Amy Lu's View

…What I was thinking when I titled this blog post. Or more precisely, this blog post draft.

Well, calling it a “draft” may be rather aspirational. When I just opened my blog and went to drafts, I was totally mystified with this draft, that actually consisted only of the phrase “God Only Knows…”

Having saved just a title for a potential blog post isn’t actually that surprising. As I’m not that organized, I often save post ideas as drafts, and sometimes I try to capure the idea with nothing more than a title. (Post ideas that have yet to see the light of a computer screen include “Being an Alcohol Snob,” “”How My Family Lacked Holiday Traditions,” and “Musings on my 30th Class Reunion”–yeah, that one’s been sitting around for almost two years…).

But I was, and am still, surprised that I have no idea what I intended to write about based on the title “God Only Knows.” God Only Knows WHAT? When our cats will stop living in the basement? When I will finally go to the dentist? When I will stop injuring myself because I run when I shouldn’t? When I will learn how to set-up my keyboard and plug it into the Pigeons From Hell sound system? When I will stop getting annoyed because Chad leaves his coat on the back of a chair (instead of hanging it in the closet?) When I will stop dyeing my hair and accept my natural color? When I will stop being annoyed if people say “you can’t eat that because you’re a vegetarian”? When I will stop getting excited by my birthday? When I will ever write my friend Pat? When I will stop opening bags of food (chips, cereal, etc.) in a manner Chad finds aggressive and weird (and aggravating)?

So many possibilities, but I still don’t know what I thought my blog post could be about. But, after staring at the line “God Only Knows” for several minutes (maybe only seconds) I at least know what it refers to: The Beach Boys song “God Only Knows.”

Now seems as good as time as any to divulge that for most of my life, I have not liked the Beach Boys. In fact, I have actively disliked them.

I’m not going to apologize for that (hey, we like what we like and I don’t support the concept of “Guilty Pleasures” or, in this case, “Guilty Displeasures.”) I don’t think we should pretend to be who we’re not or embarassed for our preferences, but I also think we can change our mind and our tastes and our interests as we learn and experience new things. I think getting older can mean being more open-minded. I think as a youth I disliked the Beach Boys because they were “dumb” beach music. I also disliked beaches–I was a self-conscious Midwesterner who liked environments that facilitated covering one’s body as much as possible.

The passage of time has not lead me to becoming an expert on the Beach Boys, but I have learned that Brian Wilson is widely regarded as a musical genius and that his life story is incredible. I have more appreciation for their skill and musicality, and I was even moved by “God Only Knows” when I heard it played during a Guthrie theater production a few years ago. It’s haunting and aching and lovely.

So when we heard the song performed this past Saturday by two of our favorite performers (Dan Chouinard and Prudence Johnson) at one of our absolute most favorite places in the world (Crooner’s) it definitely affected me. That’s one of the things I love about going to Crooner’s–I learn about “classic” music that’s new to me and learn to hear and appreciate familiar music in a new way. Plus, Crooner’s creates such a sense of community through shared music experiences, that I even look forward to talking to strangers at dinner (like the delightful couple that we shared a table with on Saturday).

Maybe my mysterious blog title should be taken at face value, and I was going to ponder the question posed in the song: “Where would I be without my beloved (i.e. Chad)?” (Definitely shouldn’t tackle that tonight, especially in a post that is already too long when I’m tempted to pontificate about the potential of the multiverse).

I officially declare the “Chamy Staycation of 2020” a success.

It may be the only staycation of any length (3 work days plus the weekend) we’ve ever had–definitely the only one in recent memory (and yes, for me, “recent memory” only covers a range of 3 hours–3 months).

I’ll admit, I was a little nervous about this staycation thing. Would we be able to strike the right balance of getting some things done that we wanted to (that is, “decluttering”) with doing things that were fun? And let’s get real, would Chamy be able to weather their staycation together time without the distractions of a typical vacation–we rarely (much to Chad’s sadness) just spend time at home.

And would decluttering just devolve into bickering? Ah, “decluttering” is such a cute word, and totally not accurate. We are well beyond cluttering. We were decrapping.

I think the key to our staycation success was managing expecations. We knew we couldn’t possibly do all the decrapping that we need to in just 5 days, but we made significant process. Yes, there were (and continue to be) moments of despair as our successes only seem to highlight how much we have left to do, but this is a journey, right? Now that we’ve started down the road to Having Less Shit it can only get better (although at the moment, one of the rooms we’ve tackled actually looks worse).

And I can celebrate the personal satisfcation of having figured out how to take paint and electronics to the Hennepin County Hazard Waste Drop-Off Facility in Brookly Park. (The staff was super nice but I found it extremely confusing!)

Of course we didn’t spend the whole staycation decrapping–there was Day Drinking (we made a Happy Hour at 3:30, excitingly scandalous, at Centro, a place we usually don’t frequent) and we met with our minister (NOT for Day Drinking) and hung out with some good friends and checked out the newish NE Arcade and saw the new Harley Quinn movie and watched episodes of the Harley Quinn animated series (I’m a little shocked but how much I adore both!) and I made pizza for National Pizza Day. And we went to the gym every day, because that’s how we roll and there was Day Drinking and chip binging to attempt to burn off.

So as staycation ends I’m feeling accomplished and inspired and wanting more–more time to decrap and go to bars/restaurants I’ve never or rarely been to (not to mention all the museums!) and to just hang out and chilax with Chad and the furry members of the household. Luckily, I do have quite a bit of vacation days stored up so there could be more staycations in my future.

I don’t think I’ll feel like I’m missing out, though, if I never go to a hazardous waste drop off site again.

The Golden Rule isn’t always the best approach.

I always try and remind myself of this when it’s Chad’s birthday. If I did unto Chad as I would have Chad do unto me for his birthday, it would be a month-long celebration with much fanfare. It would officially be a BIG DEAL in which much attention, accolades, and praise would be showered upon Chad.

Of course Chad would hate that.

Chad’s attitude about birthdays isn’t because he’s upset or embarassed about getting older. He’s not going to be bothered if you tease him about being 50. He just doesn’t like being the center of attention unless he’s on stage or in the pulpit (and then, bring it on!) and he doesn’t like all the bother and complications of most social events.

So I knew that Chad would not enjoy a big celebration for his birthday, but I was inspired to give him an experience that I was pretty sure he would enjoy–being mentioned for his “Blursday” on his favorite podcast, “”Too Beautiful to Live” (henceforth referred to as “TBTL”).

Now I am not nearly as big of a fan of the show as Chad (mostly because I lack the technical skills needed to easily play a podcast), but I am aware that on Thursdays the hosts do a “Blursday” segment where they wish Happy Birthday to listeners. (Thursday + Birthday = Blursday, I assume, although I was originally trying to Google it as “Blersday.”) And thus my quest for getting Chad featured on Blursday began.

Okay, my quest mostly involved sporadically thinking “Hey, how do I get Chad on a Blursday?” Finally, on the Wednesday of the week before his birthday, while Chad was at his long-standing weekly Geek Night (wherein he plays some type of role playing game with a cast of regulars) I sat down at our laptop and tried to figure out how to make him a featured Blursday recipient.

I searched the TBTL website, but no instructions were readily apparent. Admittedly I had enjoyed a few drinks by this point in the evening, but all I could find was the “Contact Us.” So I clicked on that and submitted a slightly over-the-top but entirely true message about how much Chad loved the show and that he should get a shout-out for his 50th birthday. And, I donated 50 dollars, because hey, a I am not above buying my way onto a podcast.

I even filled out the “Ten of the Week” Questionnaire on behalf of Chad so he could get featured in the weekly TBTL Newsletter, just in case that had anything to do with Blursday (I won’t waste space here trying to explain the “Ten of the Week” but if you need a conversation starter with Chad, now you have one!)

I had done my best, and now all I could was hope that by the next Thursday (January 30, Chad’s actual birthday) the podcast deities would see that he was mentioned as part of Blursday.

The next evening, January 23 (a week before Chad’s birthday) we were hanging out in our kitchen post-Happy Hour listening to that morning’s episode of TBTL. The hosts were talking about the “Ten of the Week” and Chad remarked that he would have a hard time answering the question ” Who was your very first celebrity crush?”

“I can’t stand it anymore…I can’t keep the secret any longer!” I exclaimed, and proceeded to tell Chad the whole saga of my Quest to get his Blursday acknowledged. This included my filling out the “Ten of the Week” questionnaire for him and answering “Princess Leia” to the celebrity crush question. Chad was pleased and bemused, especially by my on-going inability to keep a secret.

Chad said that the TBTL team actually responded to Blursday requests pretty quickly, so he could actually be mentioned on that day’s show. So we kept listening, and sure enough, Chad got a shout-out. I was so excited, and also happy that I got mentioned, too. It was a Win-Win. The only downside was that my plan came to fruition a week early, but hey, that just gave us another week to savor our “15 minutes of fame.”

Chad even said later that he was secretly hoping that I would get his Blursday on-air. SCORE. #HUSBANDBIRTHDAYWIN.

You can listen to our moment in the spotlight at approximately 1:38:00 via this link: https://www.tbtl.net/episode/2020/01/23/3082-so-pitted.

Andrew: Amy wants to wish a Happy 50th Blursday to Chad.

“Thank you for bringing such a sense of community to his life and so much humor and joy and for giving this long married couple something to talk about that usually doesn’t end in a fight. We love discussing how we are ‘Andrew’ or ‘Luke’ and using that to figure out our various personality and relationship quirks.”

Andrew: That’s from Amy to Chad and by the way I think Amy is not as familiar with the inside workings of TBTL [SO true!] but she also donated $50 to go along with this Blursday.

Luke: WOW Aim [I LOVE that Luke called me “Aim.”]

Andrew: So that was really, really sweet. I’m not sure if she wanted me to mention that [Of course I did, it got me/us more attention] but I thought it was really sweet.

Luke: It’s not required it’s always appreciated, a little gratuity, where are we going to go with that? Grease the skids if you want to get Chad’s Blursday to the top of the list!

Andrew: Want to get your blurs wet?

Tonight I finally decided to get my oil changed. It’s been on my mental “to-do” list for quite a while, and the flashing “5%” (indicating I only have 5% of my oil life left–thank goodness I don’t have that warning for my actual life) was adding to my overall background anxiety.

While I was waiting to get my oil changed, I decided to write down a “to-do” list of things I hoped to accomplish with the rest of my evening.

Spoiler alert, the last item on the list was “Blog.” A-ha! Could I turn my most current to-do list into a blog post?

A BIG TANGENT: I regularly struggle with what to call a “to-do” list. Chad used to label his to-do lists “STD” for “Stuff To Do,” what a clever boy, and I want to be creative like him.  I’m curious about if he still does make STD lists–afterall, STI, with the “I” standing for infection, is the more woke term these days. Would “STI” be a “Stuff to Instigate” list? Perhaps more importantly, does he still make lists at all and why don’t I see them? Are they all digital these days?

BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOGGING…Here is the list I came up with tonight (annotated for context and entertainment)

• Finish ordering Chad’s birthday presents
• Write my friend Pat a letter (Pat doesn’t do social media, email, texting, and I’m phone call averse, but we both like letters)
• Create a Facebook Event for our upcoming Pigeons From Hell gig (February 27 at the Acadia, be there!)
• Respond to a friend’s email about Applause Theatre workshopping a play he co-wrote
• Send out various emails to organize upcoming Applause Theatre staged reading of new plays (February 19 at the Roseville Library, be there!)
• Print out tickets to various upcoming plays and concerts (if I wait to the do it right before the show I usually get seriously stressed) and make sure said events are on our calendar
• Pack gym bag with tomorrow’s work outfit and necessary grooming supplies and implements so, weather cooperating, I can go straight from gym to work in the morning–also need to make salad and pack lunch and other food provisions
• BLOG

Did my to-do list work as a piece of blogging literature? Actually, I’ve thought about using one of my to-do lists as blog fodder for quite a while, as a way to capture a slice of my life and the desires and aspirations of the moment. But was this list worthy to be the one saved for posterity? Should I have waited for a list that was more interesting or kooky? (Oh who I am kidding, I am very likely to recycle this idea).

I think I DO like this list because it’s an average Amy list–not a pressure filled-one created in the midsts of a looming deadline. It’s not an outlier.

I also feel really grateful that everything on this list (with the exception of packing my gym bag, making a salad, and printing tickets) is something I’ll enjoy doing. I may get frustrated if I don’t make the time to do all these things, but they are all things I can recognize that I want to do and I choose to do. And even the iffy entries aren’t unpleasant and support things that I really want to do.

In the play that Chad and I were recently in, (“Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas“) I had a monologue (that I adored doing) in which I complained “…my things to do list was growing…like mold.” And yes, sometimes I do feel that way about my to-do lists, but tonight, my list represents possibility more than obligation.

“I love lists!”

From my monlogue

“Mold, really!”

Thanks to Deb for the photos!

And as you may have noticed if you read my blog at all regularly, I like lists. To-Do lists (with “necessary” tasks), lists of things that are my “top whatever” or things that I’ve learned or done or am thinking about or hope to do. I find lists especially appealing as I turn 50–what a great way to record all my various highlights–until I remind myself that 50 is a pretty big number for a list.

I’m not at all systematic or organized about these lists…I’ve briefly done the listography thing but most of my list making is haphazard. I love the ability to organize and record my thoughts and feelings and memories in a very loosely-organized way: just slap a bunch of slightly related ideas together with bullet points without worrying about connecting words or thoughts or grammar.

Hmmm, I think I see a possible “List of the Reasons I Love Lists” in my future.

My dad used to do many things—both intentionally and unintentionally—to annoy my mother. One of these was to refer to the “beauty salon” she frequented as the “beauty saloon.” 

Whatever one called it, my mother regularly attended Julie’s Beauty Studio in Fall Creek to have her hair “done.” It wasn’t quite “Steel Magnolias,” or maybe it was—the rural Norweigan/German Wisconsin version (“Titanium Sauerkraut”?). Julie was a longtime friend of my mother’s (sadly both women are now deceased) and although as a teenager I wasn’t aware of much open camarderie or bonding going on at the saloon (sorry, SALON) I think my mom definitely derived some comfort in her visits.

My mom also seemed to have an almost moral stance that hair could’t just be—something needed to be done with or to it. Hair needed to be managed: cut, colored, permed and styled. Perhaps imposing order on one’s hair was a way to create some order out of the chaos of life.

While I certainly spent many hours of my life as a child and teenager at Julie’s Saloon (whoops, I mean SALON—I can see you grinning Gordon!) as an adult, I have had no regular hair maintenance program.

This means that except for a brief stint in my mid-20’s when I had really short hair and had a regular stylist that I saw at JC Penney’s at Roseville (Ed), my visits to a hair care professional to get my hair cut have been highly erratic. I’ve reached the stage (rock bottom?) that I’m lucky if I get my butt to Cost Cutters/Fantastic Sam’s 2-3 times a year to get my hair cut.

This state of affairs is NOT because I’m cheap (although I am) or because I’m making some type of social/aethestic statement about how I prefer my hair “natural”—I absolutely do NOT. I could write an entire blog just about coloring my hair and the quandries (logistical, environmental, health-related) that poses.

Suffice it to say that I do not feel compelled to accept (much less afirm) my hair in its natural state, but I find it too inconvenient to enlist professional help on a regular basis. It also becomes a viscious cycle: because I don’t regularly see a stylist, I feel there are more barriers to just dropping in at a discount facility.

It’s not that I don’t trust the Fanastic Sam’s and Cost Cutters of the world (I’ve actually had really good luck as their patron) but there are extra hassles. Will I be faced with trying to make awkward small talk with a stranger? Will my stylist mock me if my roots are too promiment or my hair is too dry and damaged? Will my stylist be insistent about doing something with my eyebrows? (Okay, this only happened once, but seriously, if I gave a damn about my eyebrows  would I be at F@#$ng Cost Cutters? Plus, after the car accident I was in when I was 16 I am just really happy that I have both eyebrows…)

Time to wrap-up the ranting: It’s a new year and a new decade, and I feel very accomplished that I’m kicking it off with a successful haircut (the stylist even complimented me on my DIY hair color job). I’m also trying to learn a little life lesson by ruminating on how even though I think my hair looks so much better, I was still a little sad to let go of all those inches (my hair was the longest it’s ever been pre-haircut). Change is hard, even when we want it, even when we think it’s good.

I can’t help but smile when I remember that as a teenager I thought I couldn’t possibly have long hair past 30, because then I would be way to old for that nonsense. It would just be sad, and make me look like Willie Nelson.

Now that I’m almost 20 years past my self-imposed deadline, I don’t quite know what to think. I do worry that sometimes I look like Willie Nelson, but getting older also makes the threat of helmet hair more and more real.

As I toy with the idea of New Year resoluations, I don’t foresee myself ever being a regular salon patron but perhaps I can make a little more of an effort to do some regular hair upkeep. And I can rebrand my DIY hair efforts as “Amy’s Beauty Saloon.”

This is more or less the “Holiday Letter” I sent out/hope to send out this year. 

This year my Yuletide Missive has a theme: Risk. No, not the classic board game, but risk as “the possibility that something unpleasant or unwelcome will happen.” (Such as, “By sending out this Holiday Letter, I risk that people will find me highly annoying.”)

Hmm, that may seem like a rather negative start to a festive greeting, but luckily, risk can also contain opportunity and the possibility that something pleasant or welcome will happen. (Such as, “By sending out this Holiday Letter, I am giving recipients the opportunity to make a paper airplane.” This worked better with an actual paper letter but feel free to print this out and make a paper airplane.)

I’m thinking about risk because this year I took a big one: I accepted a temporary promotion as Acting Coordinating Librarian for Web and Online Services. This means I moved from being in the department that is responsible for our library’s website to being the person ultimately responsible for our public (and staff) website. This was a risk because I was quite content with my job and wasn’t looking for something with more responsibility (and stress). 

Happily, taking the risk paid off: I’ve really enjoyed having new challenges and learning new things and even though I have definitely made mistakes, I think I’m pretty good at my job. Now this job IS only temporary and could end anytime in the next 3-6 months, but I’m being uncharacteristically open to uncertainty. And don’t give me credit for embracing too much uncertainty: I am guaranteed that I will be able to go back to the same or very similar job that I previously had when I’m done with this Assignment That I’ve Chosen To Accept. 

This has also been a good year to take a work related risk as it’s my 20th Employment Anniversary: I’ve been a librarian for Hennepin County Library for TWENTY YEARS. Wow. Although I have certainly taken other risks (big and small, many forgotten) along the way of my librarian journey, there is definitely symbolic resonance in taking a bigger risk during this landmark year. (And yes, there have been many Happy Hour celebrations, even if Chad and I have been the only ones in attendance).

Other risks I’ve taken in 2019:

• Wearing white pants: Okay, perhaps the risk that carried the least consequence, but got the biggest response. As a waitress at our favorite restaurant in Duluth (Lake Avenue Cafe) told me: “That’s bold.” So far, surprisingly, I have NOT spilled red wine or anything else on my white pants, and I aspire to write a blog post titled “When I am a Middle-Aged Woman I Shall Wear White Pants.” So,  consider yourself warned: The White Pants Society may be descending upon your favorite performing arts theater next Wednesday afternoon. 
• Being in theater: Speaking of theater, anytime I take the stage as an actress, it’s a risk. Yes, I have the benefit of 10 years of community theater experience (shoutout to my theater anniversary) and I DO actually work really hard to learn my lines and prepare for any role I have, but there are so many things that can happen (go wrong). I can still forget my lines, or trip (Chad actually fell during our last show but did NOT miss a beat or seriously hurt himself), or just do a lackluster job. And no matter what the show, to some extent, you’re making yourself vulnerable. Perhaps the biggest risk is that even if I/we do everything “right,” a show may just not work. I’m really grateful that our theatrical endeavors this year (including our Applause shows “Broken HIll” and “Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas” and Duck Soup’s “Belles of the West”) were successful and we really connected with the audiences. 
• Ziplining in Costa Rica: Realistically, this was actually low-risk, but if judged by feels (racing heart, excessive sweating) this was a BIG risk. Despite what my rational brain knew, I felt like I was mocking death. We also risked some sunburns, hangovers and weight gain but had a wonderful and relaxing vacation. 
• Running the Urban Bourbon Half Marathon in Louisville: Yes, I know I have run three marathons (none this year) so a Half Marathon doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch, but just like on stage, anything can happen during a race. And even when everything goes well, like it did with the Urban Bourbon this year, I still risk the blow to my ego that I didn’t do as well as I hoped (still pretty damn good for a 49 year old lady). And yeah, Chad TOTALLY rocked and got a personal record. 
• Talking to strangers while on vacation in Louisville: Openly interacting with strangers that I’ll never see again has never been my thing. It’s not an introvert preference, but maintaining ongoing relationships with friends and family already takes so much energy, it has seemed wrong to misappropriate my social capital. But this vacation I tried a new approach: talk, and more importantly listen, to people I meet. Risk “wasting” some time and live in the present and enjoy meeting some people just because life has brought you together in one particular moment (with or without bourbon).
• Singing in public: I love singing in front of other people, but attempting it always makes me feel like I should be in a Qbrexza commercial. From doing “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” at karaoke in the resort in Costa Rica to recently singing “The Christians and the Pagans” at our church’s solstice service, singing thrills and terrifies me.
• Using our SodaStream while StanLee B is in the house:  StanLee LOVES/HATES (hard to tell the difference) it when we use the SodaStream so every time I use it I risk being knocked over by him (yes, he only weighs 20 pounds but 20 pounds of pure puppy exuberance barrelling at me is NOT insignificant). We’ve had StanLee B for over a year now and life with SLB brings a bunch of risks: traumatized cats, trips to the emergency vet, the death of expensive running socks, interrupted sleep, and cute overload. (We also continue to risk the disapproval and sadness of our cats who still live in the basement to avoid StanLee—but it’s a nice basement, really!)

Of course, not all the risks I’ve taken in 2019 have ended in success. Just a few days ago (at 2:30 in the morning on Christmas) I literally fell on my ass (nothing broken!) because I risked taking StanLee for a walk when it was icy. (Chad just pointed out that in my middle-of-the-night sleepiness I didn’t actually realize I was taking a risk, but I should have). Now I may be attributing more significance to this failure because of recency bias (and because I can still feel the effects in my sore butt and back muscles) but hopefully I’ve learned to think more carefully about consequences the next time I’m tempted to be an impetuous idiot.

As is traditional in my Holiday Letters, I haven’t mentioned Chad very much. Well, to paraphrase Chad, “If I wanted people to know what I was up to, I would write my own damn letter.” So what risks has Chad taken this year? Well, we all define risk differently, but for Chad, the greatest risk may have been seeing if I’ve snuck zucchini into a meal. Suffice it to say that Chad has been very supportive in my risk-taking endeavors and without his calm (okay, sometimes seemingly uninterested) presence, I’m not sure I would have the courage to tackle new challenges. 

And I’ve been supported in so many ways by friends and family and co-workers, so THANK YOU!! I hope 2020 brings you the adventure and opportunity you are looking for!

And now I present my second installment of “I’m in a show and am going to beg you to come see it.” (The first was for “Broken Hill.” I hope I continue to be in shows so this shameless pleading and self-promotion can become a tradition).

Why should you come see “Uh-Oh”? Well, there are the standard Amy-centric reasons that will probably apply to any show I will ever be in: I’ve worked really hard on it and our little theater company is desperately underfunded and we desperately want an audience to see the fruits of our labors and/or witness the trainwreck and we need your money! (Hey, if you can’t go to the show–or don’t want to–you can still support our show through a donation and get me to stop bugging you).

At this point you may legitimately point out that your hobby/personal passion does not involve demanding the time and attention of others. You cook/bake/read/garden/woodwork/crochet/knit/sew on your own and at the most ask for some social media love or in person compliments. No need for your friends to buy a ticket or make a schedule commitment, and they may even get to eat or use something useful that you’ve made.

Um, is being morally superior its own reward?

So moving on to what’s specifically special about “Uh-Oh,” either to me or our potential audience…

• I’m surprised by how much this show moves me. Maybe it will move you, too? I was worried that this script was a little schmaltzy and dated, but it’s speaking powerfully to my “I’m-too-cool-for-Christmas” self-conscious heart. One of my monologues that I have the privilege to do is a direct challenge to my “I’ve Never Had a Perfect Hallmark Christmas” resentment. The whole show is a call to be open and vulnerable and throw yourself into joy.
• Chad gets to sing and dance and get his Neil Patrick Harris on. Enough said.
• There are several scenes about food. Most of us–except Chad–like to think about food… whether it’s too be tantalized or disgusted. This show gives you the opportunity to do both. And it gives proper attention to SPAM! And let me go on the record to say that if I ate meat, I would totally eat Spam.
• Deb and I finally get to play a romantic couple (even if only for a short scene).
• The show is based on the essays of Robert Fulghum. Okay, this may or may not be a reason to see the show…if you are young, or young adjacent, you may not even know who Robert Fulghum is. (His most famous book, All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten came out the year I graduated from high school). But he is a famous writer, and not only that, a famous Unitarian Universalist author (UU’s represent!) and it’s fun to see how this cultural touchstone translates to stage.
• The language of the script is beautiful and funny. Source author Robert Fulghum is/was a very popular essayist, so he knew what he was doing with a phrase. Some of my favorite lines (some are mine and some are cast mates):
  • “That’s the whole deal with Christmas, I guess. It’s just real life, only a lot more of it and all at once.”
  • “So much for showbizz pizazz at midnight!”
  • “I’m too cynical to get into it, and too needy to stay out of it.”
  • “There are things you might consider doing to a donkey in private…”
  • “I’m not often aware that I am happy. But I often remember that I have been happy.” (Holy crap I feel like I could do a whole blog post on this!)

“Some of the most wonderful things have to be believed to be seen.”

I’m not sure our production of “Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas” will be wonderful (at least not through and through) but I am certain that you will need to see it to believe it!

I lied on Facebook today: We did NOT have a Tofurky for Thanksgiving.

No, we didn’t have actual turkey (Well, Chad did for lunch. Thank goodness Cub was open until 2:00 so we could pick up a deli Jennie-O turkey for him and veggie essentials for me, in case the weather is crappy this weekend).

We DID have a faux turkey but it was a Gardein brand Holiday Roast. But saying “Tofurky” is easier than saying “plant/soy-based turkey alternative.” Tofurky is to turkey as Kleenex is to facial tissue.

While I will always be happy to eat a Tofurky, I do like the Gardein product better, and it doesn’t have the frustrating-to- remove metal clips that a Tofurky sports.

Luckily I had this Gardein holiday roast (GHR) on hand, because we were not planning on eating at home this Thanksgiving. But, see the aforementioned weather forecast for this weekend.

I’m grateful that the GHR was not freezer burned, and pleased that it occurred to me to vacuum out the oven so it would be clear of fire-starting chip particles. YES I VACUUMED THE OVEN. I’m proud of that one on many levels. As many of you probably know, I do NOT bake (nor does Chad) and we primarily use the oven for chip and cracker storage.

Our GHR was damn tasty, and I’m already obsessing about when I can buy and make another one.

The accompanying roasted veggies I made- w/o olive oil–were also damn tasty. (And I don’t mean to hate on olive oil, but if I can get flavor without using as many calories, I’m all for that).

My roasted veggie marinade ingredients? Why, I’m happy to share! (I don’t aspire to being a cook but I am a hell of an assembler):

• Alessi pear-infused white basalmic vinegar
• Soy sauce
• Miso broth
• Sirachha
• Red wine
• Various spices: Italian seasoning, pepper, Trader Joe’s Umani

I think I am even inspired to keep our oven open/cracker free so I can continue to use it to roast veggies–at least for the next couple of weeks (Chad reminded me I say this every year).

We did NOT find a small pumpkin pie or pecan pie or pumpkin pie flavored Halo at Cub, but we did find a piece of carrot cake which seems relatively seasonable (more so than the strawberry rhubarb pie that also sounded yummy).

I have so many things to be thankful for, big and small. Right now, at this moment, I feel the most immediacy in being thankful for getting to live my quirky little life: vaccuming my oven, getting to run at the gym w/o having to dodge old people walking in the running lane, practicing the keyboard part for the Counting Crow’s “Long December,” whipping up a tasty veggie marinade, blogging on my phone, and watching superhero shows with a snuggly StanLee B.

There’s no “E” in Tofurky or bourbon, but there is an “E” in wine and love and awesome and StanLee. I’m so lucky my life can encompass the small joys of all these gifts that span the spelling spectrum.

“StanLee B. and the Case of the Mysterious Hotdog.” It sounds like a cute children’s chapter book, doesn’t it?

Maybe someday it will be if I ever pursue a career as a children’s book author, but for now, it’s my name for a couple of scary, adrenaline-laced hours Chad and I experienced worrying about StanLee.

Before we go any further, let me assure all my gentle readers that STANLEE IS COMPLETELY FINE, so it’s okay to make light of the travails of his anxious pet parents.

Our hotdog-induced anxiety was not inspired by my pseudo-vegetarianism, but by StanLee finding, and of course eating, a hot dog he found in our yard. Yes, I saw StanLee trotting around proudly with the hotdog, but there was no way I was ever going to get him to come to me with it, much less surrender his hotdog treasure (#dogtraining fail, #whataboutpuppybootcamp?)

I am not certain of many things in life, but I am certain that we are a hotdog-free household, so the hotdog clearly did NOT originate with us. And while I hate to be paranoid and generally poo-poo fears about crime, my mind immediately leapt to the reports of dogs who have been poisoned with tainted meat that has been thrown into their yard.

I called our regular vet’s office, and while the assistant who answered the phone wasn’t that concerned at first, after consulting with the vet, she said we needed to make StanLee vomit by giving him some hydrogen peroxide ASAP.

I proceeded to have a complete meltdown. “We don’t have any hydrogen peroxide and how in the world would I get it in StanLee even if we did!…was hydrogen peroxide spray the same as regular hydrogen peroxide? What was my time frame? Could this wait until my husband, already on his way, got home?”

The assistant tried to be helpful, and told me that it had to be hydrogen peroxide but not the spray, and that hydrogen peroxide was inexpensive, and I could try a turkey baster as a delivery system. Internally I screamed:

“I haven’t been holding out on buying hydrogen peroxide because I’m cheap, and regardless of price I still don’t have it and do I have time to get it, and no I do NOT have a f#*cking turkey baster!!!”

So I ran (not literally) to CVS, bought a bottle of hydrogen peroxide (which yes WAS cheap and also the exact same percentage of hydrogen perxoide as the spray we already had), returned home, and successfully fed a tablespoon to StanLee. He didn’t like this and cried a little so my heart broke a little, but it wasn’t actually that difficult.

And he did not throw up.

Chad got home, he called the vet’s office (I couldn’t be trusted), and upon their instructions, gave StanLee another dose of hydrogen peroxide.

Still no throwing up. (This steel stomach from the dog who regulary vomits for no discernable reason other than looking at a plant?)

Another call to the vet, and the ominous direction to get StanLee to the emergency vet IMMEDIATELY. So StanLee had a lovely ride to the emergency vet, and we almost threw up from fear and stress.

The technician who did our intake at the emergency vet had apparently not heard of the crime of dog poisoning, and was rather mystified as to our concern. She kindly checked his vitals, said he seemed just fine and that even if he had ingested something dangerous it was now too late for purging to help, and we should just take him home and keep an eye on him. They didn’t even charge us, and the receptionist remarked that he wasn’t his first emergency vet visit (only 3 in one year…)

Blessedly, StanLee never suffered any ill-effects from his consumption of the hotdog of dubious origins. I’m still baffled by where this hotdog came from, and am beginning to doubt that I really even saw him with it (I was pretty sleep-deprived that day). I just can’t imagine the scenario where someone randomly, but not maliciously, threw a hotdog in our yard, especially in November. (Perhaps in the summer when many people are having cookouts like crazy a stray hotdog could get into the ecosystem and wind up in our yard).

I guess some mysteries are better left unsolved. Although if I do ever use this incident as the inspiration for a children’s book, I’m totally casting our cats as the criminal masterminds.

I ran my first race of 2019 yesterday when I did the TC 10 Mile! It was also my first race since the 2018 Twin Cities Marathon last October.

Wow, a whole year without races (no, NOT a whole year without running). This wasn’t an intentional break from participating in organzied races (although I am on an intentional marathon hiatus). Weather–mixed in with some life choices–lead to me missing two races earlier this year (“The Race Not Taken“), and JUST this weekend, the 5K and 10K we signed up for on Saturday were cancelled because of rainy weather and potential lightning. (Although we still did get all our race series bling–medals, awesome coffee travel mug–which I’m not even embarassed to rock because we totally intended to run).

And yes, I realize that the most dire consequence of global warming is not how it is affecting my race plans, but it’s what I feel most immediately.

Actually, given how crappy the weather was on Saturday for the 5K and 10K, I was very thankful they were cancelled. We signed up to run them as part of the “Loony Challenge,” to run the 5K and 10K on Saturday and the 10 Mile on Sunday. I wanted to do this, I really did (last year we did the “Ultra Loony”–same Saturday races with the Marathon on Sunday), despite having to get up before dawn two days in a row, and not just because signing up for the Loony Challenge guaranteed us a spot in the extremely popular 10 Mile. But since the weather WAS so crappy, I just couldn’t imagine standing around freezing my ass off in the wind and the rain, and I was soo happy not to make that call  to bail myself.

But the weather was perfect on Sunday and I FINALLY RAN A RACE. I almost forgot how fun and energizing and stressful and exciting a race can be. Yes, they are a complete pain in the ass (I’m willingly doing something that requires getting up at 5:00 in the morning in October when it’s not even light?), but the things I love most in life (acting, being in a band, etc.) seem to be.

And yes, I DID feel a little lame because I was “only” running the 10 Mile, and not the marathon, but still proud and excited to be able to do the 10 Mile and be a part of Marathon weekend and the running community, even if mostly via Facebook. I even got to celebrate in person with some of my amazing First TC 10 Marathon class of 2017.

The actual experience of running the TC 10 was wonderful–beautiful weather and route with gorgeous trees popping with fall color, and supportive and entertaining spectators. And I felt good–yes, I was defintely working, but no real pain or issues (I never wanted to puke)–so it was a win.

AND I think I ran my fastest individual mile EVER–Mile #1 I ran in 8:12. Which probably is more a sign of bad planning than athletic prowess, but still. In a wonderful metaphor for life, (how I love my running metaphors for life) the middle of the race, miles 5-7, were my hardest and slowest. I even learned some running strategy that may be applicable in future shorter races–it’s worth carrying water, because the water stops actually do add enough time to matter (unlike in a marathon where walking through the water stops is no big whoo and even gives you a beneficial break).

But yes, Amy being Amy (and I’m just trying to accept my neuroses as part of my charm), I AM a little confused and disappointed by my performance. I completed the 10 Mile with an 8:56/per mile average pace, exactly what I did 3 years ago (although in 2016 I had an overal time of 1:29:17 and this year I finished in 1:29:15 so I was technically faster!)

In many, many ways, an 8:56/per mile pace is a very good thing, especially since I’ve felt that my training this year has been rather lackluster (and there was that face plant thing I did). Honestly, I was worried I might be lucky to have a 9:30/per milep pace. BUT…there was ALL THAT TRAINING! I certainly was running  and “training” way back in 2016, but not with anywhere near the same effort and intentionality, which makes me ask…was all the training of 2019 worth it? At least when it comes to actual race performance (yes, my obsesseive compulsive self DOES really enjoy the training for its own sake).

And since I don’t know where else to admit this…I do feel “guilty” that when I registered for the 10 Mile, I said I anticipated a 8:30/mile pace. Yes, this was definitely a stretch goal, but not entirely made up. It was simply based on my Best Ever (“PR”–Personal Record) pace attained at the Rochester Half Marathon, (an easier, although longer, course).  I only feel bad because this declaration got me into the first corral of Ten Milers, which meant I didn’t have to stand around waiting to start the 10 Mile in one of the other corrals.

This was my third TC 10 Mile. Was it the Charm? What am I going to do next year? Will I do the 10 Mile again, or the Marathon, or just sit at home and watch the proceedings via Facebook?