won't do. I have to find THE gift. I envy people like my mother, who picks up random items all year long whenever she comes across a bargain. She has drawers full of gloves, sheet sets, baby blankets, etc. So, whenever an occasion arises...BAM! She's ready at a moment's notice. I've tried her philosophy. I really have. Even this year. Finding myself in IKEA a few months ago I loaded up on candles, linens, and other versatile items...in the hopes that, come Christmas, I could match them up with an appropriate recipient. No such luck. I have a hard time giving someone something while at the same time knowing in my heart that I didn't buy it specifically FOR them.

Don't get me wrong. Sometimes I have no choice but to resort to the more generic gift options. For instance, this year the majority of my husband's and my grandmothers are getting scarves, and...drumroll, please...SOCKS for the granddads! What's not to love about socks?! Everything. That's what. Socks aren't fun. They aren't personal. They reflect a failure on my part to know what the person needs or cares about, as well as possibly a deeper seated need for approval. But that's another post.

So, what DOES make for a good gift?!
I wish I knew. I just want it to be what the person WANTS.

Ask someone like my husband what he wants for Christmas/birthday/anniversary/etc. He'll answer..."nothing." When I'm insistent for him to tell me something, ANYTHING, he then replies..."less debt." Joking aside, though, what he really wants in a gift is something that he would have ended up having to buy for himself eventually, but would rather just get as a gift in order to eliminate the extra cost associated with him buying both the needed thing AND me buying him a gift (e.g. boots to replace the ones he's worn out, a bedliner for his new truck, or a pressure washer).

I, on the other hand, am just the opposite. What I'm seeking is something I would NEVER have considered buying for myself. Frivolous little things (not necessarily expensive, just unnecessary) that I'll probably keep a long time and that I will never forget the occasion for which they were given. What I should receive this year (if the hints have worked): cowboy boots, a tambourine, and tickets to the National Championship game (ok, so maybe I've given up on the last one).

One of my favorite gift-giving tales is a story by one of my favorite authors, O. Henry, called "The Gift of the Magi." It's about a young couple, scrounging to make ends meet, who desperately want to buy each other something grand for Christmas. The wife, with no other available options for raising funds, sells her gorgeous long hair in order to buy her husband a chain for his watch, his prized possession. She does so only to have him come home to surprise her with beautiful combs for her hair, which she'd been eyeing for some time in a store window, but of course could no longer use. How did he afford such an extravagance? You guessed it...sold his watch!

The Magi referenced in the title are actually the wise men who brought gifts to the newborn baby Jesus. They appear (perhaps erroneously, as it would have taken them years to travel to where Jesus was) in Christmas pageants, nativities, and stories we tell as we reflect on the true meaning of this season. So, technically speaking, I submit that they could indeed be the first-ever givers of a Christmas gift. Or are they?

Back up a few years. A few thousand years. (As it were, the first Christmas was a long time in coming.) And, if necessity is a factor in determining the worth of a Christmas gift...then, MAN, were those Israelites needy! Because, while focusing on the real story of Christmas and the baby in the manger, it's also important to remember...the story didn't start there.

It started in the Garden of Eden when man gave in to temptation. It continued as God's people were overwhelmed by their inability to atone for their own sins. It escalated as they cried out for the Savior who had been promised, who would deliver them once and for all from sin and death. It was fulfilled in a stable, by a simple girl, giving birth on an ordinary night.

So, why the wise men? Why the gifts? Was it because a King had been born into royalty? No. He wasn't. Was it because there was a great banquet at the palace to celebrate His birth? No. There was none. So, why then?

It was because the prophecies of thousands of years had been fulfilled! The answer they'd prayed for had come! Their most desperate need had been met! Talk about gratitude! (Oh, how it shallows my request for boots.)

I said the story didn't start in the manger, but more importantly...it doesn't end there.

Jesus was sent for a singular purpose. Not to be born into a brief life on earth, but to die for something eternal. This baby would take on the sins of the world (past and future), endure the wrath of a loving yet just God, and forever atone for a people who could never do enough to achieve holiness.

Merry Christmas to all, as we celebrate the birth of the One who satisfies every needs for those who believe and follow Him.

Q: What's the best kind of gift to receive?

A: A sacrificial One.

What is the Music Genome Project?

Anyone who's used Pandora is probably familiar with this term. It's part of the explanation given when you try to dig down into the deeper reasoning behind why Pandora chose a particular song to be a part of your station. For anyone who isn't familiar with the Music Genome Project, or Pandora for that matter, here's a crash course. Pandora is an internet radio station that selects music that it thinks you'll enjoy based on a favorite song or artist that you have provided. The Music Genome Project is the tool that it uses to accomplish this feat. Similar to the study of genetics in plants and animals, the project identified 400 "genes" or characteristics of songs. Any given song is analyzed by one, or sometimes more, musicians to identify the genes present in the song and assign them a value between 1 and 5. Based on the set of genes/values identified in a song (its "vector") a distance function creates a list of similar songs. Pretty complicated, huh?

I must say it's fairly effective. When I plug my iPhone into my car stereo, fire up my Pandora app, and tap Matt Nathanson Radio...I get a pretty good playlist of songs that I enjoy. Their explanation, when I tap the Song button, usually tells me they chose a song based on characteristics such as "a vocal-centric aesthetic, mellow rock instrumentation, folk influences, a good dose of guitar pickin', a breathy male lead vocalist, etc." Sure, all traits that I enjoy. But there are still a lot more factors that cause a song to make it onto my personal playlist. I mean, sure I like songs that fit those criteria, but that list isn't exhaustive. Where are the characteristics like "songs I like to sing at the top of my lungs in my car," "songs I'd love to pretend were written about me," and "songs that have that one perfect line that fits so well with that haunting cord progression"? Show me the musician who's going to sit down and quantify THOSE things. (Some good examples of those, respectively, are "High Enough" by Damn Yankees, "Endlessly" by Green River Ordinance, and "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables...none of which will ever make an appearance on Matt Nathanson radio.)

Now, I'll address another entity that parades itself as being an expert on what it is that I might like to listen to...the iTunes Genius feature. If the genome project could be defined as complex, then I'd have to say that Genius is nothing short of...creepy. Genius anonymously sends your iTunes library to Apple's database and uses algorithms to determine which songs to play, based on similar findings in other users' libraries. However, now that the Genius sidebar has been replaced with the Ping sidebar, Genius no longer recommends songs for you to download. So its suggestions are all based on the songs that are already in your library. This helps me ZERO. Also, seeing as how I'm generally embarrassed for anyone to see what all is in my music library (OK, so I like John Denver and ABBA?!), it pains me to think my eclectic song choices are being sent out into cyberspace.

Contrast this with another music persona who, until recently*, had fallen silent on Birmingham airwaves...Scott Register, or "Reg" as he was known to listeners of his shows Reg's Coffee House and The Morning Blend. Reg built quite the name for himself by identifying musical talent and introducing it to the masses. I can honestly say I have him to thank for so many of the artists I've grown to love today...artists I would likely have never heard in the absence of his show (The Airborne Toxic Event, Benjy Davis Project, The Civil Wars). I first came to "know" Reg when he appeared on 107.7 during my late high school/early college years and then later on the breath of fresh air that I like to call Live 100.5...which [scary bagpipes...then...dun, dun, dun...] met its demise earlier this year.

To this DAY I can't understand how a city this size can sustain, like, 10 country music stations (no, THAT part I get...keep reading)...yet not even ONE decent alternative/indie/folk radio station that was hands-down the best thing to happen to Birmingham radio in a decade! Or longer! Anyway, I digress.

So, in the absence of a hard-working, well-rounded, forward-thinking, talent-recognizing entity to single-handedly build my iTunes library on my behalf...I'm instead forced to do so myself. What has resulted is a tireless array of Pandora bookmarking, Shazam tagging, friend polling, and iTunes searching. All in search of my "new favorite song/artist." Why should I have to go to all this trouble?! I need an app that can do it for me! I need Reg! Better yet...a PERSONAL Reg! A music shopping assistant who can read my mind, interpret my tastes, and go out and download the perfect selection of music to serve as the soundtrack for my morning commutes, my jogs, my cooking frenzies, and my wistful evenings alone.

Until then...has anyone heard any good music lately?!

Q: What is the Music Genome Project?
A: A good start!

*I learned today that Reg and his show are back as a part of "The Mountain," a new internet radio station. I'll be curious to see how this venture fares.

How much sugar and butter does it take to turn a sweet potato into a yam?

Thanksgiving has again come and gone. I'm enjoying a long weekend away from work. I've done a lot of baking. I've eaten a lot of dressing. I've gained three pounds. As I do year after year, I've again dealt with the dilemma that occurs at the intersection where my love of cooking crosses my families' stubborn, picky appetites.

The past few holidays have not gone particularly well. Two years ago there was the pecan pie that would never set (can't blame anyone but myself for that one...although I'm still trying to figure out what went wrong...). Also the squash casserole that no one seemed to eat. Still don't understand that one. My family all loves squash. Or so I thought. I made what I considered to be a delicious squash casserole. It was yummy! My aunt and grandmother liked it. My mother said she did, but I'm pretty sure she lied to preserve my feelings. At the end of the night I took home an almost untouched squash casserole! The explanation: they just prefer their squash fried! Oh, for the LOVE...

Last year there was the sweet potato debacle. I, myself, am not a fan, but my family seems to like them...so I volunteered to make them for both family functions. I peeled about a dozen and shoved the peels into the garbage disposal in what I thought was reasonable intervals. Fast forward to an hour later when my husband was disassembling the disposal and wet sweet potato mush was pouring out onto my kitchen floor! Looking back this was, while humorous, not one of my favorite moments in our marriage. And again, at the end of the Thanksgiving festivities, I was coming home with much fuller dishes than I would have liked. This year's excuses: Granddad doesn't like cinnamon, and there were too many competing sweets.

Now on to this year's Thanksgiving festivities. For my dad's family's get-together, my food assignments had been doled out weeks ago. I was instructed to make their favorite Texas sheet cake and a peach cobbler that everyone seems to love. Done. My mom's family was much more difficult. Determined to cook something to impress (fueled by my past failures), I analyzed the entire Thanksgiving lunch menu and finally found the obvious gap in the mealtime offerings...(drum roll, please)...sweet potatoes. And so I volunteered.

Follow this up with a desperate phone call to my mother, as I tried to figure out how to prepare them in such a way that my family would not turn their noses up at them. What followed was a vague overview of how my Grandmother used to prepare candied yams. A. very. vague. overview. I searched online and finally found a recipe that resembled what my mom described. It involved only 5 ingredients (a plus in my family's book!)...sweet potatoes, butter, sugar, water, and time.

Please note what ingredient was NOT a part of said recipe: yams*. There are none in there. Nevertheless the recipe proudly proclaims itself as "Yummy Candied Yams." And they were! Accordingly to my family, that is. I ate one bite to test them as I was removing them from the stove. I might as well have been eating a sugar packet. But, hey, whatever floats your boat. It is, after all, Thanksgiving! The "yams" were a hit! Even with my picky Grandfather! I let him keep all the leftovers and came home with nothing but my clean, empty dish! And still no yams were harmed in the process!

Q: How much sugar and butter does it take to turn a sweet potato into a yam?

A: No amount of sugar and butter can accomplish this, but if my family will eat them...WHO CARES?!

*Yams and sweet potatoes are not the same vegetable. They're not even close. While both are tubers, they aren't even related. Sweet potatoes come in both hard and soft varieties. When the soft variety was first sold commercially in the US, there was a need to differentiate them. They were referred to as "yams" because of their similarity to the African vegetable they resembled. However, unless you've ever specifically sought one out in an international market, you've probably never actually eaten a yam.

Are there any actual benefits to two-a-days?

I realized, too late, at work this afternoon that I had drank entirely too much water to be able to successfully complete the 2-mile run I had planned for this afternoon. But this is not actually where this story begins. Back up a few days...

I decided, again too late, this past weekend that I would run my second 5k...leaving myself a very short 2 weeks to prepare for the Jingle Bell Run on December 4th. Still, though, a little more background is needed. Let's back up to this past spring...

That's when I decided to run my first ever 5k. By "first ever" I don't just mean my first organized running event. What I actually mean is the first time I've ever worked towards any physical goal. Ever. In the history of me.

Luckily, I coerced two of my coworkers into joining me in this venture. We worked hard. We trained. We followed a plan that required us to run almost every day of the week. We sweated. Sometimes we missed a few days. We contemplated running twice in one day to make up for it (but, really, who were we kidding?!). A few times we almost vomited. But...WE DID IT! We all ran the entire 3.1 miles without falling, fainting, or just generally having to lie down. And...then we stopped. Well, for the most part. I myself have run sporadically since our race in June. By sporadic, I mean maybe once per week. That is, until this past weekend...

Propelled by an increasing desire to shed the few pounds I gained during our trip to Chicago, as well as a desperate urgency to run another race before 1.) I lose any endurance I have built up from preparing for my first 5k, 2.) it gets entirely too cold for me to run and/or set foot outside at all, 3.) my running buddies also lose enthusiasm, leaving me to sit my butt at home all the time watching HGTV and eating potato chips.

Anyway, back to today. From my [limited] experience, very few things cause me to suffer from the dreaded stitch in my side so much as eating/drinking too soon prior to running. At 3:15 this afternoon (prior to my 4:00 p.m. run) this realization came too little too late, as I chugged down cup number 2 or 3 since lunch! But what could I do at that point? I drove from work over to the trail, warmed myself up with a pep talk, and gave it my best. Which was NOT good enough.

The pain in my side (along with all the water I could feel sloshing in my stomach) began at the 3/4 mile mark. I had to slow to a walk for a few seconds as we turned around at the one mile line. Aaaaaand then again a few minutes later. Thoroughly disappointed in myself (given the short amount of time I have to work up to 3.1 miles), I scolded myself under my breath all the way back to the car. FAIL.

I recharged on the way home with my iPod playing and the sunroof open, on the scenic route, and made a quick run through the grocery store to pick up the things I needed for the Thanksgiving dishes I've been assigned for my various family gatherings. When I finally got home the full moon was bright, the temperature was still 71 degrees, and I felt like a new person. Soooo...I ran again! Not far, mind you. But still...it made me feel better about my poor performance earlier this afternoon.

I have no idea what this will mean for me tomorrow. One struggling run + another shorter, yet more successful one could = soreness and disaster. Of course, the internet is full of a variety of opinions on this topic. Some say two-a-days are the ultimate way to mix-up your routine. Supposedly you burn more calories taking the same workout and breaking it into two segments. Other sources say two-a-days can lead to burnout and overexertion. I seriously doubt that the minimal effort I put into a second run this evening could do much to help or harm me. But, if nothing else, it certainly helped my feelings! I just hope I can walk [and run again] tomorrow!

Q: Are there any actual benefits to two-a-days?
A: I'll let you know tomorrow.