Category Archives: Life and Living

The Fault in Our Nerves

I just got back from the movie theater, and it was a profoundly shocking experience. How can a film adaptation of The Fault in Our Stars be so memorable as to obliterate the movie from my memory immediately? Well, for starters, we never got to the end.

My friends F and A and I decided that since we had all read the book, it would be fun to go together. F’s husband J and The Chancellor decided to see A Million Ways to Die in the West, a parody of a Western–so what transpired did not even faze that theater.We were only about five-ten minutes away from the end of the film, when we heard loud popping noises coming from what we thought was the theater next door. It’s pretty typical to hear a boom or two from the theater, especially an action or drama, but it kept happening. The theater began buzzing, as people began looking at each other, the movie completely forgotten. F, A, and I were not sure what was happening.

And then, it happened. A young woman, completely frightened, started screaming, and bolted. What ensued was a theater full of teens and adults pouring out of their seats in droves, exiting the theater and jamming the exits. I didn’t know what was happening. Was there a shooter on campus? Were those gunshots? Was The Chancellor  okay? F, A, and I looked at each other as people began cramming the aisles, and our training kicked in. We crawled down and curled up behind the seats, waiting. Waiting. I felt calm and completely disconnected from my body, my adrenaline surging. I thought of very little except a prayer, that I would be calm for whatever happened next, and that The Chancellor would be okay.

It felt like forever, but was probably about the three longest minutes of my life, when several theater officials came in and told us that it was okay. That a hotel down the street had decided to let off fireworks in celebration (of what? we were not sure. A wedding, perhaps?), which caused the loud popping noises. The movie had been paused at this point, and the house lights slowly came on.

As we sat up slowly, processing what had just not happened, I began to cry. The fears and anxieties that surround us when we hear of these shootings, of the violence that sneaks up in our world, had pressed on my heart for a moment, and my mind was filled with images.

Of broken bodies, of blood, of guns, of hate, of terror, of fear.

It was too much.

While we were down, A had quietly called 911, and then explained about the fireworks the minute the theater officials came in. We glanced around the theater, and in the crammed full arena of about 300, only about 20 of us had stayed. The rest had panicked and fled. Had this terror been real, most of them would be injured or dead. That is frightening to me, truly more so than the actual realness of the event.

I am glad that F (a teacher), A (a chaplain), and I (another teacher) let our training and logic kick in, but I am sad that so many followed the herd.

It’s a sign of our times, that when we hear fireworks, we think of something much worse. We panic and flee, and risk trampling each other on our way out the door.

I’m still in a bit of shock, to be honest. But I have resolved a few things: first, to talk to my supervisor about getting some training for incoming teachers this fall and to reinforce safety protocols should this ever happen. And second, to tell my students this story, to teach them not to panic and run and risk their own lives in the process. To be safe and smart in scary situations.

Needless to say, I remember almost nothing about the film itself.


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Filed under Family, Life and Living, Movies, Teaching

Two Recipes: What you can do with dried chickpeas

The New Year always brings new resolutions to exercise more, eat healthier, and become more healthy overall. What better way to kick off a healthy new you than with chickpeas?

I decided to make a quasi-Mediterranean feast this evening (I say quasi, simply because I have no claims to authenticity. I just really love certain Mediterranean/Middle Eastern dishes). I had some pita bread on hand, which was handy, so I decided to cook falafel, brown rice pilaf, and homemade hummus.

The brown rice pilaf recipe is not mine, but it is truly delicious. You can find it here. I made a few tweaks: I doubled the recipe, and I added a huge handful of golden raisins midway through simmering. On serving, I topped with another handful of golden raisins and toasted almond slivers. Delicious. You’ll see the picture at the end.

The falafel recipe is mine, and a continual work in progress. The hummus recipe is my friend Brian’s. During an undergrad lunch, he brought it for our group of friends, and we promptly devoured it. It’s the perfect blend of tangy, creamy, and savory.

Since the hummus and falafel both need chickpeas, you need to start by cooking chickpeas, unless you’re short on time, in which case you’ll skip this part and use canned chickpeas (also known as garbanzo beans).

I bought about 2 lb of dried chickpeas from Whole Foods, and last night, I soaked them in a huge container with lots of water. You need to soak legumes for at least 8 hours or overnight for the best results. Today, I rinsed them out, and put them in a huge stockpot and covered with water. Then, I brought them to a boil and simmered for about 3-3 1/2 hours. For a pound, 2-2 1/2 hours will do, but doubling the amount requires more cooking time.

Now, this is important. When they’re fork-tender and soft, turn off the heat, but don’t drain them yet. Ladle off about 1-2 cups of cooking liquid, since you’ll need some for both hummus and falafel.



Let the chickpeas cool for a bit, and then when they’re not so hot, you can start your meal. I started with the rice pilaf, since it takes so long to cook. Once that’s going, I then began on the hummus. First, a picture of my huge pile of cooked chickpeas.


My not-so-smart phone’s camera is a little low quality, so pictures may appear blurry.


So much untapped potential! I decided to start with the hummus, since I could put it in the refrigerator to cool. I then put two cups into my blender, which is how much you’ll need for the hummus. I also added 1/4 cup of the cooking liquid.



Add to that 3-4 cloves of fresh garlic. I grated them up, so that eaters don’t end up with big chunks to gnaw on. 🙂



You also need to add  1-1/2 T. of tahini paste. It’s the crucial ingredient to make your hummus smooth and creamy. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can make do with chickpeas (as the well-meaning clerk at Whole Foods tried to tell me when she explained they were out of tahini). You’ll also need 4 T. of lemon juice. I use about 2-3 T., because I like lots of tang. Throw in a generous dash of salt, too.



Pulse your blender on low, and stream in some olive oil. Wait until your hummus is smooth and free of chunks; if you need to, use a spatula to scrape the edges down and then pulse some more.



Pour your finished hummus into a bowl, and if you like, sprinkle with paprika or parsley or roasted red pepper. I used paprika, since I like the flavor and color. Obviously, for a party, you can use a much fancier bowl than the Tupperware container my hummus is residing in. 😉


It was so delicious, I made a double-batch! That was about 4 cups of the chickpeas from my 2 lb bag.

Once you refrigerate the hummus, you can work on the falafel. You should have about 6-6 1/2 cups of cooked chickpeas left. To your big bowl, sprinkle a nice array of spices over the chickpeas.


Much to my husband’s dismay, I don’t measure out exact amounts of spices. But I can guess: dash of parsley flakes, 2 tsp of minced/dried onion, 2-3 tsp of curry powder, 1-2 tsp of cumin, 2-3 tsp of garlic salt, 1 tsp of turmeric, and 1 tsp of turmeric.

Mix up your spices with the chickpeas.



Next, coarsely mash up your chickpeas and spices. Add a ladle or two of the cooking liquid and mash again. I used my handy potato masher.

Then, add your flour. To make this a gluten-free recipe, I used chickpea flour. I’d highly recommend it, since it’ll maintain a smooth, consistent flavor and not become too grainy. I used 1/2 cup of flour, but my husband thinks I should double it. Mix it in, and then mash some more until it’s mushy with some chunks of chickpea.



Start shaping into small patties. I tried shaping each into a ball, but I think the patties fry more evenly. I used an ice cream scoop and then took a little off, since you don’t want them to be too large.



I poured olive oil in a 6-quart stockpot and turned the heat on medium. Once the oil is warm, I plopped about 6 patties in at a time.


Cook each side for about 3-4 minutes, until golden brown and crispy.

I put a cooling rack on top of a baking sheet to help drain and cool the patties. I used a slotted spoon to scoop out the patties from the pot and place on the rack.



The finished product! I’m rather proud of the bounty on my plate.


This meal is a bit time intensive, but it’s healthy, hearty, and relatively inexpensive to make.

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Filed under Food, Life and Living

Dante’s Seven Circles of Sunburn Hell

Right now, I am pretending to work on my dissertation prospectus. It’s not just for the usual procrastinating reasons, either. Kids, I got badly sunburned this weekend, and I am MISERABLE. In high school, I got made fun of all.the.time for being a pale white girl. What can I say, Irish girls without red hair are all going to look pasty instead of porcelain. We just don’t have enough melanin to look bored and expensively tanned. It’s been a good 10+ years since I felt the need to go fry out in the sun, and this last experience has cured me from ever wanting to be anything but pasty white.

The Chancellor ran an awesome race with obstacles this weekend, and I came along to spectate. We both (wrongly) assumed that I would have a pavilion to sit in, grandstands, areas with shades (and therefore, I did not think to bring sunscreen for myself). Boy, we could not be more wrong. Towards the end of the afternoon (and far too late), I found myself sitting under an underpass reading a doctoral exam book. That evening, I was bright red.

Yesterday, I had meetings galore and some gatherings with friends up in my school town. My best friend J could not stop giggling about how burnt I looked, and one of my colleagues cracked a (super clever, I’ll admit) joke about my appearance. My dissertation director had the good grace to pretend I was not anything but my usual-looking self. My friend S threatened to laugh, but my misery was palpable enough to earn compassion. Last night, I could not sleep because I itched so bad. I’d take a picture to show you, but I’m practically naked right so I can keep slathering on aloe. I do, however, have a somewhat analogous picture for you. If you are at all into True Blood, then you will remember this saucy lady:

About the only family-friend picture of our friend Lilith that I could find...

About the only family-friendly picture of our friend Lilith that I could find…

I feel like being sunburned is an endless loop of pain and discomfort. Allow me to introduce you to Dante’s seven circles of hell for people foolish enough to get as sunburned as I am:

Circle 7: Day 1–you feel slightly pink, and a few hours later realize that you are SUNBURNED. Your skin is burned and itchy, rather inconvenient with your clothes rubbing against all your burns.

Circle 6: Still Day 1–you start to feel feverish, and your teeth chatter, because your skin is not able to process temperature. You slather aloe before bed and sleep heavily.

Circle 5: Day 2–after gingerly showering and layering more aloe, you get dressed and go about your life until you realize that blisters on your forehead are popping and oozing. While you’re in a meeting. Charming.

Circle 4: Still Day 2–layer on more aloe and then spend the entire night awake because your shoulders are too burnt to let you sleep.

Circle 3: Day 3–your forehead blisters have popped and are scabbing, leaving your forehead crusty and discomfitingly discolored. Your scalp is now peeling, leaving dandruff-like flakes everywhere. Still red. More aloe.

Circle 2: Still Day 3–it is a delightfully cool day, and so you open the windows to breeze over your body. That is, until a child wanders into the yard and risks seeing your near-naked body. You shimmy under the covers and pray fervently until she disappears and then you shut the curtains.

Circle 1: Did I not mention you *also* have a nasty cough and pulled a muscle in your foot on top of it?


So there it is. My foolishness summed up, and the annoying consequences. I am starting to feel a little better, I promise. The burn on my upper chest has mellowed from a deep maroon to a dark pink, which is highly promising. But it’s not enough to get me out of the house or into some clothes.

And if Samantha asks, NO you do NOT WANT A  CHEMICAL PEEL.

Okay, my face actually looks pretty similar to Samantha's right now.

Okay, my face actually looks pretty similar to Samantha’s right now.

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Filed under Friendship, Life and Living, State of mind


It was a clear, cool September morning, like any other. I ate an early breakfast, had prayer at the flagpole, and went to my first class of the morning: U.S. history. That morning, my teacher had CNN on, and we left at 8:20 to go to Bible class. About ten minutes later, my classmate, Z, came running in, screaming, “A plane hit the World Trade Center.” We laughed, not believing him. Our laughter was silenced in another few minutes when our Bible teacher’s wife came in and said, “I just heard it on the radio. A second plane hit the World Trade Center.” Clearly, none of us was paying attention to school anymore.

When I got to Chemistry, my teacher soberly informed us that we would be watching CNN in the chapel that morning. And so, glued to the news, shocked, silenced, stunned, that we watched the second tower collapse.

It’s a traumatic moment in the history of a nation. Can a sixteen-year-old really capture the nuances of such a tragedy? I was numb with vicarious grief. Girls in my dorm ran out to fill their tanks out with gas, calling their families, sobbing that the world was going to end.

My own near-death experience would come about five weeks later (that’s another post, which I will likely address next month). I never understood, appreciated, or valued the measure of a human life until I was forced to face my own mortality. Why was my own life spared when thousands were allowed to suffer and die?

It’s a question I’ve since revisted as an adult, and it’s changed the way I view 9.11 forever. It’s a privilege to be here in this nation, full of freedom and [possible] prosperity, but it’s come at a heavy price. And not everyone gets to experience that dream. Acts of terrorism occur every day. They occur when we let good people die alone, uninsured. They occur when we allow bullying of a child–ANY child–to happen without intervening or teaching our children to behave in a loving manner. They occur when we take to the polls and seize privilege for ourselves without asking “What’s the cost for my fellow American?” They occur when we force men and women to give over the freedom to protect their own bodies, whether through a forced draft or loss of reproductive rights. They occur when we discriminate another person based on the color of their skin, religious preference, age, sexual orientation, or socioeconomic status.

This privileged state is best summed up by one of my favorite authors:

“He, Henry Perowne, possesses so much—the work, money, status, the home, above all, the family—the handsome healthy son with the strong guitarist’s hands come to rescue him, the beautiful poet for a daughter, unattainable even in her nakedness, the famous father-in-law, the gifted, loving wife; and he has done nothing, given nothing to Baxter who has so little that is not wrecked by his defective gene, and who is soon to have even less.” ~Ian McEwan, Saturday, p. 236.

Though 9.11 was/is a horrific moment, we’ve seized our blessings and privileges. We’ve been inspired by the heroic stories, the patriotic rhetoric, and gifts that have come from being an American. And now it’s time to give back. To stand for “liberty and justice for ALL” (for isn’t that the pledge we declare in schools, sporting events, and solemn occasions?). To help others less privileged stand with us. To protect the rights of all our citizens. To honor the men and women who sacrificed everything for their country, and who now need our help to stay alive.

This September 11, I urge you, gentle reader, while commemorating this moment in history, to reflect on what you have, and what you do. How can you help others? How can you serve this nation that has provided for you? And how can you and I grow as individuals? How can we move forward, and bring others with us?


*I humbly dedicate this post to the men and women who have served my country. And to the women and men in my ENGL 6450 course, Literature and Terrorism for their insights, willingness to share of themselves, and desire to better understand ourselves and our world, with special thanks to Dr. T.K. for his guidance over our learning and instruction.

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Filed under Faith, History, Life and Living, Outlook

What’s (Not) Cooking for Lent?

I’ve never actively practiced Lent, though The Chancellor does (I believe he’s giving up sugar for the next 4o days, which is a kind of mental fortitude I have never known). NOTE: though neither of us is Catholic, we like to look at the Christian year in a thoughtful, reflective sense. Thus, Lent is, in a general Christian sense, a time to reflect on practices and intentions.

There’s something to be said about making sacrifices and rethinking your processes and intentions. A lot of people relate Lent to food-related sacrifice, though I think that’s something that can be a year-round intention. Since about Christmas time, we’ve been rethinking our food choices and processes about preparing and cooking, which has definitely helped our mindsets a lot. Some of these resolutions have included:

  • As much homemade, ingredients-only cooking as we can find (with the internet, that’s not hard at all!). The Chancellor has begun making our butter, which is yummy and based on one ingredient: cream. He also makes our bread. This guy is a winner, I tell you.
  • Eliminating as many processed, packaged foods as possible (which means fewer veggie-meat dishes and more legumes-based dishes–ultimately healthier and cheaper).
  • Greatly decreasing our eating out budget. This means knowing what our weekly menu is like and planning ahead, so we don’t have to rely on fast foods or skip meals.
  • I have also given up coffee, except for a treat every once in a great while. I don’t remember the last time I had one, actually (maybe October?). I accidentally gave it up for Lent last year, and I liked it so much, I’ve unofficially continued not drinking coffee. Instead, I drink more water and herb tea when I need a hot beverage.

But enough about food (for now). I think this year, I need a mindset check. A resolution to give up bad mental habits. And one of those is complaining. I complain a lot. Granted, I do have some minor stresses and annoyances in my life right that are just not going away anytime soon. What is the easiest way to let off steam? Complain. I think I need to give up complaining and turn that frustration into something more productive…like exercise. I’m not really a fan of sweating, but I need to work my body out. So, this could be a productive way to let off steam.

Plus, my life is great. Nothing is perfect, but I have a LOT to be thankful for. I have to continually remind myself that I’m in a great place right now. A partner that I adore. A clean, comfortable home. Supportive, loving family. Many, many friends. Knowledge. A job I usually enjoy, complete with a great batch of students. A doctoral program that I am now more fully enjoying. All these are good things I cannot let a bad attitude sully.

So, that’s what’s (not) cooking for Lent: complaining. Griping. Needless energy spent wasted on things that I shouldn’t. Perhaps that’s what the spirit of Lent is about: giving up the things we don’t need, and gratefully acknowledging those we do.

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Filed under Life and Living, State of mind


Today marks the ten year anniversary of my near-death experience. It’s not a very exciting story, I’m afraid (there were no killer sharks, quarantines, thrilling car accidents, or facing down ax murderers or grizzly bears), but it still left an indelible mark that has permanently impacted me. It’s amazing how eight hours of unmitigated terror will lead you to rethink your life purpose.

To help you understand the context, I need to backtrack about 6-7 years. I was diagnosed as a chronic mouth-breather with cough-variant asthma in grade school. A myriad of sinus infections led to several visits from an ENT specialist (I am sure there’s a much fancier title, but in my medically driven home, the acronym was ENT, for Ears-Nose-Throat), which then led to an adenoidectomy when I was about 11-12. It wasn’t a terrible procedure, but the biggest think I learned from that venture is that general anesthesia makes me crazy sick. After I tried some ice and a popsicle in recovery, the nurse helped me get out to my parents’ car, where I promptly threw up, and then later threw up a few more times at home. So…my parents and I made a mental note that some anti-emetics might be in order if I should ever require surgery again.

The summer of 2001 had me visiting another ENT who said that I would require yet another surgery to help with my continual sinus infections, snoring, and asthma. I had a deviated septum in my nose, which he would fix, and he would also remove my tonsils, to try and create more room. Since I also got countless strep throat diagnoses, this would probably alleviate those illnesses. My surgery was scheduled for Monday, October 22, which would occur just two days before my boarding school’s homeleave. It seemed ideal.

My surgery went like clockwork. After about an hour and a half, I was in recovery with a terrible sore throat (note: there’s a very good reason why they typically remove tonsils on children), but I had received Zofran, an IV drug that helped with nausea. I left recovery able to walk, and I thought it would be a mere matter of just taking it easy and keeping to liquids and soft, bland foods.

The next day proved me wrong. Since the surgery inside my nose left me congested, I had to use a syringe with warm saltwater to help the healing process. I believe that, coupled with the wearing off of the anti-emetic, left me defenseless. Starting around 2 pm, I began throwing up. I’d try and wait and try a drink of sprite or water. It didn’t matter. By around 7 pm, I was retching nothing, but helpless to avoid the horrendous nausea. My parents, concerned I’d rip out my tonsil stitches, decided that I was headed straight for dehydration. They took me to our small town’s tiny hospital to the emergency room, where the doctor explained that he was going to give me a different drug, Droperidol. It would make me drowsy, but would stop the vomiting and let me rest a little. They put the drug in around 8:20, and within a minute or so, I began to feel sleepy.

Ten minutes later, however, I shot up from the hospital bed. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was suffocating. I could open my mouth, but I could only let air out. Nothing came in. I couldn’t even speak to tell my parents I had stopped breathing. My mom asked me several questions, but I could only nod or shake my head. My dad ran to get the doctor and started screaming, “You have to come in here NOW.” The nurse stuck me with an epinepherine pin to stop the drug reaction. We were all visibly shaken, and my dad (the doctor on call for the practice) and the ER doctor began trying to figure out why I had stopped breathing. Droperidol had an unusual side effect: bottoming out one’s blood pressure, but closing up the throat was unheard-of. The doctor in the larger hospital 45 minutes away couldn’t figure it out either. I would have to stay in the emergency room for observation.

The next four hours were a misery. I had to tear away the dressing covering my nose, but I was so badly congested, I couldn’t breathe. I had a dehumidifier mask for my face, but even that didn’t sufficiently give me as much oxygen as I felt I needed. Every breath felt like a struggle. I remember looking at the clock and thinking,  I shouldn’t even be here. I should just be getting out of Driver’s Ed.  How badly I wanted to be invested in the prosaic aspects of my life that I had so taken for granted. I begged my mom to let me go home, but of course she couldn’t. I had reasoned that home=safety, right? but knew deep down that it didn’t matter. Finally, around 12:30 am, my dad decided that it would be best to admit me to the hospital for observation, especially since we weren’t sure how long it would take for the drug to wear off.

In the hospital bed, I dozed on and off, too afraid to fall asleep, but exhausted from having to fight for each breath. Finally, I dozed off again, and didn’t wake up till about 4:30 am, when I realized that I felt “normal” again. It’s weird how those ordinary acts of living, like breathing and speaking, feel so radical when you are silenced. I remember looking out the window with two thoughts: (1) why do I get to survive when 2-3 thousand have died a month ago? and (2) there is a plan for me, I just know it.

I’ll never be able to answer that first question. I still don’t know why I get to live, and so many deserving others do not. It is a question I can pose to God, and never be able to receive an answer now. Pure, childlike trust is what is required of me.

That second question has proved itself over and over again. I wanted to be a journalist in high school. I thought that writing and fame were my life goals, but that next year, I decided to become the best high school teacher in the world. I entered college, thinking that was my life plan, but God nudged me to something much better suited to me. I am entering my third year of college instruction, knowing that this is my life calling. I endure some of the less desirable academic baggage, because I know that jumping through a certain number of hoops will let me teach in the end. I don’t always enjoy every single moment of every single day, but I am glad to be where I am now. I happily and humbly serve at my post, because I believe I was put there for a purpose.

You don’t have to experience a drug-induced nightmare to know what you’re supposed to do in life, but it certainly adds a forced introspection to one’s choices. Every 10.23, I pause, taking a moment to be grateful for my purpose and place in this life.*


*This year has brought a bit of somberness, too. A dean at my alma mater was killed in a car accident last Friday. Please send prayers and kind thoughts to her family and friends.


Filed under Faith, History, Life and Living, Outlook

Epiphanies on Consolidation

The Chancellor and I have just about finished moving in together. The wedding gifts have been opened, put away, and all thank-you notes are written (save one for a present received on Thursday–huzzah!). My clothes are put in their new dresser or hung up in the closet. Both of us can fit desks and computers in the office. All boxes (save for a few in the dining room) have been broken down and put into the recycling bin.

The books, movies, and CDs, however, have proven to be a bit more challenging. The problem is threefold: (a) I have a lot of books and movies, and a modest amount of CDs; (b) The Chancellor has a lot of books, movies, and CDs; (c) and we live in a two-bedroom townhome with no basement. I brought two bookcases into the house, and we bought The Chancellor one, as well as two media towers, from IKEA. As it turns out, all of that furniture, combined with a wire DVD tower, was not enough to hold everything. My books are double-stacked. Our movies could fit in all three towers, but there was no room for the music. The immediate solution seemed to be: purchase another bookcase, fill up, squeeze in between all the other furniture.

Then, as we discussed storage, a realization dawned on us: we both want to live in an urban/suburban area for as long as we possibly can (our large Midwestern city would suit us equally, but I definitely need a good tenure-track job, so there may be limited options on that front). Therefore, we are not going to live in large, country homes that will generate a mass of space for us to accumulate more stuff and display it all. It’s a very Midwestern American mindset, one that my family has espoused. So, if I want to be able to enjoy city living, I have to think with an urban mindset. One that declares, “Less is more.” A family friend listed his solution for DVD storage: all DVDs go in a special case, where you can store both the cover and the DVD in a sleeve. That way, you see the movie cover, but can recycle the box. We went to an electronic store, found the case, and went to work. We did stash our favorite DVDs, TV shows and “pretentious movies” (as I declared them) in the wire tower and one of the IKEA towers, just so that we could have a few things on display. It feels nice to have made more room for The Chancellor’s books.

And yet, as we’ve brought all his books down into the shelf, we’ve recognized another problem: we have so much. There are several duplicates of movies and books (after all, English folk do have similar tastes). We first pared down the DVDs so as to avoid the multiple copies. But as we’ve begun to eyeball our bookshelves (my sacred spot, I’ll admit), we realized that over the years, we’ve needlessly acquired so much. So many books we’ve planned to read and haven’t. So many books we bought specifically to read but didn’t care to keep. And for what?

The second epiphany is one that I’ve been pretending to ignore, but become increasingly more urgent: I need to find a better way to read. Already, I’ve begun utilizing my local library more. It has a terrific Inter-Library Loan system, and even has an increasing number of e-books you can “borrow.” Which brings me to the second part of the epiphany: it’s time for an e-reader. My dear mentor and friend GAT has showed me her Kindle and all its uses, but I’ve put up a fight. I love the feel of a book between my palms. And yet: an e-reader would enable me to carry more reading material with me, read more unfamiliar texts and genres with relatively little expense, and enable me to store said books without taking up room on my shelf.

So: The Chancellor and I vow to buy less, rent more, and be responsible in what we do purchase. I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions, but I do believe in mid-year resolutions. I will start bracing myself for new mindsets and a reading paradigm shift. One last question: Nook or Kindle? Feel free to leave your feedback in the comments section.


Filed under Beginnings, Books, Life and Living, Marriage, State of mind