The Putting Edge

On Saturday, my cousin and her husband drove from Michigan with my sister so that we could go black-light mini-golfing at the Putting Edge, which is surely the venue of choice for birthday parties among the hip 11-year-olds of Norridge, Illinois. Black light murals of psychedelic mushrooms were complemented by the latest tunes from Fall Out Boy and the overwhelming fug of stale popcorn and adolescent flop sweat. In a word, AWESOME.

I shot one over par and beat my nearest competitor by two strokes. Manfriend, sadly, shot about twenty-seven over par, losing by about fifteen strokes. He redeemed himself in a hard-fought air hockey match against my cousin's husband, so I didn't break up with him.

My sister decided to stick around for a few days, so Sunday consisted of sleeping in, going to the library, and discussing her future over coffee. She's making some big decisions today, so keep your fingers crossed for her!



Reading: Sex Wars, Marge Piercy (intriguing so far).
Just finished: Unbowed, Wangari Maathai (really good memoir); Money Changes Everything, edited by Jenny Offill and Elisa Schappell (a mix of mostly thoughtful and occasionally tiresome essays).

Listening to: Let My People Go, Darondo; Naturally, Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings; Coal Miner's Daughter, Loretta Lynn.

(Image credit: www.cliftonhill.com, which looks like a much nicer place than The Putting Edge)

...they pull me back in

Last weekend, Manfriend and I Amtrak'd ourselves back to my homeland, the southwest corner of the Mitten State, to attend a wedding reception for my uncle and his girlfriend of four years, who tied the knot last month in Colorado. The usual suspects attended: my family; various aunts, uncles, cousins, cousins' spouses, and second cousins; my late grandfather's half-siblings; and my grandmother's two living brothers. These three are the oldest members of our family, and it was great to see them together. One brother, the youngest of the six kids, has been living in a nursing home for three years, and hadn't left in the past eighteen months.

When he saw my grandma, tears began streaming down his face. Pushing her walker, she moved slowly over to his wheelchair and bent to hug him. We all wiped our eyes as they held each other for several minutes, talking and enjoying the sight of each other. I don't know if they'll meet again in this life.

When I left for college eight years ago, I was trying to carve out my own path in the world, far from the influence of my parents and the small communities in which I had been raised. I'm beginning to find, however, that I gravitate toward my family like a moon held in orbit by a planet's mass. I know some of my friends better than I will ever know some family members, but taken as a whole, the history and the ongoing bonds and traditions of family exert a powerful force. I imagine that this will always be true for me, and I'm glad to share these connections, while also being able to live a life of my choosing.


Reading: Unbowed, by Wangari Maathai (fascinating!); A People's History of the United States, Howard Zinn (amazing!).

Just finished: Drinking Coffee Elsewher, ZZ Packer (great!); Chambermaid, Sarai Rao (terrible!); and The Keep, Jennifer Egan (so-so!).

Scenes from the Farm

My sister is leaving to teach in South Korea in October, and so of course my dad had some advice for her:

Dad: Make sure you don't give your passport to anybody. Ever.
Sister: Uh, whatever.
Dad: I'm serious. Have you ever heard of white slavery?

Yes, the perils of international human trafficking are my dad's main concerns for my globe-trotting sister. I'm more concerned that she won't be able to find shoes that fit her giant feet for an entire year.

Just say NO to Stranger Danger, Seestur!

The French Press

Lucky for you, the title of this post refers to my coffee maker and not a randy new sexual position, a la Cosmopolitan's infamous sex tip articles: "28 Moves to Make Him Totally Have a Big Orgasm," or "13 New Manly Moan Zones You Should Know About!" Reading Cosmo in my teens meant I was ever-so-prematurely in the know about how best to use scrunchie as a cock ring and how exactly the Reverse Cowgirl in the Pike Position with a Triple Salchow and a Twist will Blow My Man's Mind.

Not that a lonely nerd in the middle of nowhere needed such advice.

No, my post today is really about my lovely old Bodum French press, which has just come out of retirement. When Manfriend and I implemented our new Frugality Plan, I worried that I would have to wean myself from the caffeinated teat. Que lastima!

Fortunately, frugality is relative, so purchasing good beans and making my own coffee, while a little costly, will still be cheaper than buying a fresh cup every morning. Viva el cafe!