I Can't Quite Remember Why I Hated it So Much...

I spent the morning babysitting my friend's 20 month old, who seriously has more personality than a lot of adults I know. Today was a red letter day for Kaiya: while we were out on a walk, we heard the Southwest HS marching band practicing a few streets over. And drums are Kaiya's favorite things EVER. She clapped and shrieked and played the imaginary drums on her lap while I pushed her stroller down the sidewalk alongside the clarinets. And I found myself unbelievably nostalgic for the long ago days of marching band, which is a prime example of how time distorts reality, because I hated marching band. Near the end of August every year, I developed a stomachache that didn't really go away until the end of October, when I was free from my own personal hell.

But somehow, a dozen years later, nothing seems more lovely and glorious and perfect than a high school marching band at the beginning of the school year. I remember swearing to my parents that I will NEVER, EVER make my kids join marching band. Now I'm already picturing my unborn children in their dorky uniforms and shiny instruments and cross my fingers that, unlike their mother, they will love being in marching band.

I've Tried, I Really Have

I had to consult a picture that Mark and I took in our backyard about this time two years ago, to see if maybe--just maybe--it was my imagination that our perennial garden was ever really beautiful. I continue to tell people that I was fortunate enough to inherit a "gorgeous" backyard garden when we bought our house, but today I forced myself to really LOOK at that garden. Truth be told, it is an overgrown, weed-infested mess, with a few brave flowers poking up through the disaster. The picture that I just reviewed confirms that two years ago, shortly after we bought the house. the garden was not overgrown, nor was it weed-infested. All I really can do at this point is wait for the snow to hide the evidence and then try to make some sense of the whole thing in the spring.

On the bright side, I have managed to grow about a zillion zucchini squash.

Our State Fair is a Great State Fair

I had this really weird thing happen to me this morning, where I was just about to swallow a mouthful of my vanilla latte, when I had to cough and burp at the exact same time. Amazingly, I managed to do it all, including the swallow, without spitting the hot coffee all over myself and the steering wheel.

In other news, I'm pleased to remark that the Iowa State Fair was as satisfying as always. To quote this year's slogan: "Only at the fair" do you see people gaping at the Largest Ram, all the while indulging in a juicy lamb chop on a stick. It's pretty awesome.

Wish I Were Back in the U.P.

We're back from our final vacation of the summer. The lazy days of canoe rides, late-night card games and snoozes in the sun have given way to the realities of laundry (nothing more depressing than washing the beach towels and tucking them in the back of the linen closet for their 9-month hibernation), 65 email messages and a $211 Verizon bill. Apparently, when the customer service representative told us that "phone calls to other Verizon customers do not count toward your minutes," what he really meant was "phone calls to other Verizon customers DO count toward your minutes." A minor distinction.

"capon"

Today, my students wanted to know the word for a castrated pig. Mind you, it took about half an hour to get to the point where I understood that they wanted to know the word for a castrated pig. Fortunately, Porye is a decent artist and he also had a Thai-English dictionary; a few diagrams later and some mangled attempts at pronouncing the word "testicles," I was pretty sure I got it. Turns out, not only is this a crucial issue for Hmong people when they buy pork, but there actually is a word for castrated pig. It was another enlightening day for us all.

Explanation, Sort of

This has been quite a summer. My mom has already started comparing this year to '83, which lives in all of our memories (well, okay, mostly my parents' memories) as A Really Bad Year. The latest development in our own personal Series of Unfortunate Events was the death of my grandpa on Friday night. It was not unexpected, but that doesn't make it a whole lot easier. I am now grandparent-less, which is a really strange feeling.

Don't give up on my blog. I'll be back when life feels a little funnier.