These are the colors of our new bathroom. Or they will be as soon as Saul finishes painting in there. According to Martha Stewart, all three colors should work together perfectly. I have no idea if this will be the case, but I really love the color names so I certainly hope so. 

The plumber comes tomorrow to drop in the fixtures. He did all the plumbing last week. The fixtures and ceiling are white, but I'm pretending they are Snow Angel. Martha says it goes well with Tadpole. 

I've been secretly calling my future daughter Tadpole so when I saw the color name, I practically jumped up and down in Lowe's telling Saul we had to use it, even though I had already told him we could paint all the walls white as far as I was concerned. In fact, I was only at Lowe's at Saul's urging. He did not want stark white walls in our bathroom.

I love making art, but I have never been good at decorating my home. The daughter of one of my colleagues helped us choose the colors for the rest of our rooms when we bought our house. She was very patient with me. I would have been more than happy to move into a home without having to paint the walls, but we fell in love with an old house with rooms that desperately needed an update. The previous owners had painted the living room forest green; one of the bedrooms was in midnight blue. We used to joke that they must have been vampires because in addition to the dark rooms, more than one light fixture had been painted as well. All the other rooms were covered in hideous wallpaper. And I really hate wallpaper, especially when it's been painted a very dark forest green or midnight blue. Yep. They didn't bother to take off the wall paper before painting some of the rooms. Ugh. In any case, we did paint, and I hated every moment of it. Really, really hated it.

I love our old house and with each improvement, it grows on me even more. But I confess -- the vast majority of the work falls on Saul. He knew this would be the case when we bought the house. I am just not into home improvement. My house may be a fixer-upper, but I am not a fixer-upper-er. Saul knew this when he married me. Fortunately, he enjoys the work more than I do. So when we started wishing we had a second bathroom, and my dad convinced us we could turn our back porch into one, Saul was intrigued and started making plans. Last summer, my dad and mom visited for a week and Saul took a week's vacation. He and Dad tore out the old porch and built a room. It's not very big, but there's just enough space for a small shower, toilet, and sink. It took us a few months to get back to the project, but a couple of weeks ago, Saul called the plumber and told him we were ready to finish our bathroom. And that's what we're, er, I mean, Saul is doing. We should have a second bathroom by Friday. I can't wait!

The paint fumes, the multiple visits to Lowe's, and the mixed tapes Saul has been playing while he works on the bathroom have brought me back to long nights in studio as an undergraduate. My concentration was pre-art therapy, but like all art majors, I was required to take many hours of studio art in painting, sculpture, drawing, and ceramics. I especially liked the enormous table saw and drill press in the sculpture studio at West Stadium. Using the table saw was empowering. I can remember guiding the wood into the blade and feeling the vibrations as the blade ate through the wood according to the line I measured and drew so precisely. My senior show consisted mostly of boxes I built from plywood and painted in various colors. Each box had its own theme. They were little rooms of found objects. Joseph Cornell was the obvious influence but hours spent with my Dad watching him build bookshelves and tables and bunk beds and chairs didn't hurt either. I enjoyed many of my studio classes as an art student at Kansas State, but I was passionate about building and painting those boxes. Unfortunately for Saul, I don't get the same charge from building and painting new walls for our house.

After moving from Manhattan to Emporia to Seattle to Newton to Manhattan to Kent, I lost track of most of the boxes from my senior show. I may have to see which ones I still have. Perhaps they can be resurrected. It's been almost five years since we painted most of the walls in our house, but very few of the rooms have anything hanging in them. No surprise there for someone who doesn't like to decorate. But maybe it's time. I have big ideas for Tadpole's room. I'm hoping to start this summer on a mural inspired by a drawing of a tree Saul's grandmother did years ago. I've had this plan for over a year now so we'll see how far I get. Maybe Tadpole should get her own box too. Our table saw in the basement isn't as large as the one in West Stadium's sculpture studio, but I imagine it will work just fine for an Art Club assignment. Plus, I already have the perfect colors for Tadpole's box: Atlantic Fog, Steamer Trunk, and of course, Tadpole. I should probably consult with Martha though. The walls in Tadpole's bedroom are Cornsilk. Are the colors Tadpole and Cornsilk really compatible with each other? In this light, Cornsilk seems pretty close to Stoneware Crock. And Martha says Stoneware Crock and Steamer Trunk are a winning combination. That's good enough for me!

Yesterday was Julie's birthday. Even though Julie never really made a big deal about her birthday or wanted anyone else to do so, I still remember it every year. As March 19 approaches, I will say to Saul: "You know, Julie's birthday is coming up." And he'll say, "Yep."

It's not much, I know. I just want him to remember the date with me, to know that I'm thinking about her and missing her. And even if it's just remembering the boob cards she used to send me on my own birthday, I like reminding the rest of the world of her birthday too. But my feelings about doing so are always mixed, mostly because she wasn't a big fan of celebrating her own birthday or with sharing her life with the rest of the world. Unlike me, she didn't like the attention that came with birthdays. Of course, she's not really able to complain about what I'm writing in my blog so in the end, I write what I want. It's not really fair but there you have it.

This year, I have been thinking a lot about turning 38. I suppose it has something to do with getting closer to 40. I can't really think about Julie's birthday without thinking about my own; April 8 is exactly 20 days after March 19. Maybe I'm thinking more about our birthdays this year because my high school graduating class is planning a 20-year reunion for this June. Needless to say, I can't really think about high school without thinking about Julie. As this spring begins, it's hard not to feel some nostalgia. And though I can't explain why, this is the high school memory that most recently popped into my head: breaking into a friend's home through a basement window in the middle of a school day, freezing in panic for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds when we thought we heard someone upstairs, sneaking assorted bottles of beer and vodka and rum and schnapps out of a washing machine, and hiding all of it in the trunk of my Sunbird until I could sell most of it to another classmate in the parking lot of the local Pizza Hut.

Actually, I'm not sure this series of events occurred on or around Julie's birthday, but it was one of those stories we used to remember together and laughed about a lot. Julie was our valedictorian, and I was no academic slouch even when I was trying to screw up. We weren't exactly our town's bad girls. We often wondered what might have happened had we been discovered crawling through that window or selling alcohol from my trunk. I'm pretty sure Julie would have had a plausible explanation ready even if a police officer witnessed us emerge from the house holding bottles of tequila by the necks in each hand. She could be very persuasive when she wanted to be. In fact, just days before we broke into our friend's house, Julie was reported for stealing that same friend's car and as far as I know, she never got in any trouble for doing so. Let me explain.

Jennifer wanted to have a party, and her parents were going out of town. The timing was the perfect. Jennifer's aunt was supervising her, but she didn't live in town so Jennifer was pretty much on her own except at night when she stayed over at the aunt's house. The plan was for Jennifer to tell her aunt she was working late and then spending the night with a friend. What could possibly go wrong? Julie's boyfriend was over 21 and agreed to buy the alcohol for us. Only he didn't have a car and neither did Julie. So Jennifer offered hers. The alcohol was purchased and hidden in the washing machine, but it was early yet so Julie and the boyfriend took off again in Jennifer's car. I think they went to get something to eat or maybe to the mall. In any case, the aunt found out about the party and then discovered Jennifer at work without a car. Jennifer told her aunt that Julie had just borrowed the car, but the aunt was not feeling kindly toward Jennifer or Julie so she called the police to report the car stolen. Based on the information provided, a police officer contacted Julie's parents, but all they knew was that she had gone out with a friend.

I was still at home when I got a panicked phone call from Jennifer filling me in and begging me to go to her house to turn people away from what was supposed to be the party's location and to wait for Julie to return with the car. "There is not going to be any party! My aunt is really pissed. I'm at her house, and I'm not even supposed to be on the phone right now. Julie is in big trouble!" So another friend and I spent the evening in front of Jennifer's house, waiting for Julie and giving people the bad news about the party. I kind of enjoyed myself, chatting with everyone who was curious about what had happened, until I saw Julie's dad drive by the house and park his car across the street. I knew things had gone from bad to worse if Julie's dad was out looking for her. When Vince got out of the car, there was a collective "oh shit - is that her dad?" whispered among the small group of teens sitting on the curb with me. I knew I was going to have to be the one to speak to him. It's hard to explain, but Julie's dad was not someone to whom I could lie. He quietly asked me if I knew where Julie was. I told him I didn't. He asked me if she had Jennifer's car. I said I thought so. He asked me if the plan was for her to come back to Jennifer's house. I told him yes. He then suggested we all find somewhere else to go. "I'll wait for her. You don't need to stay." I didn't argue with him. If you knew Julie's dad, you'd understand. He wasn't threatening or scary but when he said go, we went. Quickly.

I'm not exactly sure what happened after I left, but as I understand it, Julie showed up and her dad was waiting for her. She explained that Jennifer gave her the car for the evening to use while Jennifer was working. They returned the car to the aunt, and no charges were pressed. Jennifer was still in trouble with the aunt, but Julie wasn't even grounded. And later, when Jennifer wasn't allowed to go back to her own house without the aunt and Jennifer's parents were expected back soon (and very likely wanting to wash some clothes after being gone for a week), Julie recruited me to pry off a window screen, climb into a basement, liberate some alcohol, and stash it in my car. I didn't even question her. Maybe she was a bit like her dad, but mostly, I just thought, these are the things best friends do for each other.

Years later, Julie and I would laugh about our days of breaking and entering and stealing cars and selling booze from the back of my Sunbird. Birthdays are the perfect time to reminisce. So in honor of Julie's birthday and our many misadventures that followed this one, I raise my glass and share this toast: To crazy nights with older boyfriends and borrowed cars, to dads who care enough to stay and wait, to aunts who care enough to get really mad, to best friends who break the law because we asked, to being smart enough to stay out of trouble while getting into it, and to good stories that make us laugh and remember the ones we love. Happy birthday, Julie, you are missed.

I have blogged about our adoption website before, and most of you probably know about our walk to China already. But I've decided to make a specific plea to all of you walking, swimming, biking, and running your way to a healthier you. I've seen your status updates and comments, and I know some of you are getting on your treadmills or heading to the gym. Why not share your accomplishments and help us get to China faster? Check out our website, Walking to China, and email me your miles!

I updated the site this weekend after a few of our family members and friends sent me the miles they walked or ran or swam or biked between January 18 and March 7. Together, we got 152.5 miles closer to China and found seven quilt squares along the way! You can check out each of the squares and the accompanying wishes from our friends and family here:

The Journey

If you want to help us make it a little further each week on our walk to China, please email me the miles you walk, swim, run or bike every week. I'll include them in the total and send you periodic updates with links to the quilt squares we find.

And if you've ever wondered what's taking so long and how much longer Saul and I will have to wait for an adoption referral from China, check out this page:

Our Story

The long string of beads on the right side of the page will give you some understanding of the wait ahead. We’ve also added more information about the process and tried to clarify “the wait” further for those of you interested.

Finally, if you wish to contribute to our daughter's 100 Good Wishes Quilt, check out this page to learn more.

100 Good Wishes

Saul and I want to thank all of our friends and family. Whether you've contributed miles in the past or you're hearing about this walk to China for the first time ever, your support as we wait for our referral is much appreciated.

"Whomever wants to reach a distant goal must take small steps." - Chinese fortune, accompanied by lucky numbers 22, 38, 27, 5, 14, 30.

But not a very good one. After quitting my job at the Dairy Queen, I was hired as a waitress at the Hen House, a truck stop on the highway not far from where I grew up. Technically, the Hen House was a "family restaurant" but I mostly remember the truckers. I worked there for three months during the summer before my senior year in high school.

My best friend was already working at the Hen House as a hostess, and she encouraged me to apply for a job there. When I interviewed, the manager asked me why I quit my job at the Dairy Queen. I told her I was unhappy with the direction the owners were taking the restaurant. I was 17 years old. She hired me anyway.

The Hen House uniform was so hideous, it's difficult to describe. The dress was chocolate brown, covered with tiny yellow, orange and white flowers. Its sleeves were white and puffy. The dress came with a white apron and a headband and a plastic name tag topped with a chicken in a barn or something like that. I was also told I had to wear white orthopedic shoes and pantyhose. When I saw the entire ensemble for the first time, I mourned the loss of my brown polyester pants from the Dairy Queen. What was I thinking?

My first night of working at the Hen House was terrible. I shadowed a woman who had probably been waiting tables for over 30 years. She was not happy about having a teenager follow her around all evening. I don't remember her name, but she could be pretty mean when she didn't like a person, and she didn't like me that first night. I mostly bussed her tables and tried to stay out of her way. She made me so nervous, I wanted to cry the whole time I was there. Waiting tables required a level of extroversion that I did not possess and was not necessarily prepared to develop.

When I got home, I stormed into the house, feeling miserable and crying. My mom asked me how my first night went, and I started telling her how awful it was and how much I hated waitressing and how I never wanted to go back. This was too much for my dad who was upset that I might quit before I gave the job a chance. I was sure he was about to give me some kind of lecture about sticking it out and understanding the value of hard work and being responsible (blah, blah, blah) so before he could say anything, I started screaming at him: "Don't say anything Dad! I'm not going to quit! I'm not going to quit!" I fled to my bedroom and slammed the door shut. It wasn't often that I raised my voice at my father, and he has never let me forget it. I also knew as soon as I yelled at him, that the deal was sealed. There was no way I could quit now.

Eventually, I befriended most of the waitresses and cooks who had been there for years, including the waitress who I thought hated me from that first night. I learned how to gain their respect by doing what they asked me to do and asking them about their lives. It probably helped that I was genuinely interested. I also got to know the teens hired as hostesses and dishwashers and waitresses who were only there for the summer. In addition to my best friend Julie who started there as a hostess and eventually began picking up shifts as a waitress, another girl from my high school, Shannon, worked there. I got to know her a little better that summer. She probably doesn't remember it, but on one very slow night, we talked for a long time about love and relationships and the stupidity of boys in high school and growing up in a small town where everybody remembers you from Kindergarten. I can't remember the specific advice she gave me, but I remember feeling a lot better about a summer night of drinking at the drive-in, the details of which I was still recovering.

That summer at the Hen House, I also loved talking to one of our cooks, Tony. He was cute and funny and not from our high school, although he may have attended Valley schools at one time. I can't remember his entire story. I just remember laughing and flirting with him as he passed me full plates through the window from the kitchen. Plus, he was usually in a better mood than most of the full-time cooks at the Hen House. Go figure. They were full-time cooks at a restaurant called the Hen House.

Despite the connections I made with my co-workers, I continued to hate my job. My typical shift was from 2:00 to 10:00 PM, and each morning when I woke up, I would start thinking about work, dreading the moment I had to put on that uniform. As soon as I got to the Hen House, I fixed myself a large glass of ice water to settle my nervous stomach. I nursed that water all night. My anxiety about waiting tables never really diminished, and I made lots of mistakes.

One time, I was serving a family of six. They had waited a long time for their dinner because one of them had ordered the catfish and it wasn't something the cooks made very often. When the meal was finally ready, I carried the tray to a booth just behind the table where the family sat, intending to rest the tray there so I could deliver each plate to the family one or two at a time. Only I miscalculated how far I had to slide the tray onto the table, and as soon as I turned away, the entire tray of food crashed to the floor. I could hear the gasps coming from the family as they saw their long-awaited dinner made inedible by my clumsiness. I was horrified and apologized again and again, somehow managing to keep them from walking out of the restaurant. I don't know why they stayed. I think I made them feel sorry for me. That's how I earned most of my tips. Pity.

I remember another time when this older couple sat in my section. The woman was shaking and seemed a little upset before I even brought them their water and menus. She asked me for some coffee which I promptly brought out. Only, when I poured the coffee, some of it splashed into the saucer and onto her hands and the table. She freaked out and started crying. I quickly apologized, but she was very distressed and left the table in a hurry, heading to the bathroom. Her husband remained in the booth and told me not to worry about it. "It's not your fault. My wife and I just came from the doctor. She was diagnosed with cancer and is a little upset right now." Of course, I felt terrible for this woman so I was determined to make it up to her. When she came back, she ordered a waffle, but when I brought it out to her, she started crying again. Apparently, she didn't know it would be sprinkled with powdered sugar. I took it back and asked the cook to fix another waffle for the woman but without the powdered sugar. I explained that I was trying to be extra sensitive because the woman had just learned she had cancer. The cook was very accommodating and made the woman another waffle. But when I brought the second waffle out, the woman still wasn't satisfied and gave it back to me. I can't remember why now. I wheedled the cook into giving me another waffle, but when I brought it back a third time, the cook shouted at me: "I don't care if this is the last waffle that woman will ever eat because she's going to die tomorrow, I am NOT making her another fucking waffle!"

I got very good at apologizing to my customers, and for better or worse, most of them were men as old or older than my father. They drove trucks for a living, and like the toothless old carnies I seem to attract, they appreciated my clumsy efforts. I never got swatted on the butt at the Hen House, but there is a certain amount of leering that happens in a truck stop no matter how ugly your orthopedic shoes. A few of the truckers were creepy, asking me old I was and when my shift ended, but most of them were just eager to talk to someone after spending long days alone on the road. They could also be very generous. They may have come in for a cup of coffee, but they welcomed friendly conversation, and they often left me far more money on the table than the coffee was worth. Sometimes they came alone; sometimes they sat with one or two buddies in a booth. I remember being asked about my "accent" a lot by these guys. I don't know why. One time, I argued with three truckers for the better part of my shift, trying to convince them that I grew up not fifteen miles from the restaurant. I gave up when one of them said: "Look sweetheart, I've been on the road a long time, but I've also lived in Kansas all my life, and you ain't from around here. Trust me." Who was I to argue with that?

Working at the Hen House taught me a lot. I learned how to develop positive working relationships with adults who had far more life experience than I had and whose plans didn't include quitting at the end of the summer, finishing their last year of high school and getting the hell out of Valley Center to go to college and become an artist. I also realized pretty quickly that I was never going to be a good enough waitress at a nice enough restaurant to make any real money. My skills were barely suited to the Hen House and its truckers and the families who felt sorry for me. My career in hospitality management ended that August. I was going back to earning money as a babysitter, and I couldn't wait.

One of my last days there, Julie and I shared a rare shift together. We had the night off, and I was feeling very happy, knowing I was almost finished with the Hen House forever. I was driving us home in my Sunbird, and I can remember laughing as we cruised down Broadway with the radio turned up and the windows rolled down, our arms outside the car, hands pushing against the wind. We were exhausted from a long day of waitressing but feeling giddy about the free night ahead. It was one of those moments as a teenager when I felt like I was going to conquer the world. And that's when we heard the siren behind us. Nothing kills the pure joy of driving down an open, empty road in Kansas with your best friend in the whole world like the sound of a police siren. It was my first speeding ticket and it cost me more than I made that day at the Hen House. But what I remember most is a small orange truck slowing down as it passed us. Three guys were crowded inside the cab, yelling and laughing and pointing as they watched me hand my license to the police officer who ignored them. "Hey look! Is that Kathy and Julie?!" My reaction was a strange mix of embarrassment and pride, but mostly, I hoped they hadn't noticed the uniforms.

And his name is Saul. When Saul asked me to get him started on Facebook, I thought he was joking. He'd never expressed any interest before, and honestly, I thought Facebook would drive him crazy with its pokes and causes and "you're the nicest person on Facebook" notices. When he assured me he wasn't kidding, my second thought was that he was using Facebook as a distraction from the household chores we were supposed to complete that evening. The distraction worked.

And it continues to work. Ding goes the iPhone! Ding goes the iPhone! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! "I'd better check that, Kathy. Look! I just got another friend confirmation...and so and so sent me a message...and I have to respond to a new comment from so and so at church...and answering all these friend requests takes so much time...and here are 25 more things about me...and I'd better comment on so and so's note... and did you read so and so's status...that's funny...I think I'll respond with something equally witty and hilarious...."

I knew it was bad when we were in the SAME ROOM, and he started using the Facebook online chat to talk to me.

1. I import my blog from MySpace to Facebook but if you are on Facebook and want to read all of this post, you have to click on "view original post" which is linked to my blog on MySpace. This isn't difficult, but I worry this extra step keeps people on Facebook from reading my blog, resulting in fewer blog views and making it more likely Kai will win our competition.

2. I am competing with Kai for the highest number of blog views even though we're both blogging a lot less, and we haven't shared out counts with each other in a very long time. I am secretly hoping this single post will put me in the lead. You can help by clicking on links within this post and looking at older blog entries. Come on. Don't you want to know more than 25 random things about me?

3. On the other hand, if you're someone who already reads my blog, you might know most of the items on this list. I'll try to throw in a few surprises so I definitely think you should keep reading.

4. I like to play games that my friends and I make up, but most other games don't interest me.

5. Settlers of Catan is one exception to that rule. When you play Settlers of Catan with me, I'll cooperate with you as long as you don't keep me from exploring unchartered territory. I'm less interested in winning than I am in turning over undiscovered land tiles.

6. I love pockets, but if you read my blog, you know that already.

7. I can touch my nose with my tongue. Sadly, I'm kind of proud of this so if you ask me, I'll show you.

8. My grandmother once told me that when she was 13 or 14 years old, she made up her mind that she would never let herself cry again. For the most part, she kept this promise. I loved my grandmother, and I think she found some moments in her life to be happy. But I also think that deciding to never risk enough to cry again means never risking enough to experience great joy. I cry a lot. But I'm also very, very happy.

9. I asked Saul to marry me four months after he moved 1800 miles away from Kansas, where I was living at the time. I proposed at a Kinko's in Redmond, Washington. He was working. Several of his co-workers stayed late to watch. A few of them took pictures. I cried. But I was very, very happy.

10. I have three freckles on my right arm, near my wrist, that form an isosceles triangle. Yep. My brother Scott once measured each side of the triangle with a plastic ruler.

11. I am only a little bit jealous of Saul's incredible popularity.

12. My earliest memory is being smothered by a hug from my brother's Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Hall. It freaked me out. I was probably three years old at the time, but just barely. Later, she was my Kindergarten teacher. I never forgave her for that hug. Also, I remember she told everyone in the class that I was a baby when I cried about an assignment I didn't do correctly. Everybody loved Mrs. Hall. Everybody but me.

13. If I had to choose one word that would represent the very antithesis of me, I'd choose perky. But you know that already if you read my blog.

14. I don't believe in God. But I do believe in Eunice. In the Unitarian-Universalist Church, I am not only free to believe in Eunice but encouraged to preach about her. I like Sunday services at the UU Church, but getting up on Sunday mornings is very hard, even for the late service. More often than not, I don't make it. I'm trying to work on that because I think Eunice could benefit from some attention.

15. I hate wearing socks. I think my feet are claustrophobic. But that doesn't really explain why I hate socks on other people. Maybe my feet are also empathetic. My feet feel bad for other feet trapped in socks. On the other hand, I really like sock puppets.

16. Tomorrow night, I plan to talk to eleven middle schoolers about masturbation. I think people who are afraid of masturbation aren't doing it right.

17. I once asked Saul to dress up like a space pirate, kidnap me, and tie me up. Luckily, a band of space rangers showed up, followed a trail of gold coins to the pirate's lair, and rescued me in the nick of time. I was teaching in a summer program for school age kids, and all summer long, we were doing a lot of pretend play around space exploration. Saul made a good space pirate.

18. If you read my blog, you know I love to read. And you probably know that one of my favorite fictional characters is Trixie Belden. Trixie is a girl detective, kind of like Nancy Drew, only better. She is "sturdy" with unruly curls, annoying brothers, a best friend named Honey, and too many chores. She's also very, very curious. Trixie is the inspiration for my next Sunday service. Fortunately, there's at least one member of the Sunday Program committee on Facebook. Maybe she's reading this right now.

19. My best friend Julie died when we were both 31 years old. She died climbing down a mountain. I thought we would grow into little old ladies and wreak havoc in our nursing home together. I miss her.

20. Another dear friend of mine, Lorraine, is already in a nursing home, struggling to recover from a traumatic head injury resulting from a terrible car accident. I miss her too.

21. Kai thinks signing up to be my best friend should come with a surgeon general's warning, but Saul says that my next best friend might just lose a limb or two and that I'm definitely worth the risk.

22. I have a pretty dark sense of humor at times. So do my closest friends. Fortunately, if Julie and Lorraine could read this list, they'd probably be laughing right now.

23. I try to walk 2.5 miles each day on the treadmill. I've been doing this for over two years as a way to track our long wait to adopt from China. I'm not always consistent with this daily walk, but I try. I find it helps when I have something to watch as I walk. Right now, I'm making my way through the first season of NYPD Blue. There are a lot of naked butts on NYPD Blue. It's like the naked butt capital of television.

24. I am the luckiest person in the world to know and love the man I married. He is a brilliant, creative, funny, and gentle soul who makes me a better person than I would be without him. Plus, I like his naked butt. You can find 25 more reasons why I love him here.

25. My plan was to wait to post this list until after I had gotten tagged 25 times, but then Saul posted his list and my brother Scott posted his list and well, I just couldn't resist any longer. Thanks for indulging me. Please read my blog. Seriously. I need those blog views.

Almost two years ago, I found inspiration in a Yahoo group whose members were equating the miles on their treadmill with the miles to China. The group members were in the process of adopting, and like Saul and me, they were watching the wait get longer and longer. When I calculated the miles to China from Ohio, I decided to recruit friends and family members to walk with me. I used a wiki to track our progress westward across the U.S. as if we were literally walking to China. When we reached the coast of California in June 2007, we started “swimming” across the ocean, making periodic stops at fictional islands. Apparently, by the time we swam to Hawaii, we were exhausted because we stayed there for over a year! Although I tried to keep up with my daily walk, I stopped tracking our miles or sending weekly updates to the friends and family members walking with us. Our wait got so long, I lost some of my enthusiasm for the walk to China. We still have a long wait ahead of us, but recently Saul and I thought it was time to start recording miles again. This month, we migrated our walk to China from the original wiki to a new website we designed using iWeb. We added lots of features for friends and family members interested in our ever-extending wait and eventual adoption, and we came up with a fun new approach to our walk to China.

Yep. We're going to build ourselves a magic carpet, one quilt square at a time! Each week on our walk, instead of finding a new town or new island, we will discover one more quilt square for our magic carpet. If it’s completed by the time we get to China, we should be able to fly back to Ohio in no time at all! Our friends and family members will help us complete the magic carpet by contributing to our daughter’s 100 Good Wishes Quilt and by contributing miles each week so that we might get to China faster. If you're interested, you can start exploring our website here:

Walking to China

Be sure to check out all the amazing photos of Hilo, Hawaii that Kai's mom, Lisa, and her partner, Will, sent us. You can find those here:

Weeks 36 to 42

And if you've ever wondered what's taking so long and how much longer Saul and I will have to wait for an adoption referral from China, check out this page (the long string of beads on the right will give you some understanding of the wait ahead):

How much longer?

Finally, if this is the first time you've ever heard of a 100 Good Wishes Quilt, check out this page to learn more:

Good Wishes Quilt

Yep. I'm a little addicted to iWeb.

The holiday season is lingering for me -- maybe because I can't get motivated to take down the few decorations we assembled just before Christmas. Since we were going back to Kansas over Christmas, we decided not to put up a tree this year. We didn't decide so much as we just never got around to it before we left. "If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice." But I did wrap some Christmas lights around our lamp. I even added our star and four ornaments that were at the very top of the box of Christmas decorations in our attic office closet.







Pretty fancy, huh? Saul also set out some Santa ornaments his mom brought us the last time they visited. They were his and Ross's growing up. And our friend Kat gave us five stocking holders and a Hallmark Christmas ornament which we love!






Writing my annual holiday greetings in the middle of January probably stretches out the season as well. So far, I've managed to send about twenty cards. I think I've responded to everyone who sent cards to us this year. Now I'm starting on the cards to our aunts and uncles. I don't write our aunts and uncles very often, but I like to send a card each year just to let them know we're thinking of them. I love receiving mail so I figure everyone else must love it too.



Maybe it still feels like Christmas because my spring semester hasn't really started yet. Without that routine of going to class or into my office, I feel like I'm still on my break even when I'm working at home. Working on my courses or my research in pajamas on the couch doesn't help me feel like I'm getting back into a routine. But my first class is tomorrow so whether I like it or not, routine has arrived. No pajamas allowed!



Having a second and then a third Christmas with friends in Ohio after celebrating with family in Kansas definitely extends the holiday season. I have very generous friends (thank you!), and the piles of books next to my bed now reach from floor to window. Once classes start in earnest, I won't be able to read for pleasure as often or as quickly so I know these books will last me quite awhile. I might be reading Christmas presents all year. In fact, I could be celebrating Christmas on Chinese New Year or Valentine's Day or St. Patrick's Day or on my birthday in April. Or even this summer!



Speaking of summer, I can't wait for warmer temperatures. I don't want to wish my life away, but I am NOT a winter person. Not at all. The cold temperatures are wreaking havoc with my sinuses. I've had a sinus headache for almost a week now. Sometimes it's a dull, annoying ache, but other times it's a stabbing pain behind my left eye that leaves me pretty nonfunctioning. I am so very tired of the cold and the snow and this headache, and I get depressed thinking we might have two, or rather three, more months of winter in Ohio. In fact, maybe it's this endless snow and headache that make me feel like the holiday season keeps on going and going and going.



On the other hand, maybe what's really bothering me about this holiday season is that until now, I haven't blogged about my holidays. I went from feeling anxious for the arrival of my Thanksgiving break to wishing everyone a happy 2009, with a few random posts in between. So here's a recap, starting way back in October to make me feel better about my blogging this holiday season:



October 30 - November 3: Saul's parents visit us over Halloween. Helen cooks for us. We go to a winery and listen to music. We eat out. Helen cooks for us again. We go to a concert at the church. We play games. We talk about Obama's chances. We are hopeful.







November 4: We vote. We celebrate!



November 5 - November 9: We travel to Little Rock where I attend the annual National Council on Family Relations conference and Saul takes lots of photos. We watch ducks march down a red carpet. We eat out with two of my colleagues and two former students. We laugh a lot. Our friends, Darren and Holly, drive down from Wichita with their boys and meet us in Little Rock. We take more photos. We play. We eat. We laugh some more.







November 27: We celebrate Thanksgiving with Ross and Kai. Kai brings the turkey. I make pumpkin pie. Between us, we cook and mash a lot of potatoes. Kat brings us some deviled eggs. There are green beans with bacon bits, almonds, and onion and also the results of a new recipe from my friend Chelsea: cooked cauliflower and tomatoes. Kai and Saul argue how best to serve the cranberry sauce. I don't really care because I think it's gross no matter how it is served.



December 13: I wish several students the best and say my good byes as they graduate from Kent State. Then Saul and I celebrate my students' graduation with some friends at a Jim Gaffigan concert.







December 20: We start the morning with a photo shoot (the before pictures). The guys go to Fantastic Sams to donate their hair. I get mine cut at the same time at the Alice Woodrum Salon. We finish that afternoon with another photo shoot (the after pictures).



December 24: We drive to the Cleveland airport in the middle of an ice storm without having slept for 24 hours. After a slight delay at security, we wait on the tarmac for an hour and a half. We sleep so the time goes quickly, but we miss our connecting flight in Minneapolis because we leave Cleveland so late. We are a little giddy and crack ourselves up reading a blog about bad cake decorating. We finally get to Kansas City, rent a car and head to Valley Center. My parents do not know we're coming, but we keep my brother Scott informed of our progress with frequent text messages. We show up at my parents' house and pretend to call from Ohio as we walk up to the porch. They are VERY surprised and happy to see us. We sing some carols and then exchange gifts with my brother and his family.







December 25: We wake up early to exchange gifts with my parents. My brother Scott and his family come over for Christmas dinner. Mom cooks a wonderful meal. We play the game Saul and I designed for our niece and nephews. It's called ART: The Game and involves pretending to be a sculpture, matching landmark to location, and writing about art. Seriously, it's more fun than it sounds.



December 26: We meet Darren and Holly and their boys for breakfast. They take us to a place called The Good Egg, and I have the most amazing breakfast EVER. Poppy seed dressing? Delicious. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water almost a month later. We have a great visit and give them a book of photos from our Little Rock visit. More laughing ensues. After breakfast, we make some copies at Kinko's, say our good-byes to my parents, and drive to Topeka. We have a late lunch with Randy and family, exchange more Christmas presents, and play another round of ART: The Game. I get the most wonderful bag from my sister-in-law, Anna. There is more visiting, more laughing. We leave and head to Leavenworth to visit Saul's parents. They know we're coming but are happy to see us anyway.



December 27: We enjoy a relaxing, leisurely visit with Helen and Frank. We exchange more presents. We have dinner with Saul's aunt, uncle and cousins. We tell stories, listen to stories, and laugh some more. We watch a movie after dinner, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, and we read a lot.



December 28: We fly back to Cleveland via Detroit. The trip takes most of the day. By the time I get home, I have caught a bad cold with a cough.



December 29 - January 3: My cold lasts through New Year's Eve but is waning by the time we celebrate Second Christmas with Kai and Ross. The four of us spend Second Christmas Eve watching The Big Lebowski with friends from church. When we get back to the house, we decide we can't wait until the next morning to open our presents. We exchange lots of books and movies and music and television shows and games.









January 10: We continue to celebrate Christmas with more presents exchanged with friends. A Third Christmas? It's too much! We play a long game of Settlers, and Kai wins as usual.



So maybe it's time to wrap up Christmas. But wait! I haven't even done any reminiscing, and I promised my friend Michelle, I'd mention Toy Boy in my blog this holiday season. One of my favorite parts of Christmas growing up in the Wichita area was seeing the REAL Santa Claus after school every day in December on television. There are claims he was played by this wonderful man named Henry Harvey, but I KNOW they were filming from the North Pole. Toy Boy looked a little bit like a puppet, but he was clearly one of Santa's favorite helpers. He was always checking on the elves and helping Santa count down the days until Christmas. Santa sometimes had to chastise Toy Boy with a gentle Ho-Ho-Ho when Toy Boy would get riled up about zooooming and zooooming and zooooming around the big wide world. Santa's laugh was proof he was the real deal. If you never caught a glimpse into Santa's Workshop, you really missed out. Fortunately for you, there's YouTube.







Okay. I think I feel better about my holiday blogging. I'm pretty sure Christmas is really over now. Does that mean it's time for spring?

When Saul and I fly, I rarely get stopped in the security line. Occasionally, someone has to check my bag contents or my laptop, but for the most part, I sail right through and wait for Saul while he returns his belt and shoes to their rightful place, relocates his wallet and keys, and looks for his boarding pass or in one case, the poster we designed to announce my brother's 40th birthday.

Last June, he left the poster on a table at the beginning of the security line after placing the rest of his items in one of the tubs. I panicked when we started walking toward the gate, and I saw that he didn't have the poster with him. Fortunately, one of the airport workers found the poster for us and was willing to put it through the x-ray while we waited at the other end. We weren't hiding a gun or any liquids in the poster so we were allowed to take it with us. Good thing too because what's a surprise birthday party without the appropriately designed poster?

Anyway, last month, we flew out of Cleveland on Christmas Eve. The airport wasn't particularly busy and there was no real waiting in the security line. I expected us to get through pretty quickly and be on our way to the gate. That wasn't quite how it went.

I wasn't too surprised when I heard the airport worker operating the x-ray machine tell his co-worker that she needed to check my bag. It had been awhile since I was delayed at security so I figured it was my turn. I was thinking it might be a random search or that maybe my external hard drive looked a little suspicious when seen through an x-ray. Who knows?

It's always a little stressful for me to watch a stranger go through my bag, but I've flown before and I know the drill so I wasn't particularly worried. She was wearing those blue gloves they wear now, looking in each pocket as she went. I was thinking: "I think it would be weird to have her job. Do her gloves have that really gross latex smell?" As she dug through my bag's contents, she shook her head several times and wondered out loud if the problem was the bag's construction, presumably because she couldn't find anything that would raise any alarm. I was thinking: "Hey, that's a Vera Bradley bag! I paid a lot of money for that bag and then felt guilty about it later. It can't be the bag's construction." Her co-worker suggested she put my bag through the x-ray machine again so she did.

Sure enough. Something suspicious was still showing up and had to be found before I could leave for the gate with my possessions. So the airport worker began searching my bag again. At this point, Saul was clearly both surprised and curious that he had to wait for me. His facial expression and accompanying hand gestures asked me what the problem might be. But really, I had no idea. I kind of shrugged in return. I was thinking: "How the hell should I know what the problem is? This is clearly some kind of security snafu."

Shortly after this mimed communication between my spouse and me, the airport worker turned her attention to the outer back zippered pocket of my bag. She had some trouble with the zipper because there is an owl-shaped keychain snap pocket on the zipper pull, and that keychain was tucked into one of the bag's side pockets. She didn't exactly slap my hand when I tried to help her with the zipper, but I definitely think she wanted to. By then, I was thinking about the pocket she was about to search. This particular pocket is full of pens and pencils. It's also very deep. Because of the bag's shape, the pocket curves underneath the bottom of the bag. The airport worker started digging through the pocket, probably getting more annoyed with me by the minute and wondering why I needed so many pens and pencils. And that was when I started thinking: "Why DO I need so many pens and pencils?"

My thoughts were quickly cut short when suddenly, with a little squeal of triumph and unexpected flair, she pulled a crowbar out of my bag, brandished it above our heads, and said, "Is this yours, lady?" And it was. I could hear the beginning of Saul's laughter as I tried to explain that the doors on my Festiva freeze shut and that I have to carry the crowbar with me to make sure I can get back into my car during the winter. But she didn't want an explanation from me. She didn't care about my Festiva. The airport worker had succeeded at locating the questionable item and was ready to move on. So while I was mumbling about my car and its problem doors, she was handing me my bag and asking me if I wanted to return to the ticket counter and check my crowbar. "Do you want to take this thing with you?" I shook my head. "No, no. Just keep it. Can I go?" I kind of thought the question was rhetorical when I asked it, but she didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned to her co-worker and asked, "Can the lady go? Do we need her?" My eyes widened a bit, but he shook his head and said, "Nah. You can let her go." Saul was still laughing.

Before, whenever I flew anywhere, I would walk by those display cases of items people try to get through security, thinking to myself, "Who would be stupid enough to try to get on a plane with a nail gun or a bowie knife or an ice pick or...uhm...a crowbar?"

Now I know. Me.

Saul and I design our own holiday greetings every year. We usually send them well after Christmas. I think the latest I ever sent them was just before St. Patrick's Day, but typically, it's around the Chinese New Year. This year, they were designed just after Christmas and printed before the first of January. I was hoping to get them out earlier, but tradition prevails and it's very likely that most of our cards won't be sent until the first of February. In the meantime, here are this year's cards for those of you who aren't on the list for the hard copies. (By the way, it's not hard to get on our list. I just need your mailing address.) Hope everybody is enjoying 2009 so far!

Front:



Inside:



Back:



I know the back photo (our fronts) is small. I wanted to leave more space for writing a personal note. I never know what I might want to write to someone, and I have to have the room to write it. It will probably come as no surprise that I usually have plenty to say.

Although my hair wasn't long enough to donate (I'm too impatient!), between the three of them, the guys donated over 35 inches to Locks of Love. Yep. They are awesome.

I'm trying to remember how Kai convinced me to join MySpace. Was it the blogging? The reconnecting with old friends? The meeting of people with similar interests? I just don't remember why I got involved with social networking sites in the first place. And now I'm active on two of them (MySpace and Facebook ), with profiles on two others (GoodReads and LiveJournal), considering a fifth (LinkedIn). Classmates doesn't really count as a social networking site, does it? I've had a profile there for years and I get the occasional email about new features, but I rarely visit. I'm also a member of a couple of China adoption forums, but again, those don't really count as social networking sites.

I know why I joined Facebook. I wanted to see what it was all about when I was invited by a friend, probably a little less than a year after being on MySpace. By then, I also had the impression my students were more active on Facebook. I wanted to know why. I was curious about how it was different from MySpace. When I first joined, I didn't like it much. I found it confusing and hard to navigate and a little intimidating with all the applications. The search seemed unwieldy and not very useful. I didn't understand the networks, and the profiles weren't visible. Once I was on Facebook, I got a few more friendship requests from people I knew, but I didn't do a whole lot with my profile until I started using Facebook in one of my classes, maybe a year after I first joined. Now, I think I'm on Facebook more often than I'm on MySpace. Why is that?

It must have something to do with why and how I use social networking sites. One of my primary reasons for using MySpace, at least once I got started, was the opportunity to blog. I never blogged before I got on MySpace. I read a few blogs, but I wasn't convinced blogging was for me. Before I joined MySpace, I'm pretty sure I questioned the motives of most bloggers. In fact, I think I once told my brother-in-law that people should spend more time making "real connections with real people" or something to that effect. I just didn't get it. I'm not sure what changed my mind, but I started blogging pretty regularly once I got on MySpace. Blogging on MySpace has its limitations. I know I could do a lot more on sites designed specifically for blogging, but blogging on MySpace is convenient, especially because I know there are people on MySpace who are likely to read what I write. Not many, but a few. When I started, I didn't have to build an audience. I already had friends on MySpace willing to read and comment on what I had to say. Plus, MySpace allowed me to "meet" people with similar interests who also might be interested in what I was writing. I can be pretty shy and am more than a little introverted, but I was able to talk myself into saying "hi" to a couple of folks who shared my interests in Trixie Belden or adopting from China or geocaching. And they were kind enough to respond and even occasionally comment on my blog.

My first year on MySpace, I blogged every couple of days. That slowed down to about once a week my second year, and now it's closer to once every two to three weeks. Blogging is very different from the academic writing I do for work. I enjoy both, but blogging provides me with more opportunities for self-indulgent play...I mean...creative self expression. I also like being able to share my thoughts with several people at once. So in some ways, blogging, for me, is like writing a group email without having to make a point or at least not a point that's relevant to everyone on the list. And the folks reading don't have any obligation to respond (unless they want to respond in which case they can comment below).

But blogging doesn't seem to be a focus for most Facebook users. After some tutoring from one of my students, I learned how to import my blog from MySpace into the notes application on Facebook, but most of my friends on Facebook do not post any notes, imported or otherwise. I guess most of my friends on MySpace don't blog regularly either. However, I think MySpace users are at least aware that blogging is an option for them. A person's blog, whether used or not, is a primary piece of profile real estate on MySpace. On Facebook, everyone may have access to the notes application, but most people don't bother to make it visible on their profiles.

Obviously, the choice to blog or not to blog is not the only difference between MySpace and Facebook. One of the major differences for me is the number of people I know on both sites. There are FAR more people from my high school class, my Unitarian-Universalist church community, and my extended family who have contacted me on Facebook than have ever contacted me on MySpace. I know the sites were created with different purposes in mind and that those purposes account for some of the differences in use, but most of the people I know seem to use MySpace and Facebook for basically the same purpose: to reconnect and to stay connected with friends. So why does it seem in the last six months that Facebook has become so much more popular than MySpace among people I know? Why do they seem to like it better? Why are people who would never have considered MySpace willing to join Facebook? At the same time, why are there MySpace users who refuse to consider Facebook an option?

There are features on Facebook that MySpace didn't have when I first joined. Some of these have since been added to MySpace. For example, the "people you may know" helps people connect pretty quickly with people they haven't seen in a long time or people they see on a daily basis but didn't know were on Facebook. MySpace has that same feature now, but it's a fairly recent addition and seems more limited somehow. Status updates are possible with MySpace too, but they weren't an option when I first started. On Facebook, status updates seem to one of the primary ways people communicate with their friends. I think the "friend updates" on MySpace are supposed to be equivalent to the newsfeed on Facebook, but if that's the case, my friends on Facebook are a LOT more active. Are they more active because Facebook is new to them? I've been on MySpace for almost three years and many of my friends on MySpace have been there at least that long. Have they just gotten tired of it? My blogging has certainly declined. Maybe everyone has less time for MySpace now that the initial excitement has worn off. Will the tremendous activity on Facebook slow down in a year or so as well?

I've read debates about the merits of both sites and even an essay about the teen users of MySpace and Facebook falling along social class divisions. (I'm not a teenager so the essay didn't really apply to me, but it was interesting nonetheless.) When I started using the Facebook group feature in one of my classes, I found it more user friendly than the group feature on MySpace, especially when it came to sending messages to all the group members, something I need to be able to do. I also like the status updates and newsfeed on Facebook, but I'm not fond of the gifts and pokes and causes and games and some of the other notifications I occasionally get. These have slowed down more recently, maybe because I always choose to ignore them. Also, I like having the ability to comment on other people's comments on Facebook. This feature doesn't seem to be available on MySpace, at least not to the same extent, and they're a fun way to have a casual conversation about bacon or Jim Gaffigan or both. But I also like being able to use HTML code on MySpace, especially in my blog, and that doesn't seem to be as easy on Facebook. It's also very easy to direct someone to my profile or to my blog on MySpace using their respective links, but as far as I can figure out, I can't link directly to my Facebook profile or my notes. Perhaps I just don't know how yet. Other people have expressed concerns about the privacy or security features of MySpace versus Facebook, but as far as I can tell, this difference is really up to the user. I can make my profile as public or as private as I'd like on either site. It's a little silly, but I also like having an "identity" on MySpace. I don't think I have this option on Facebook. I'm not trying to hide who I am, but it's fun to bring back the nickname I used with my best friend, especially since my blog posts sometimes sound like the notes, letters, and emails I used to send to her.

I guess this is a long-winded way of saying that I think the two sites are fairly equivalent. I like some features of MySpace better than Facebook and some features of Facebook better than MySpace. I will probably continue to use both sites, especially because not everyone does. I have some friends only on MySpace, and other friends only on Facebook. Ah! This makes me think of another question (or series of questions). Does it make sense to be friends with the same people on both sites? Should I be looking for my Facebook friends on MySpace or vice versa? Or is it best to choose one site to keep in touch with each friend? Do you use the first site where you connected or do you move your friendship to one site if that's the site both of you use more? What is the proper etiquette here?

I am full of questions this afternoon. I certainly hope someone else has the answers.