a pleasant morning run

Subtitle: Ah, Suburbia.

This morning I decided to go for a run - stop laughing! - with Zooey. I mean, it is an amazing morning. It was like 70 degrees, low humidity, beautiful sunshine... what's not to love?!

So Zooey & I are just trotting along, enjoying the gorgeous day - getting close to my favorite part of the jog where I can take Zooey off her leash and run by some little ponds.

At this point, I see an elderly gentleman jogging toward us. And I'm thinking, hey guy, kudos to you for running at your age! I quickly assess the situation because I don't want Zooey to annoy this guy. She's traipsing along at my left side, so I stick to the left side of the pavement to keep myself between her and this approaching runner. Zooey has the tendency to um, over-enthusiastically greet people we encounter on walks.

So as we get closer, I look at the ole chap, give him a big smile and warmly say, "Good morning!"

And he responds in a cantankerous voice, "You're on the wrong side!" 

To which I reply, "Settle down, Scrooge!"

No, I'm just kidding, Mom. I was yelling that in my head, but I just ignored him and kept jogging, as he grumbled to himself. But seriously? SERIOUSLY?!

Let's break down the situation further, shall we?

First of all, this is a wide path. Doesn't really look like it in the picture, but dude had plenty of room. Second, hello! The path is surrounded by grass (albeit very poorly kept grass). Not like I'm edging you out into the street! Third, I was BARELY even on the pavement! Dude essentially had the whole sidewalk to himself. Okay - the red arrow is a tad bit deceptive. I had probably my right foot on the pavement. Fourth, REALLY?! Is my offense really that heinous that you had to point it out? (At this point I fully expect all serious runners to be like, "Yeah, Rachel, everyone knows you stay to the right, unless you're in Great Britain.") Fifth, I was saving you from the zealous energy of my dog! Sixth, I greeted you so nicely! RUDE.

He's probably at home right now, grumbling to his wife (or cats or whomever) about the young whippersnapper who's ruining society by JOGGING ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE SIDEWALK. ANARCHY!

Next time I'm just letting go of Zooey.

I will say, in defense of the elderly in this neighborhood, that on my way back to take a picture of the spot (yes, that happened), I crossed paths with an old woman and decided to give it another go. I looked at her, smiled and said, "Good morning!"

And she responded, "YOUR DOG IS POOPING IN MY YARD."

No, I'm kidding again. She said pleasantly, "Good morning!" and returned my smile!
And thus, my faith in old people was restored.

I think the real lesson to be learned here is to avoid running.

a story about cupcakes.

... a post in which I both brag and complain. It's like an American miracle.

On Thursday afternoon, the female teachers at my school had a shower for our co-worker, Elise, who is expecting her first baby - a daughter! - in January. I volunteered to make (surprise, surprise...) cupcakes!

I was inspired by this ruffled cake by Sweetapolita and this tea-party that she did. Then I saw this pin by Manda and knew I had to make pink cupcakes. And finally, since I love raspberry as a flavoring in... pretty much anything, I wanted to re-visit these cupcakes by Annie that I've made before and maybe tie in these cupcakes by Annie as well.

So. I had a glorious picture in my mind of dainty, pink ruffly cupcakes with raspberry filling.

I was pretty pleased with the result. The end!

Just kidding, because if you know me, you know that there were obviously some bumps in the road. 

I started out with ridiculously high and lofty goals, and decided that I would try to make the pink of the cake fade from light to dark. I had purchased gel food coloring, which I've never used before in my life, and thankfully, I had the gut instinct that a little would go a long way. I dabbed the tip of a knife into the food coloring - barely anything. Wiped the blade on the paddle of my mixer and began to stir it into the cake mix, and the batter turned, like, neon pink. So, there went my idea for changing the shades of pink. Oh well, the cupcakes will be pink, which is cute.

Baked the cupcakes. All was well. Made raspberry filling, all was well. Started to make raspberry buttercream frosting. 

I opened the cream that I had purchased THAT DAY, and huge clumps of nastiness plopped out into my half-made frosting. Now, I don't know if I should admit this online, but if I were just making these cupcakes for myself or maybe even family members, I might have just scooped out said clumps of nastiness and gotten different cream and continued. But I was taking these to a baby shower, and there was a chance that the guest of honor might eat one and who knows what bad cream could do to an unborn baby, because I didn't really pay attention in biology, and frankly, I don't even know if we covered that. Then I thought about what would happen if I made all the female teachers sick, where would we get that many substitute teachers, and how would our school survive if only our male co-workers were there? So I just threw away the tainted frosting. 

Thankfully, I had purchased another container of cream, and could successfully create my raspberry buttercream. My illustrious dream of ruffly pink goodness was about to become a reality. I pulled out a Ziploc bag (to pipe with - I keep it classy.), which I had also just purchased that day... and realized that I had mistakenly grabbed a box of 2-gallon bags. Why are there 2-gallon Ziplocs? 1. Who has that much freezer space? 2. What are you storing? Leftover turkeys? 

Anyway, I cut the bag in half and put the box back, lacerating my index finger on the cutting edge of the parchment paper box. I made some weird, pained noises and Doug came in and helped bandage my poor, afflicted finger. The show must go on!

I started trying to make pretty, ruffly, ribbon-like frosting decor on a cupcake. The operative word being "trying". Sweet mercy, these things were ugly. In fact, I saved a picture on my computer as "ugly cupcake".

Maybe you can't really tell, but take my word for it. These things were not living up to my expectations.

At which point I decided to try to make roses. Which, surprisingly, were much easier than I anticipated. But I realized I was going to run out of frosting. So, in a last minute effort, I made some chocolate ganache and finished my cupcakes. Ta-da! They ended up looking kind of cute, and the shower was really fun and people liked them. The end? 

The next morning, one of my co-workers told me she had an allergic reaction to the cupcakes. I'm not joking.   (She was okay - just lip & facial tingling and minor swelling... no breathing problems or anything.) Apparently she's never had a reaction to any of the ingredients I listed before, so she thinks she might have developed an allergy to raspberries...

Lesson learned? Maybe just buy some cookies for school-related events. 

Also, I had a cupcake for breakfast today.

i'm annoyed; quick, someone affirm me.

Just logged into Yahoo, and saw this article about how to "avoid embarrassing your child on Facebook."

Some of their suggestions? "Don't pry. Don't get too personal. Don't assume your child can chat with you just because he's logged in. Never, ever reply to comments for your kids."

Seriously??

SERIOUSLY?!

I'm trying to give "Tecca" (the author of the article) the benefit of the doubt, and hope that she's talking about children who are grown up, out of the house, with their own families.

Parents. As a teacher who interacts with teenagers daily (and, incidentally, as someone who has parents) - please, PLEASE pry into your children's lives! It's your responsibility to know what goes on in your children's lives!

I know, I'm so old-fashioned, and I'm totally repressing the freedom of teenagers across America. But having been a teenager, and being around teenagers all day everyday... they could use some more repression. Facebook stalk away, parents.

not even 10 minutes after the previous post...

Walked back into the kitchen after writing my previous post, went to put pumpkin pie in the fridge, didn't stop to think that it would disturb the balance of the cooling rack, sent buttermilk coconut pie plummeting to the ground.

Now, I know it's no use crying over spilled [butter]milk, but I did have the mini-est of meltdowns. I may have texted Doug just to say, "I just dropped a pie on the ground. I'm sitting on the kitchen floor crying." And then texted him 3 minutes later to say, "I'm better now."

The good news is that I got to steal a bite of the pie, and it tastes freaking awesome. So, yeah, I will be serving this disasterpiece tomorrow.

headaches.

I get headaches pretty frequently.

Not just

annoying-pressure-somewhere-in-my-brain,

but

HELLO-THIS-IS-YOUR-BRAIN-AND-I'M-CURRENTLY-TRYING-TO-BREAK-OPEN-YOUR-SKULL-AND-ESCAPE!

You know, the kind that make you just do this:

... and long to curl up in a warm, dark room.

So, yeah, they're pretty debilitating. It seems the only solution that really works is sleeping, but that's really inconvenient when I'm trying to introduce a unit on The College Portfolio to a class of high-strung juniors.

Any suggestions??

hasty, haughty haiku

In honor of the shopping experience I just had at Target, a few haiku - all addressed to the annoying girl at the fitting rooms who wouldn't let me take a pair of boots, a pair of stockings OR my basket into the fitting room.

1.

Dumb girl at Target:

Why won't you let me take my

Basket in the room?

2.

Fitting room Nazi:

I'm not a teenage deviant.

Let me have my stuff!

3.

Stingy, sour girl:

I have better things to do

Than steal your cheap crap. (Sorry, Dad.)

4.

Unrelenting wench:

You're lucky I have ice cream

Waiting to console.

wherein i loll about in a morass of self-pity & then snap out of it with resounding exuberance

I know, I know. I hate it too. I hate whining (look at me, whining about whining!). My dad would say, "Your attitude determines your altitude" - or something along those lines. And it's true. I'm a white, middle class female with a solid job that I usually enjoy. I have a remarkable husband, a cute (albeit insane) pup, a roof over my head, and pretty delicious meals whenever I want them. The weather is slowly but surely getting warmer and I'm young and healthy. WHAT do I have to complain about?!

But sometimes one just needs an outlet for pent up frustration.

And Internet, there you are, with your sultry eyes, just asking me to tell you all about it.

So.

Tomorrow I'm going on a field trip with my sophomore class to a Creation Science Museum. Okay, no biggie. Except it's in Kentucky. That's a 10-11 hour round trip in one day. Leaving at 6am, getting home at 10ishpm. Did I mention that I'm going with 50 teenagers? To be fair, in Doug's words, I could have "just said no" to chaperoning. But as I've established, I'm a pushover.

That's it. I just really wanted to complain about that. I feel much better now. I was going to blub on about some other nonsense, but life is too short.

So, to combat that negativity, here are some awesome things:

First -

Excluding tomorrow's jaunt/epic journey, there are 4 school days until Easter break.

After Easter break, there are 40 school days until exams.

THAT IS AWESOME.

Slash, frightening, as I have no idea how I'm going to get through all my curriculum... I think I can! I think I can!

Second-

Sorry, Zooey. The OPC doesn't ordain women.

Third -

It's not a baby elephant, but...

it's still pretty adorable.

(Image stolen from the Internet somewhere...)

Internet, how could you NOT forgive my griping after seeing that precious little furball?

stupid betty.

UPDATE:

Didn't even get a chance to make the ganache.

Cake broke while I was "inverting" the bundt cake.

Conveniently, I have all the stuff to make a trifle.

Thanks a lot, Betty.

when it rains, it pours

The title of my post is applicable in so many ways. First of all, it's pouring outside. Second... well, you'll see. I wasn't going to update until my life is back in order, but if I wait that long... I may never post again.

I'm updating my blog here at school. My students are all gone for the day - seriously, the moment the door closes after the last student from 7th period exits, I feel like a balloon that someone let the air out of really fast. Only, I don't usually emit gaseous noises and fly all over the room. Key word: usually.

How do I begin to describe this past weekend?

It all started Thursday night, when Doug & I realized that our heat had gone out. No big deal, right? We'll just have the guy come Friday and fix it. I didn't really think twice about it, because I was working up a sweat anyway, cleaning & getting ready for Becca to come visit.

Which brings me to the highlight of the weekend - Becca came to visit! She was the first Bannister family member to see our new apartment, and after this post, she might be the last Bannister family member to see our new apartment. We had an amazing time - a lot of great discussions, catching up on one another's lives and just bonding.

Unfortunately for poor Becca, who is used to the temperate climate of Maryland, the guys weren't able to fix the heater on Friday and told us that the whole thing needed to be gutted. So Saturday, Becca and I did a great part of our bonding cuddling under piles of blankets in front of the space heater with a hot water bottle between us. The heater guys came back on Saturday and after about an hour of working, told us that within the next hour, this would all be a mere memory. Oh cruel fate. Long story short - we never got the heat back and wound up spending the night at our friends' house on Saturday. And Sunday. And last night.

The whole ordeal has been really frustrating, because this guy keeps coming to the apartment, dinking around, and then telling us to "just wait" for it to work. It is NOT WORKING. Last night was the breaking point. We came home, and the guy had strewn our stuff all over the place to get to the heaters. He moved our coat rack into the middle of the kitchen and didn't bother to put it back; he tipped over the garbage can in our laundry room and didn't bother to pick it back up; he shoved around my craft stuff (which, I'll admit, was in a pile in front of the heater in the corner of our office) and spilled my homemade earrings all over the floor; and he must have opened a pipe in the bathroom, flooded the floor and used our good towels to wipe up the mess. Our bathroom had clods of mud on the floor, random puddles of water - and our towels were left in a dirty, wet mess in the bathtub. This all wouldn't have been nearly as bad if the guy had TOLD us about this - or at least apologized. We have not received an apology yet.

Somehow - by the grace of God - I was able to just start laughing when I saw all of this last night. I don't know what else to do.

This couldn't have come at a worse time. I'm trying to prepare for midterms next week and get the house ready for Christmas (Zach & Michele are coming to stay with us for a few days, and I'm making Christmas dinner for the whole Parton family), and Doug has finals this week for his masters classes, plus his year-end evaluation and a huge project for work!

I hate being so whiny, and I know this will all be hilarious to us one day (it's already funny in an exasperating way)... but I'm also just tired and frustrated. If we don't have heat tonight, this will be the 4th night we've been displaced.

But on a positive note - I am so, so thankful to the Schupras, who have taken us in so willingly the past 3 nights and have been so hospitable. This experience has definitely helped me to see even more clearly the loving community that Doug & I have become a part of. So many people, when they found out about our heat situation, have offered to have us over for dinner and offered us spare bedrooms. Thanks to everyone for your encouragement & prayers - you've made us feel so loved.

hockey hater

Last night was the first time in ages that no trains have gone by while I was trying to fall asleep.

It WAS, however, the night the Red Wings decided to win the Stanley Cup, so everyone and their mother was driving around honking their horns at all hours of the night/morning... thus fueling my hatred for hockey. 

Having admitted my hatred of hockey, I'm pretty sure it's only a matter of time before someone in greater Detroit (the area affectionately referred to as Hockeytown) hunts me down and strings me up for blasphemy.

And, as I'm writing this, I'm remembering that a large portion of my extended family are also professed lovers of Sabers hockey... oops.

To clarify - I did go to a U of M hockey game that was actually quite fun. I also think that hockey players are awesome skaters, and I've always been jealous of that spray-ice-everywhere brake they can do. But put me in front of a game on television, and it's only a matter of time before I'm banging my head against the wall.

Am I alone in this?

commuter complaints

I haven't had a terribly difficult time making the transition from New York to Michigan. As a farm girl, I'm a little surprised that I haven't even been overly opposed to living in the city of Plymouth. However, there are certain aspects of the small city life that I don't particularly enjoy. Trains and traffic in general are right up there in my Top Things I Hate About City Life.

First, trains.
While I love the John Mayer song "Stop This Train," I do NOT love the trains in Plymouth. When I lived in western New York, trains were pretty cool because I rarely saw them. Occasionally, one would chug through little old Albion, stopping traffic for about 5 minutes, as small boys (and probably their fathers, too) watched in amazement. I even came to think of trains as an old-fashioned means of transport. No longer. Downtown Plymouth is, quite literally, surrounded by train tracks, which allow trains to invade our quaint city multiple times a day... and night. I can't even count how many nights I have been woken - just at the precipice of my REM cycle - by the incessant blare of a train horn. Really? We see you. I can understand a warning toot on the horn, but honestly - laying it on for 10 seconds straight? UNNECESSARY. In addition, some of these terrors have been known to hold up traffic for at least 13 minutes at a time! And that was only after I decided to watch the clock after I had been waiting for a bit. As if they don't know I'm in a hurry to IKEA? I've been here for almost 8 months - I don't think trains are something one grows accustomed to.

Second, traffic. I can't decide whether I hate driving around here more than I hate trains in the middle of the night - it's a close call. There are several factors that play into my frustration. While I love the 70 mph highways, I hate Michigan drivers. It's a bit annoying when I'm driving a comfortable 78 mph and multiple drivers are still riding my bum. I'd expect it if I was going 68, or even 70. But 78? Back off! To roughly borrow an idea from my dear friend Jeanette, someone had better be dilated 10 centimeters and pushing in that truck.

Outside the 70 mph highways, the highest speed limit near us is 50 mph, on a road I scarcely travel. Our city limit is 25 mph. Twenty-five. Because 30 would just be reckless.

Let's also discuss the state of the roads in metro-Detroit. Holy pot holes. Apparently these conditions are so treacherous because of the nasty winter weather and large allotment for truck weight. Whatever it is - it is sucking the life out of Michigan roads. People talk about craters on the moon - have they seen my route to work?! I'm starting to buy into the theory that dinosaurs went extinct because a meteor struck the earth, and that meteor landed right on Ann Arbor Trail.

I'm never alone on the road. There is always someone driving 5 mph under the limit or 15 mph over. I can never just drive leisurely at my preferred 5-8 over. There is no such thing as a "back road" in metro-Detroit. The closest thing we've got is Hines Drive, which is everyone's favorite route to and from work because there are so many fewer lights than every other road. I miss the roads of Barre and Kent and Lyndonville, etc. I expect rough roads in the country. I do not expect rough roads where the average income is greater than the sum of all incomes in Orleans County.

I've just decided to take all this as another sign from God that I'm meant to work at home. And by "work" I mean bake, read, and make ornaments.