I’ve made a lot of judgment errors in my time: locking myself out of the house, dating criminals, thinking I could make it to the mailbox and back unnoticed wearing a bra and this cardigan in place of a proper shirt, picking a wad of black thread off the floor only to discover [...]]]>

I’ve made a lot of judgment errors in my time: locking myself out of the house, dating criminals, thinking I could make it to the mailbox and back unnoticed wearing a bra and this cardigan in place of a proper shirt, picking a wad of black thread off the floor only to discover it was really a dead cockroach, thinking people would read my blog, writing a soppy 20-page letter to a guy who’d dumped me six months before, splitting my jeans in front of a hundred teenagers, throwing up on fair rides, wearing a transparent blouse to a basilica…

Hold on, I suddenly need a snack.

(The author shuffles to kitchen, twitching and muttering. Author returns with corn muffin)

What I’m saying is, I’ve made a lot of mistakes.

Do you want to hear about my latest, greatest lapse o’ judgment?

Two days ago, I applied for a good job as a receptionist in a veterinarian’s office. Found the job on Craig’s List. Yesterday morning, I got a reply saying something suspiciously like this. Thrilled at the prospect of working with a vet, I got suckered into filling out the credit report application.

Only tonight did I start having doubts about this lady and do more serious research.

NOW I see that it’s clearly a scam, that no real employer would make that request, that I should have searched for this person BEFORE replying, blah, blah, blah…. but when you’re ignorant and unemployed, any offer looks like a lifeline. I don’t need judgment, I need a hug and a good, long cry.

Thank you, craigslist.org, for trying to warn me about affiliate marketing scams. Thank you, flakelist.org, for tipping me off.

This mistake could have repercussions— but so far, being scammed has been less upsetting than picking up a dead roach.

Wait, I never told you?

WELL! Ten days ago, Mr. Jaunty and I arrived in green, hilly Pennsylvania, thereby ending our cross-country move and beginning a new [...]]]> Hey, remember that time me and my boyfriend drove from Bloomington, Indiana to Allentown, Pennsylvania, thereby ending our cross-country move and beginning a new life together?

Wait, I never told you?

WELL! Ten days ago, Mr. Jaunty and I arrived in green, hilly Pennsylvania, thereby ending our cross-country move and beginning a new life together.

Since then, I have seen my first AAA baseball game, eaten plenty of great food, and learned my way to the mailbox.

Tomorrow, I’ll accomplish one of my Things To Do Before 30. Can you guess which?

After hours of sifting through jpeg files, sending them from one computer to another, editing, and re-editing, I am at last posting pictures of the Jaunty Mid-August Trip to Bloomington, Indiana.

My mother and her boyfriend J., our gracious hostess and host, strolling the Indiana University campus:

While on campus, we saw [...]]]>

After hours of sifting through jpeg files, sending them from one computer to another, editing, and re-editing, I am at last posting pictures of the Jaunty Mid-August Trip to Bloomington, Indiana.

My mother and her boyfriend J., our gracious hostess and host, strolling the Indiana University campus:

While on campus, we saw a fascinating exhibit at the Lilly Library called Of Cabbages and Kings: Unexpected Treasures of the Lilly Library. The red banner shows Rita Hayworth’s train case, filled with monogrammed makeup cases and illustrated love notes from her then-husband, Orson Welles. (Notice that Wikipedia’s photo was taken during this same exhibit. Ha!)

Seeing the train case alone would have made my day, but there were more “unexpected treasures” ahead. We saw things like a Gutenberg New Testament, a lock of George Washington’s hair,  personal letters from Ernest Hemingway (with a cartoon of  himself, bandaged and demanding a drink), a Haydn manuscript with handwritten edits, Audubon’s Birds of America (which must be three feet tall), and John Ford’s Oscar statuette for How Green Was My Valley:

The Wikipedia entry says “The library now contains approximately 400,000 rare books, 6.5 million manuscripts, and 100,000 pieces of sheet music”, but that was back in 2007 and they’ve been accumulating more priceless artifacts since then. Can you imagine what their catalog must look like? Furthermore, that count only mentions paper goods; what about Oscars, train cases, furniture and who knows what else?

A Mexican book of Gregorian chant, found in Guatemala. Those li’l square noteheads are so cute:

It’s hard to photograph things in glass cases.

Me, admiring a desk from Abraham Lincoln’s law office. I was amazed by its excellent condition and extreme shortness. My knees might fit under there; Lincoln’s didn’t stand a chance.

Such gorgeous wallpaper, if paper is the correct term. Does “wall damask” exist?

Outside the Lilly Library is the Showalter Fountain, previously seen in my pictures from Aardvark Day 2004— remind me to tell you about Aardvark Day sometime. J., our host, had said that one of the fish sculptures from the fountain had been stolen and would cost $10,000 to replace. I hate thieves.

I wanted to see where the stolen fish had been, so I looked into the fountain…

… and saw two floating bouquets! No clue how they got there, but finding hidden flowers tickled me pink.

Mom, Mr. Jaunty, and J. were all well behind me, so I shouted to them and lifted a bouquet to show what I’d found— and learned that the mysterious flowers were arranged in bowls:

Like so! They were heavy— you can see I had to extend my right arm for balance.

After lunch at Siam House (which is lovely and very vegetarian/vegan friendly), we wandered back across campus by way of Beck Chapel:

Many (most? All?) of IU’s buildings are limestone, which I adore.

Inside the chapel:

Slightly bossy, but still sweet:

An old boyfriend pf mine (let’s call him “Shortcake”) always wanted a keyboard with black keys:

Bitsy cemetery! One wonders whose bodies merited burial here.

All photos appear courtesy of Mr. Jaunty. We spent three happy days visiting Bloomington; we watched a movie in the park, attended the farmers’ market, ate at Runcible Spoon and Siam House, went shopping on Kirkwood Avenue, stayed in J.’s farmhouse… all those photo opportunities, yet I only remembered to take three pictures, grand total. Three pictures…

…of chickens.

Go figure.

Seen any good campuses lately?

Click to enlarge [somewhat]!

Much of the New Mexico scenery looked like this, give or take a few wind turbines:

Day Two of the trek. Mr. Jaunty has now driven 1200 miles. I have sat beside him, luggage under my feet, two rats in a small pet carrier between us, all sorts of junk shoved behind both truck seats… purse, provisions, and queen-size pillow in my lap….. Every time we stop at a [...]]]>

Day Two of the trek. Mr. Jaunty has now driven 1200 miles. I have sat beside him, luggage under my feet, two rats in a small pet carrier between us, all sorts of junk shoved behind both truck seats… purse, provisions, and queen-size pillow in my lap….. Every time we stop at a gas station, I have to wrestle myself in and out of the truck. Most inelegant.

Before moving to New Mexico, I never understood the dry heat vs. humidity concept. It was only upon entering a New Mexican greenhouse with my then-boyfriend “Grackle” that I felt the difference between air and thick, wet air.  Very Helen Keller moment, you had to be there.

Bedtime!

Each move could be a smooth, organized transition into a new home — Every box clearly labelled. All clothing mended, washed, and tenderly folded into suitcases. Loved ones and businesses notified of my new address in [...]]]> I’ve been moving to a new apartment every year since 2003. Not deliberately, of course; it’s accidental masochism.

Each move could be a smooth, organized transition into a new home — Every box clearly labelled. All clothing mended, washed, and tenderly folded into suitcases. Loved ones and businesses notified of my new address in a timely fashion.

It’s a pleasant daydream, and that’s all; something to comfort me as I wade through a sea of boxes labelled “MISC.”

We spent many hours of Tuesday and Wednesday cramming our earthly goods into Mr. Jaunty’s pick-up truck. Even after selling all my furniture and holding two yard sales, we couldn’t quite shoehorn everything in. A saintly friend offered to ship us the few remaining objects; were it not for his kindness, we’d still be sweating and scowling in the driveway.

Goodbye, endless skies and acres of Mexican food. So long, adobe and turquoise paint that seemed so gaudy when I arrived in 2004— but now look completely natural. See you later, generous and wonderful friends who make life worth the bother.

Here’s today’s trek:

Mr. Jaunty tells me about Mittens with Lizard.

I say “It looks limp, it’s probably already dead” and resume reading newspaper.

Mr. Jaunty says “Maybe he’s only playing dead.”

I drop newspaper and run outside. I move Mittens inside, return to [...]]]> Mr. Jaunty sees Mittens the Barbarian preparing to eat Lizard.

Mr. Jaunty tells me about Mittens with Lizard.

I say “It looks limp, it’s probably already dead” and resume reading newspaper.

Mr. Jaunty says “Maybe he’s only playing dead.”

I drop newspaper and run outside. I move Mittens inside, return to crime scene.

I observe that Lizard’s tail has broken off, but Lizard’s body is otherwise wound-free.

I tenderly stroke Lizard and inform him/her of his/her unspeakable elegance and beauty, which called to the depths of my soul from the first moment I chanced to see him/her in Mitten’s mouth.

Lizard, unimpressed, dashes up Mr. Jaunty’s pant leg.

I attempt to gently remove Lizard.

Lizard, still unimpressed, sprints upward:

Lizard resumes playing dead.

Mr. Jaunty places Lizard in a tree.

Mittens bears visible grudge.

Mr. Jaunty and I are currently housesitting again, and 92% of our earthly goods are either boxed up or carelessly strewn about Andrew’s house. We are technically homeless, yet we inhabit two comfortable homes.

Because my belongings are in wild disarray —- which makes my kind crazy —I’m lounging in a bra and a pair of Mr. Jaunty’s boxers. [...]]]>

Mr. Jaunty and I are currently housesitting again, and 92% of our earthly goods are either boxed up or carelessly strewn about Andrew’s house. We are technically homeless, yet we inhabit two comfortable homes.

Because my belongings are in wild disarray —- which makes my kind crazy —I’m lounging in a bra and a pair of Mr. Jaunty’s boxers. No really, I can’t find my underwear. Better still, the bra is smeared with chocolate; clearly a remnant of this morning’s shirtless brownie-slurping.

Oh, I could pretend that watching ‘Roseanne’  for two hours while wearing  men’s underwear and eating semi-baked brownies is a new personal low, but I’ve sunk, far, far lower.

Given an entire day off, how low can YOU go?

Of all Barnes and Noble’s CDs, I chose Song Cycle by Van Dyke Parks— partly because song cycles trip my trigger, and partly [...]]]> When I was 16, I spent hundreds of my hard-earned pennies on a CD. Not a ‘Greatest Hits’ or ‘Top Ten Songs of 1967′ compilation, as was my custom, but something completely unfamiliar.

Of all Barnes and Noble’s CDs, I chose Song Cycle by Van Dyke Parks— partly because song cycles trip my trigger, and partly because Van Dyke Parks looked so much like “Aardvark”…  who had recently dumped me.

Additionally, I was impressed by the naming of tracks 6 and 7:

6. “Van Dyke Parks” – Public Domain
7. “Public Domain” – Van Dyke Parks

At 16, this struck me as the height of wit.

Song Cycle begins with the Randy Newman song Vine Street:

I can’t TELL you how I loathed the first 50 seconds of Vine Street. I’d paid full price for questionable bluegrass? What if all 12 tracks were about about blackjack?!

Before I could die of remorse, the bluegrass faded and Van Dyke Parks sang:

“That’s a tape that we made
but I’m sad to say it never made the grade.
That was me; third guitar
I wonder where the others are.”

My worries ended.



Like the singer remembering Vine Street , “I sold the guitar today. I never did play much, anyway.”

My Celebrity and its hard case only fetched $70. It felt like selling a friend, but we can’t always afford to be sentimental.

All week long, I’ve been selling my furniture. Packing. Scrubbing, then scrubbing again.

Mr. Jaunty and I moved out of our apartment today, our first home together. Next Saturday, we begin driving from New Mexico to Pennsylvania. Our combined estates won’t possibly fit in Mr. Jaunty’s pickup truck, so we’re having a yard sale tomorrow morning.

Yes, I’m excited about the future and yes, I’m grateful that Mr. Jaunty’s father is taking us in. But I’ve spent six years in New Mexico and it’s hard leaving so much behind.

Again, I am taking a risk by choosing something completely unfamiliar. This time, I’m gambling more than pennies.



My only guitar is gone, my body aches, and I’m sad all the way to my bones.

For the past nine years or so, I have been having variations on the same two nightmares:

1) I am mingling with friends at a crowded party/church meeting when I sense the presence of my first boyfriend — let’s call him “Aardvark.” In some dreams I search twisty hallways, desperate to [...]]]>

For the past nine years or so, I have been having variations on the same two nightmares:

1) I am mingling with friends at a crowded party/church meeting when I sense the presence of my first boyfriend — let’s call him “Aardvark.” In some dreams I search twisty hallways, desperate to find him; and sometimes I’m equally desperate not to be seen. He always wears a suit. Whether I confront Aardvark or not, I’m unsettled for hours after waking. THAT’s what makes this a nightmare.

In real life, I’ve tried talking to Aardvark and avoiding him for years at a time; neither approach seems to alter the dreams.

2) I am sitting in a parked car/pickup/semi truck, minding my own business, when suddenly it starts barreling downhill/uphill/through herds of innocent bystanders/into the ocean. I try to take control of the car, but the brakes NEVER work, and the steering wheel’s not much better.

Last week, this dream was different: after totaling a zippy red rental car in a head-on collision, I prepared to be arrested for driving without a license. I remembered that Mr. Jaunty was out of town; who would feed my pet rats?

This was by far the most vivid of my driving nightmares; I clearly saw my car and hitched a ride with the crash victim… the ‘not having a license’ issue was a realistic touch, funny it never cropped up before.

In college, the actor’s nightmare joined my personal late-night lineup:

3) I find myself backstage at a play/recital/opera, totally unable to remember my lines/song text/reason for living/entrance cue. I spend the entire dream panicking, and fighting to remember the imaginary play.
Because I blew many, many real-life vocal juries by forgetting song texts — why is it I can forget entire songs but not the aftermath? — this dream is especially uncomfortable.

My friend Amy suggested that if I mastered lucid dreaming, I could stop the runaway car and tell Aardvark to go suck an anthill. Hell, I could even improvise that play.

Have you had recurring nightmares?