p i x e l s c r i b b l e s – Page 28 – the thoughts and experiences of Heather Meadows

A hairy dilemma

For some time now I’ve been trying out the “no ‘poo” method of hair care. Rather than using shampoo, you wash with a paste made of baking soda and water, and rather than using conditioner, you simply rinse your hair with diluted apple cider vinegar. I got the idea from my friend Mari, who has been doing it for years and loves the results. My own experience has been a little uneven, however.

The main purpose of going no ‘poo is to allow your hair’s natural oils to come out. This should, in theory, make your hair prettier and more manageable. It’s also supposed to be healthier for your hair, since you aren’t stripping away natural oils and then applying unnatural products.

My hair is long, straight, and naturally blond. I have never really done much with it. It can’t hold a curl for more than an hour. It’s very convenient, in that I can simply wash it and go, but I’ve often despaired of how flat it is. I was hoping that going no ‘poo would add some body.

It took some time for my hair to adjust to the baking soda and cider method. Once it did, I noticed two improvements I really liked. First, my hair no longer seemed susceptible to static electricity. It lay flat and was easy to move without worrying about tangling. It also held its shape better, meaning I could give the appearance of volume by brushing it up in the front and then allowing it to fall. I was pretty pleased with these changes. While my hair wasn’t actually thicker, it felt more manageable.

However, there were a few problems. The first problem: Sean didn’t care for the smell of my hair while I used this method. Frankly, I didn’t either. It didn’t smell dirty, but it didn’t smell pretty, either. I suppose this problem might be fixed with a spray-in fragrance, or perhaps a lemon or scented oil as I’ve seen suggested on no ‘poo forums, but for me, fixing baking soda paste and diluting cider is already more fuss than I normally feel like doing. I’m not particularly girly; I like to look nice, but I don’t want to spend hours in the bathroom each morning.

The second problem: My mom told me my hair didn’t shine like it used to–that it looked dull. This was very disappointing to hear. I could almost deal with the smell issue, but if my hair isn’t going to look good, what’s the point? I don’t have cascading golden tresses or anything, but I like to think my hair is fairly pretty. I don’t want to sabotage a facet of my looks that I’m perfectly happy with.

A third problem is simply the issue of getting a thorough washing. Baking soda works all right for cleaning hair after exercise, but when I tried it after swimming in the ocean or a chlorinated pool, my hair did not get clean. Chlorine is similar to baking soda, so it was actually recommended somewhere not to use the baking soda at all, but to simply rinse the hair before and after swimming, or to use a bathing cap, something I don’t own and have never used. Again, more fuss.

My no ‘poo experience ended when I went to New York state recently. While there I didn’t feel like taking the trouble to find a store and buy baking soda and apple cider vinegar, so I simply used hotel shampoo and conditioner. And let me tell you, it felt so good to actually lather up my hair again. My hair felt nice and clean and smooth afterwards, too. The no ‘poo method changes the texture of hair, makes it more oily. Maybe that’s better for it; I don’t know. All I do know is I’ve used shampoo and conditioner since I’ve been home, and I’m loath to give them up again, despite the fact that I can already feel my hair getting thinner and frizzier.

Neither option seems ideal at this point. I wonder if there’s a happy medium out there somewhere.

Odd dream

As I was waking up this morning, I dreamed I was out with a friend (B) and a former coworker (C) in Augusta for dinner. Except it didn’t look anything like Augusta. It was a college town where school buildings mingle with downtown buildings, more like Lexington. Lots of red brick and grass, though. Anyway, we were at this lunch counter type place ordering food. I had apparently been there for lunch and had a salad, so I already knew what they had available. C ordered a plate of peas (he’s a vegetarian but that seemed a little extreme so I said, “All you’re getting is a plate of peas?” and he said yes). I wanted peas too, so I asked if there were going to be enough. It’s here that things got wonky.

The girl at the counter started looking trough all the food trying to find peas. They didn’t seem to be anywhere. Worse, I kept spotting them and pointing them out only to have them seemingly disappear when she looked. “There’s some, with carrots,” I said, pointing, and she went to that tray and started pulling out grape tomatoes. I was so frustrated I asked, “You do know what a pea is, right?” She stared at me and I tried to make it as inoffensive as possible by blurting things like “You never know!” “In this day and age?” she responded mockingly, then sliced off a piece of specialty cheese for B and placed it in a bag. I wasn’t even sure when B had ordered.

The girl moved down to help some new customers. I still hadn’t ordered my peas, let alone the rest of my meal (I wanted a pork chop). Infuriated, I left.

I stalked down the street and into a courtyard near the corner. It was there that I encountered an odd creature that I’m pretty sure I’ve dreamed about before. It’s kind of like a deformed kangaroo, same height, same big legs and small arms, same tail for balance, but a stubby face wholly unlike that of a kangaroo. Still, “What’s a kangaroo doing loose in the city?” I asked aloud as it charged toward me.

The courtyard was filled with trees and corners, and for some reason, while I knew the kangaroo could and would hurt me, I wasn’t afraid. I simply backed into tight spaces where it couldn’t reach and started taking pictures of it. Soon the flash seemed to scare the thing off and it fled the courtyard. I watched it bound back and forth down the street outside, its movements punctuated by the screams of those who spotted it.

I cut through the courtyard to a perpendicular street and found a restaurant, where I got a table. I was settling in when B showed up and joined me. “If she comes back, I want water,” I said. “I need to use the restroom.” “I’d rather we wait to order until you’re back,” B responded. “And we’re having you pay for this.” I realized she must be mad that I left the lunch counter. “Okay, but I didn’t even order anything there. And the service was awful,” I said. “I seriously don’t think she knew what a pea was. I was so mad I couldn’t stand to stay there.” I went on to explain how I’d run into the creature. I was in the middle of describing it when I noticed B was stiff and pale. “Don’t worry,” I said. “It won’t hurt us.” There was no real reason for my being so sure of this other than my innocuous earlier encounter. “You’ve obviously never been bitten by him,” B said, sounding angry and scared. “A says he knows someone who has and it was really bad.” (A is B’s ex in real life.)

I didn’t know what to say to this, and I really did need to use the restroom, so I woke up.

A glorious morning on the trails

This morning I took a very long walk–more than two hours, anyway–through the woods and alongside the Chattahoochee River. I took a trail I hadn’t explored before and ended up coming out near a distant apartment complex. There was a map there so I was able to tell that if I walked some more, I would find the abandoned mill I’ve been interested in seeing…but by that point I was pretty tired and I knew I needed to get water soon. So I ended up turning around and heading back the way I came.

The walk back was strangely energizing. It was as if, knowing there was a finite distance left, my body decided to push out a lasting burst of energy. Soon I found myself jogging the forest trail, weaving through the trees, barreling down little creek-cut valleys and back out of them, leaping side to side to avoid obstacles like rocks, roots, and other hikers.

Finally, elated and covered with sweat, I emerged from the pines and took a quick left back to the nearest parking area, where I availed myself of the water fountain with measured abandon.

The walk back from there was a nice cool-down. I stuck to the river path to keep out of the sun, smiling at all the walkers, runners, bikers, and dog walkers who were out enjoying this hot, beautiful day with me. And then, finally, I was done, ready to relax in the air conditioning with a tall glass of water.

Bliss.

Pity party: over!

I had a nice lunch and conversation with good friends, and I’m feeling better than I was earlier when I whined about the universe not loving me. This just happens at times of transition; I get weepy and perhaps self-piteous. But this is good. I can finally start living the new life I caught an echo of when we first moved in March. Time to get my surgery, pursue my ideas, set a timeline for adoption, figure out some solid goals. It’s new and different and scary, but it’s freedom, and I can use it to work towards my dreams.

The loneliness of leaving

I drove into my last day of work today in tears because no one had offered to throw me a goodbye party.

This is how it’s always been, though. People are glad I exist in theory, but there rarely seems to be a strong connection. I guess it’s true on my end, too; it takes me a long time to feel close. But I want that connection. I want people to think of me.

I’m a Hufflepuff. I’m the prodigal son’s brother. I’m the one quietly working in the background, with occasional one-on-one recognition but invisible to the world at large. If I want a party, I have to throw it myself, and hardly anyone will come.

Children: The solution to all existential crises?

“I don’t really remember what it was like before. Whatever I had going on, it was bullshit. It wasn’t important. It’s kind of a nice thing about being a dad. My identity is really about them now, and what I can do for them, so it sort of takes the pressure off of your own life. What am I going to do, who am I? Who cares, you’ve got to get your kids to school. So I like it that way.”

-Louis C.K., from this interview.

It has long appeared to me that kids crystallize one’s purpose. I think that’s part of why I’ve felt so directionless in my adult life. I’d always assumed I’d have kids, and everything I’d do would be for their benefit.

It’s possible we will adopt in the next few years. Sean’s finally not only receptive, but eager to have a child. So maybe I’ll get to experience that crystallization of purpose too.

Challenging myself

I noticed when I was writing my last post, which was pretty much a middle school essay on a movie I like, that I got tired of writing it pretty quickly. I had points I wanted to make, but I was getting bored while trying to make them.

That’s not a good sign.

For most of my life, I’ve been a writer. I started keeping diaries and writing stories in elementary school, and even though I didn’t write daily, I wrote enough that it was obvious I loved writing.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped writing regularly. I’m pretty sure “somewhere” coincides closely with my joining Twitter in February of 2007. I have spent a lot of time pouring my thoughts out there…but what I do on Twitter isn’t writing. It’s stream of consciousness, and often it isn’t worth reading at all. I even avoid using @ mentions sometimes so I don’t have to worry about someone important or smart seeing what I’ve said about a subject that concerns them.

I don’t try to write on Twitter. If anything, Twitter gives me an excuse not to try. And as I’ve continued not writing, my writing skills and endurance have atrophied almost to the point of nothing.

This isn’t what I want for myself. It’s not how I’ve spent most of my life.

So I’ve decided to start writing regularly. If not every day, every other day. I won’t worry about length, but I will worry about quality. If what I write is something I could have dashed off in 30 seconds on Twitter, it won’t count.

I want my writing to have meaning again. So here goes.

Why Flight of the Navigator is awesome

I watched Flight of the Navigator, a 1986 Disney feature film about a boy abducted by aliens and returned home eight years later, about fifty billion times as a kid. I saw it on TV as an adult a few years ago, and a recent Shortpacked! strip inspired me to watch it again. Never does the awesomeness fade.

The movie plays on the fact that it’s about aliens by teasing you several times with what seem to be straightforward alien encounters, but then turn out to be normal things like a silver frisbee being thrown at a dog competition, a blimp passing overhead, and even a silver water tower during the part of the movie when you just know that this time, the aliens are coming! When the aliens actually do come, you don’t even see it; our protagonist passes out, then wakes up, and the abduction is over.

This is brilliant because it builds suspense–when will we see the spaceship?–and also allows the you to experience events alongside the protagonist. David doesn’t remember being abducted, so you live through that discovery with him. And it’s completely realistic. David doesn’t immediately adjust to being dropped eight years into the future. He’s lost, scared, and confused. When he finds his house with a different family in it, he completely shuts down.

(I’ve got to tell you, that child’s acting is amazing. He far outshines some of the adult actors in bit parts, like the NASA security guards.)

This was the first time I’ve watched the movie where I noticed when Max described himself as a “drone ship”. I guess that should be obvious, but it struck a chord for me this time. Max has a personality, even before he scans David’s brain and gets a sense of humor. He’s very proud, and he seems to care about the creatures he’s tasked with “sampling”. But he’s a drone–a servant of the aliens we never see. This is an example of another way the movie is brilliant. It isn’t just a straightforward action adventure. There are different levels you can experience at different times in your life.

Another example of the movie’s nuance is how the antagonists aren’t really bad guys. Sure, they aren’t particularly sensitive to David’s needs and fears. But they’re not trying to hurt him. They want to know where he’d been, or how he’d been sent through time. And they want to know what his connection is to the spaceship they found. As a matter of national (and planetary) security, you could argue they need to know those things. So a little brusqueness is perfectly understandable. I almost feel sorry for them at the end!

David and Max’s relationship is great, too. They don’t get along right away. They take time figuring each other out. But in the end, they’re friends who care deeply about each other. David’s relationship with his little brother Jeff takes a similar path, as meeting Jeff’s older self shows David that his brother isn’t such a bad guy after all. This is a movie about evolving relationships and growing up–much deeper than just a jaunt on a spaceship.

Despite the complex themes, the story doesn’t take itself too seriously. There are some extremely funny moments, including when David and Max stop at a gas station in the middle of nowhere and a group of tourists think the spaceship is part of a display.

Beyond the amazing storytelling, there’s just the coolness of it all. The spaceship set was awesome, but I was also enthralled by all the computers, wondering how they worked and wishing for my own set of computerized star charts. And Flight of the Navigator was my introduction to the idea that time slows down as you approach the speed of light. Beyond that, there’s all the beautiful aerial video, making you yearn to take to the skies in your own ship from outer space.

If that’s not enough to convince you…the music rules. Seriously, just watch the scene where David is riding inside the R.A.L.F. unit. It’s impossible to keep from dancing in your chair.

Study abroad memories

The University of Kentucky Office of International Affairs recently asked past participants of its programs to post their favorite memories on their Facebook Wall. Here’s what I wrote:

Thanks to UKIA, I spent roughly six weeks in Japan in 2001. It was my first time outside the US. I was really impressed with how well the trip was organized, leaving my fellow students and me free to just take everything in and learn all we could. The whirlwind rail tour put me in touch with Japanese history and culture in a way I never could have experienced in a traditional classroom. I’m still friends with the girl whose family I stayed with in the small town of Yatsushiro. There are so many memories that it’s hard to choose a favorite, but ranking high are the dusk view of the lighted port city of Hakodate from the mountains, swimming at the base of waterfalls, writing a short essay on the aesthetics of haphazard power lines (really!), and strolling through preserved historic areas in tiny mountain towns. Ten years later, I’m still “homesick”!

Scalini’s

Sean and I are slowly searching out haunts in our new Atlanta-area home. Tonight we discovered our first Italian place, a lovely restaurant that combines a hole-in-the-wall feel with casual elegance.

Scalini’s is located on Cobb Parkway in the same shopping center as the Best Buy, just above I-285. A huge green light-up sign stretches across the restaurant’s section of strip mall, proclaiming “Scalini’s Italian Restaurant” to the deep parking lot and the roadway beyond. A purely decorative awning runs above the front window, which looks into the dimly-lit bar, and a windowed front entryway provides a glimpse into a cheerful foyer.

Upon entering, we saw a high-ceilinged room dominated to the left by a long refrigerated glass case, displaying its meats and vegetables before a wall filled with dried goods and spices. To the right, past a towering Lady Liberty statue, was a passage through to the bar, and the hostess was straight ahead, guarding the way to the rest of the restaurant.

At this point I was wondering if we were underdressed…but we were greeted warmly and escorted back beyond the bar to a very casual seating area with private booths. There, most surfaces–the walls, the backs of booths, even some light fixtures–were covered with graffiti, messages from past guests, just like at Rhinehart’s back in Augusta. The area was cozy and private, too, with a narrow walkway running between rows of booths so small they could almost be called cramped, their seat backs going almost to the ceiling. The table was plenty big enough, and the booth seats just, so we settled in comfortably.

The menu was expansive, with appetizers, pastas, meats, seafood, and several desserts. Each meal was served with a large salad that included lettuce, tomato, and beets. I was pleased to discover that I found the beets delicious. Meals also came with a bowl of delicious freshly-baked rolls, served with oil and garlic.

We started with a stuffed mushroom appetizer that was the only disappointing part of the meal. Maybe the kitchen was rushed, as it was a bit late in the evening. Maybe their recipe wasn’t great. Whatever the reason, the mushrooms were passable, but not wonderful like the rest of the meal.

Sean’s main dish was a seafood alfredo that looked absolutely divine…scallops and shrimp with fettuccine dredged in that amazing creamy sauce. I had Cannelloni del Mar: lobster, scallops, and shrimp with cheese, baked in a pasta tube with rosatella sauce. It was an extraordinary medley of flavors.

We managed to eat about half of the shared salad, all the mushrooms, a couple of rolls, and about a third each of our entrees. I did find room for some fantastic spumoni, which I think was pistachio and chocolate, served with a cookie of lower sweetness to temper the taste. Finally, full and happy, we strolled back to the car with three to-go boxes.

Tonight’s dinner was a fantastic experience. I was captivated, both by the food and by the ambiance. It looks like Scalini’s is going to be a favorite!

A new adventure

As you may have gathered from my previous post, Sean and I have made the move to Marietta, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta in Cobb County. Sean found a job here last fall; I’m telecommuting to my job back in Augusta for the time being.

We’ve mostly settled in to our new apartment–the furniture’s arranged, the kitchen’s functional, and we just have a few boxes left to unpack. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind, dealing with moving and adjusting to our new place. I think we’re finally getting comfortable and falling into a good routine.

One of the nice things about working remotely is that my commute time is zero. Another nice thing is that I’m able to do things around the house on my lunchbreak. What makes it especially nice in our particular location is that I chose an apartment complex nestled in the woods, a cluster of cozy buildings scattered across hillsides carved out by streams leading down to a river, walking distance from a nature preserve.

I’ve walked down to the river and through forest trails twice now, once alone and once with our friends Charles and Heidi. Yesterday, I decided to explore the apartment grounds themselves.

The complex boasts the standard luxury apartment amenities, including a gorgeous clubhouse. It’s on the far side of the property from our apartment, and uphill to boot, so I got a good workout strolling over there on my break.I took my time, stopping for pictures everywhere, and I wandered off on side trips, enjoying the lovely landscaping and exploring what amenities the grounds have to offer. It almost felt like being up in the mountains, but warmer and busier what with the traffic from residents and the relative closeness of the buildings.

When I got to the clubhouse, I found most of the rooms manually locked–my key card worked, but the doors still wouldn’t open. The fitness center was available, and that was about it. I went up to the lounge and tried my key and was met with the same frustration.

“Do you have a key card?” asked a voice behind me. I turned; it was a cleaning lady.

“I tried it already,” I said, but dutifully pulled it out and tried again.

The lady tried the door too, using her own card. “It’s locked from the inside,” she said. “I don’t know why someone would do that.”

We walked to a different door, and she managed somehow to get that one open. “There you go.”

“Thanks!” I said, and went in.

The room’s very nice. Cozy isn’t the word, since it’s so big, but it’s comfortable. My attention was immediately drawn to the pool table in the back, and after a bit of looking around, I played a very weak, but fun, game of 8-ball with myself.

As I was racking the balls for a second game, the girl I’d passed at the desk on my way in opened the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was just playing some pool,” I said.

“This room actually isn’t open right now.”

“…oh,” I said. “Well, I’ll just rack them back and be on my way!”

I wasn’t particularly embarrassed, which is impressive for me. I tidied up the pool table and hung the rounded triangle back on the accessories rack, then followed the girl back out of the room and downstairs. She let me know the hours the room is actually open (too few, really), and I thanked her and went on my way.

As I was strolling back towards my apartment, taking in the warm sun and tall trees, a silver car pulled up and honked lightly. I glanced over as the window rolled down.

“I’m so sorry!” the cleaning lady said. “I didn’t know it wasn’t open! I’m just the cleaning lady.”

“It’s okay,” I told her cheerfully. “At least I got one game in.”

She laughed, and I smiled and waved, and we both continued on our separate ways.

Terror!

Last night when I opened the dishwasher to set my dinner plate inside, I saw movement at the place where the door meets the washer.

My eyes were there in a flash, in time to see a cockroach skitter out in a mad, looping retreat.

I screamed my I’ve-just-seen-a-cockroach scream and slammed the washer closed.

I’ve dealt with cockroaches before. I’m not really sure why I scream when I see them, or why I recoil from them the way I do. I can handle them dead–well, not handle them, but I can deal with throwing them out, but when they’re darting at inhuman speeds across my floors to potentially hide among my belongings, scurrying into little cracks where they can’t be killed and just waiting for the opportunity to terrorize me, then, well, yeah.

The cockroaches here in Marietta are different from the ones back in Augusta. They’re black rather than slightly reddish, and while I have seen one on the ceiling I’m not sure they do much flying. (Wishful thinking?) They also look like they would crunch a lot more when stepped on, but as I haven’t actually caught one yet, I don’t know for sure.

Regardless, one of these abominations had been in my dishwasher, probably because I’d left it open a crack rather than fully closed, and now I had no idea where it was.

I armed myself with shoes, just in case, then pulled the dishwasher door back down. No sign of the thing on the bottom or among the dishes. I slid my eyes upward…

…and there it was, on the back wall of the dishwasher, nestled right near the corner with the left wall and ceiling.

I had, of course, been giving Sean the running commentary, and as I went for the broom I informed him, “You know, guys are supposed to handle this stuff.” He made some sort of noncommittal noise and I sighed and opened the dishwasher a third time.

Sliding the broom in above the top rack of dishes, I jabbed it forward as hard as I could at that awkward angle, hoping to catch the roach in the bristles of the broom. But maybe Marietta roaches are harder and slicker, or maybe I didn’t jab hard enough. Whatever the reason, the thing simply fell down the wall into the bottom of the dishwasher, and then, as I leapt back, preparing to guide him out with the broom and stomp on him, he crawled with impossible speed into a two-inch wide hole on the back of the dishwasher door I hadn’t noticed before, a place that had apparently been broken out accidentally.

Furious, I closed the dishwasher again.

And that’s the situation as it stands now. I apparently have a cockroach in the door of my dishwasher. Not only that, but there’s a hole in the door of the dishwasher where just anything can crawl in and hang out. Ew.

Today, irritated, I opened the dishwasher, loaded it, put in a detergent sac and ran the thing. There was no sign of the cockroach. No water spilled out of the dishwasher, so I have to assume the closure is airtight…so where’s the roach, then? Still in the door? Did the heat from the drying cycle kill him, or can roaches withstand that much heat? If I open the dishwasher now, will the roach scurry out and get all over my clean dishes?

Or is there a dead cockroach in my dishwasher door…and if so, will he at least serve as a warning to the others?

Five years

Five years ago today, I became the web producer at an Augusta television network affiliate.

When I first started, I’d never worked in TV or news before. I’d traced 3D map features from aerial photography, worked night desk in a few college dormitories, performed office assistant and data entry duties, blossomed into a fledgling print and web designer and editor, and briefly (perhaps prematurely) attempted freelance web design. I’d always had an interest in news, and for some reason, my mom always thought I’d be a newspaper reporter. But I’d never pursued journalism, for whatever reason, and I’d certainly never learned anything about broadcasting, so when I came in as web producer I had a bit of a learning curve.

What I did know, though, was the culture of web and design fundamentals, so I started there and I learned. I learned a lot about Photoshop from our graphic designer and later, after she’d moved on, from online tutorials. I quickly became proficient in the content management systems used at the station, so much so that it wasn’t long before I was making enhancement suggestions–many of which were implemented. I made mistakes and I grew. I took leaps. I redesigned the website again and again as I discovered new things and as the standard layout changed group-wide.

And I edited news stories, and eventually even wrote a few myself. I learned from reading some great writers, both at the station and out in the wilds of the internet. I began to learn more and more about journalism, ethics, and legal issues. I started to form strong opinions about what news is and what it should aspire to. I started to think about ways in which the internet could help people come to a true, contextual understanding of the news of the day.

These are all things I might not have done, might not have thought of, had I not chosen this path. And I’m yearning to know more. I want to make videos, good videos. Maybe podcasts. Maybe music. I want to create and share information in other media.

Now it’s time for the next great adventure. Sean and I are moving from Augusta to Atlanta. After a period of telecommuting, I’ll move to new work, too.

Will I stay in news? Design? Web? Writing? Will I branch out into another untried field? I don’t know.

I hope I can find a place where I am free to grow, free to learn and experiment and take ownership of my position and change the very nature of it. I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy that kind of environment for the past five years, and I’m so grateful, and so excited to see where my path takes me next.

Funny!

From a recent Groupon:

Without classical music, brides would have to run down the aisle to the tune of Yackety Sax and supervillains would have nothing to play on their pipe organs.

I have a niece!

Ben and Manda had their first child, Daphne Rose, on November 5.

Daphne
I was unfortunately unable to be there for her birth–I missed it by a week! I’d had it all planned out; her due date was October 27, a Wednesday, so I took my last three vacation days for the year and went to Kentucky. I had a great visit, getting to spend time with Mom, Dad, Ben, Manda, AJ, Faye, Connor, Logan, and Uncle Steve. I helped Mom out by doing a little painting, I hung out with AJ while he worked on a construction project, and I spent time with Faye and her sister Viota after all their kids went trick-or-treating on the 30th. But I had to leave on Sunday, October 31, and there was still no baby.

Manda actually had to be induced on November 4, and she was in labor until Daphne was finally born at 12:26 am the next day.

I was pretty dejected towards the end of my trip and during the week until she was born, but since then I’ve been able to see lots of pictures and a couple of videos, and I know I’m going to get to hold that sweet baby over Thanksgiving, so I’m feeling happier. I really wish I lived close enough to pop up to Kentucky over a normal weekend, though.

While I was up there waiting for her to be born, I dropped off a few presents. One was a funny puppet I bought at Arts in the Heart while Yoko was here visiting. The other two were Totoro products, since Ben and Manda have a Totoro theme in Daphne’s bedroom. The first one they opened was a pretty little jewelry/music box that plays the theme from the movie and has a little Totoro who spins in a circle. The second was a stuffed animal Totoro, which both Ben and Manda was completely enamored with. (“I didn’t know I needed to get three of them!” I said.)

Now that Daphne’s here, I’ve been thinking more and more about what her life will be like and what sorts of things I can do for her. I’m hoping one day to be able to help all my nieces and nephews study abroad (assuming their parents are cool with that), but that’s way down the road. This past Saturday I saw the Columbia County Ballet perform The New Nutcracker at the Imperial Theatre, and it was so neat to see all those kids dancing so well, I started to wonder if Daphne might try ballet. I was in ballet classes for awhile as a kid, but for some reason I hated it. I was very shy back then and preferred to be at home with my family rather than out with strangers, and I was terrified of performing…so that’s probably why. But Ben and Manda aren’t shy people, so their daughter might not have the same hangups I did. If she would enjoy ballet lessons, I’d love to help out with that too.

But even that is still way in the future. For now, she’s a tiny, beautiful baby :) I can’t wait to meet her.

Daphne