It was beautiful.

In the middle of his twenty-seven months with the Peace Corps, Steven came home for a few weeks. It was a summer visit, July, the first time we'd seen each other in over a year. With all the holidays we'd missed together behind us and all the holidays to come before us, we decided to take a day to celebrate Christmas.

I think I've talked about this before.

I made waffles in my parents' kitchen, standing barefoot in the Jasmine pants I bought at a market in Spain. My friends thought they looked ridiculous, but I liked the feel of scarves on my bare legs, my only complaint was the elastic at the ankles, which cut in to my skin.

I set the table with speckled blue and white plates and blended Orange Julius. I played Bing Crosby's Christmas album and warmed the syrup which, it turns out, Steven doesn't really like.

He walked into the house without knocking, and hugged me withe one arm, the other arm behind his back. He surprised me with a soft green hydrangea, the first flower he'd ever handed me himself.

I cut the stem and put the flower in water, in a cup on the table. We ate breakfast, me with my waffle dripping in melted butter and syrup and him with butter only.

He went back to West Africa a few days later, got sick with mono and spent a couple weeks in bed.

That hydrangea, hardier than any I've ever seen, lasted almost a month, long enough for Steven to get better and return to his village.

Maybe it borrowed his health, pulling it from his hand as he carried it to me on our Christmas morning.
Maybe it was just mimicking our patience, lasting longer than anybody thought it could.

Get it any way you can.

I would have liked to take a nap in a hammock today, the slight sway, the weight of a blanket tucked around my shoulders, the cool air cradling the sag of my back... I settled for my car, instead, parked at the back of the lot. With an hour for lunch, it was enough time to fall asleep in a patch of sun.

I woke up sweaty and sore, which made stepping out into the cool air all the more refreshing. The short walk from the car to the building was perfect. It was hard to come back inside, sad to sit for hours at a desk, staring at a screen, facing away from the window.

The square of sunlight on the floor does not even reach the wheels of my chair.

I'm not making any promises

I'm embarrassed by how long it's taken me to post.

Don't look at me, I'm blushing.

I've just had a damn hard time organizing thoughts, choosing a focus, and living up to the sentiment of New Year posts. I felt like I should be writing reflections and resolutions, and I couldn't. What makes the first of one month different from the first of another, really? So, instead of writing, I've been eating package after package of Holiday Oreos (just .89 cents at Target), and reading the poems of Billy Collins.

Today marks the first day of a weight-loss challenge I'm participating in. Yesterday, I watched the Golden Globes. The day before that, my husband took me on a really nice date. Last week, I was at work, feeling half as grown up as I looked, looking half as grown up as everyone else. Almost a month ago, I was leaving on a plane for Kansas, thinking of how nice it would be to be with family, and that three hour flights can feel very, very long. Steven and I have been together for four years. My brothers are growing up. My grandma should write a memoir. I should write a blog.

So on and so forth, these thoughts have skipped like rocks on the water. One hop, two hop, until they sink heavily to the bottom. Nothing rocks, blurry thoughts.

I think that Spring would be the best time to make life improvements. Not the dead of winter, when everything is frozen, most especially my motivation. Good luck to all of you who have ambitiously made lists of resolutions, and good health to those of you who are sick. I'll write again, when I'm sure I have something to say.

Categories

Pre-teen sensation, Jackie Evancho, blows my mind. If you don’t know who she is, follow this link and prepare to be stunned. If you do know who she is, follow the link anyway. Every time she opens her mouth, you’ll do a double take.

WTF, right? Crazy.

I don’t really see myself buying any of her music… I mainly just want to watch the second before she starts singing and the second after, over and over again. That big, round sound coming from her tiny frame confuses my eyes. It also makes me laugh. Is that horrible, that it makes me laugh? She’s beautiful and precious, and her little arms are so fluid when she waves them up and down, but I cannot get over the combination of mature-lady-opera-voice and blue-eyed-doll-baby.

I can’t help but notice how it smacks of potential to be an SNL skit. Kind of like this skit with Kristen Wiig, where you expect one thing (attraction) and get another (repulsion). 

Kristen Wiig: Ski Retreat Skit

Which brings me to the point: I have started to categorize my life in two ways; Situations That Would Make a Killer SNL Skit and Life Experiences That Would Make a Funny Sitcom. What you need to understand is that, whatever the category, I have basically stopped living life in reality and started living it in Technicolor. I have ten different TV shows I watch throughout the week, each functioning like a course in Social Studies or Home Economics. I sit down with a pen and notebook and take notes from my favorite characters on how to live.

No, I don’t.

But I do think that, in these trying times of adulthood, I have learned some valuable things from my prime-time friends.

·         New Girl has taught me that communicating is easier if you sing what you’re trying to say. Steven and I have had lots of conversations built on melody when they might have been built on frustration. La la laaaa.

·         Up All Night has shown me that being married can take two weird people and make them even weirder.

o   1 Weird + 1 Weird= Too weird (And I know what kind of “to” I used, okay.)

·         Modern Family has reminded me that, after you’ve given up trying to change the people in  your life, you will finally see what is so wonderful about them exactly as they are… If there is anything wonderful, and let’s be honest, sometimes there are no wonderful things. Make them up.

·         The Office has taught me the beauty of a versatile phrase. In my mouth. That’s what she said.

·         And Harry Potter has taught me the most... about being a friend and a hero and a dancer. Not a TV-show, you say? Take a hike! Harry Potter  is everything. *Ugly sobbing*

Harm City

Driving on the beltway today, I was thinking about how the cars weaving in and out of each other looked like a dance. If that dance were a death wish, combined with rage and idiocy.

Drivers here are terrible.

Initially, I let myself think, McKenna, you are just a precious girl from nowhere Kansas. You don’t understand what it’s like to drive in a city, where people’s lives are so important and busy.

I even let myself think, people here drive so fast because they care so much about being punctual, and that is beautiful.

But the bulls**t stops here, I lie no more.

I wasn’t caught so off guard by the drivers here because they are great city drivers. It is, in fact, because they are awful. I’m not weird because I grew up with the bumpkin delusions that red lights and speed limits matter, THEY’RE weird because they think they don’t. They don’t understand blinkers or pedestrian crosswalks; yellow lights or white lines. They get in their cars and all that is humane leaves them until they are nothing but crazed speed racers cutting me off.

Which is why, when a woman slowed to let me MERGE ONTO THE HIGHWAY the other day, I nearly cried. I found myself over-responding to her kindness because it had been so darn long since I experienced road-way courtesy. I was waving, blowing kisses, and throwing roses at her car.

When you’re used to operating in one extreme, any semblance of normalcy can really light your fire.

Beware the mid-atlantic byways, and for godssake, midwest people, kiss the ground you drive on.

And then get the hell out fo the way, someone from Baltimore might be passing through.

Lilo and Twitch

Today marks the third day of my spastic eye twitch. It is not awesome. Every few seconds, the lower lid of my right eye quivers. I can see it and I can feel it but I cannot stop it.

If it doesn’t end soon, I know I will end up punching myself in the face. Desperate times…

I read an article about the possible causes of eye-twitching and, while I can weed out a couple of them, most of them were right on. See list:

• Stress
• Tiredness
• Eye strain
• Caffeine
• Alcohol
• Dry eyes
• Nutritional imbalances
• Allergies

So, I’ve narrowed the list down to three: tiredness, eye strain, and nutritional imbalances. Through the process of elimination and smartness, I can probably get rid of tiredness because, let’s be honest, I’m always tired. My life is just so awesome and crazy! I’m always partying and dancing until midnight and stuff. Nice try, tiredness… But, deciding between eye strain and nutritional imbalances is a little more difficult.

You see, I’ve just started another diet. My body is in shock, not used to being denied such nutritionally balanced foods like bags of chips, packages of Oreos, and spoonfuls of Nutella. All signs clearly point to nutritional imbalance being the cause of my twitch. Nutritionally, my body is balancing precariously on a diet.

However, just for a laugh, let’s consider eye strain, and how I sit a foot away from a computer screen staring for eight hours, every day. And also how I drive home in the dark, and usually don’t have my glasses on me. And also, how my eyeballs suck and can’t read things far away and give me headaches.

Turns out, according to Jesus and the top scientists of our time, the eyes weren’t made to function under such circumstances. They were created to look at hills and flowers and loved ones’ faces. They were created to hunt and gather and NOT always be copying and pasting into excel spreadsheets.

It’s probably true that my eye is twitching from eye strain, but as I cannot do anything about needing a job and having to work, it looks like the only thing I can do to limit the twitch is recommence my previous diet.

*Interestingly enough, my eye never once twitched while I wrote this.

*No eyeballs were harmed in the making of this post. 

You want to be stranded on an island with me.

Oh my gosh, do you even remember who I am!? Is anyone even reading this anymore!? Blergh!

Time and again, my fairy blogmother (I just made that up) has said to me:

McKenna, darlin’, dontcha want the people ter read yer blog? Why then, ya must keep posting on a regular basis.”

 Yeah, she’s an Irish pirate.

To which I say:

Fairy blogmother, don’t be ridiculous. Of course I want to keep my readership. What an unnecessary question.”

So here I am, begging you to stay, dear reader. Pleading with you to keep coming back, keep checking for updates. Because even if I’m not writing blogs with my computer, I’m writing them with my heart. And as we well know, what we do with the heart is what really counts.

I diet, save money, and do laundry with my heart all of the time.

Also, if you keep reading, I’ll tell you really cool things about my life. Like how everything is being held together with paperclips and twisty-ties. I’m not joking.

Earlier this week, I walked into our office building like a professional, grown a** woman. I looked good, with my heels on and my black fake-leather saddlebag swinging from my shoulder. The bag that I bought at Target on sale. The bag that I turned over in my hands in the purse aisle thinking this is cheaply made but, gosh if it isn’t cute! I bought it.

Fast forward: So there I was, standing at the door, doing the awkward you-go-first-ok-I’ll-go-first shuffle with a higher up from the office when my bag dropped off of my shoulder and landed on the floor. HU (Higher Up) said “Oh, man”- looking embarrassed and sympathetic- while I picked up my purse like it was totally normal for it to drop off of my shoulder and said

Well, I guess I can tape it. 

I don’t think that will work.  

No… That’s what I get for filling it too full.

But the truth is, I didn’t fill it too full. I filled it only a little full because I knew it was cheap. I never danced with my bag, swung it around, beat anyone, or used it for a pillow. I put my wallet in it, and we KNOW that weighs nothing… So where there used to be a cute brass button holding my bag together, now there is a paperclip, bent and wrapped around the strap, holding things together. It looks real nice, Clark, real nice.

Also, a screw fell out of my glasses. And then my lens fell out. I have resourcefully corrected this problem with a twisty-tie. The answer to your question is: Yes, I am awesome.

So this Thanksgiving, when you’re searching your brain, thinking of things to be grateful for, be thankful for the things that break, because without them you wouldn’t know that they can be fixed. Almost.