I Need a Home for my Books

Some girls have an obsession with shoes, I have an obsession with books. Much like an obsession with shoes, I don't really need to utilize the books (aka read), I just need to have them. I have this voracious appetite for new titles. If ever someone mentions a book, I want to be able to go home and start it. If I ever suggest a book, I want to be able to offer them a copy from my personal library. I want to run my fingers over the volumes of books and sigh with satisfaction. I have fantasies about being snowed in all winter (too bad they're phasing out winter) and having to read my all books over and over until they are worn and yellow. When I get sad or bored (which happens more when you're homeless) I go to thrift stores and peruse the shelves. Yesterday, I left with two novels and two cookbooks. I used to keep my books in the spare bedroom upstairs. I would often just go up there to be with my books. I'd reminisce about how much I enjoyed reading the old ones and the perfect scenarios to start the new ones. On pinterest my eye is always caught by libraries with sliding ladders and nooks with filled bookshelves. I'm what they call a bibliophile.

Do I need these books? Will I ever read them all? When is someone really going to ask me for a copy of Farewell, My Subaru or Only a Gringo Would Die for an Anteater? This is hard to say (really, I'm not kidding) but I don't really need them, I won't get to them all in my lifetime, and I won't put my money on any urgent requests for my titles. I curiously also love libraries. I should probably focus on my love for putting books on hold and forcing transfers from distant libraries to my own.

If I don't really need all my books what other things don't I need? My vast rubber stamp collection? Maybe my odd pleasure in knowing I have stamps of snails, trolls, squirrels, monsters, ostriches, centipedes, tarantulas, porcupines, and owls isn't worth the untold amount of money I have spent. Maybe. Then there is my kitchen. I have been told that I have the best stocked kitchen in the world in terms of equipment. Most of it is green. My green KitchenAid stand mixer is one of my most treasured possessions. I searched for the best price on my collapsible green salad spinner for weeks. I haven't used it since the first week of buying it. There is also the avocado slicer that tried to slice my hand... and the mandolin that actually did slice the tip of my pinkie finger off. I suppose I could give up a few of those things... but only if you told me they were going to good homes.

The idea of wanting things that aren't really needed is an epidemic. If you want to get real serious about it, consumerism is the basis of capitalism. We have been trained to be buying machines, to constantly crave the newest and shiniest gadgets. If you don't believe me then just go watch the television for a few minutes. I wish I was stronger against this force. I know I don't need these things, but something just takes over my body (lack of willpower maybe?) and forces me to fork over the cash.

A few dollars here and a few dollars there for a used book, a rubber stamp, or a green kitchen utensil probably isn't going to be the end of me. The real reason this is all bubbling up is because of the largest task at hand in my life currently: househunting. Every househunter starts out with a requirement list (HGTV is the handbook of my life). The plan is to just want those few core things: a nice yard, updated kitchen, and a bigger garage. Then you see the first house which has a teeny yard but a great kitchen. The next has a great yard, but a tiny garage. Soon you want to combine the first house's gourmet custom kitchen with the next house's 2 acre yard and the next house's 4 stall garage and the next house's jacuzzi tub and the next house's wet bar and the next house's sauna until your main requirements add up to a 1.4 million dollar house. Side note: I have actually been shown houses with all these things. How could I possibly just be happy with an average yard, kitchen and garage after all that? How did I go from trying to convince my husband to start a Tumbleweed home commune to "needing" granite countertops? Does everyone become a spoiled monster while looking for a home, or is that just me?


I keep thinking I am just going to walk into a house and know it is right. I asked my realtor if finding a house was like finding a wedding dress. He didn't really think it was like that (I don't think he really appreciates my random questions, but I think I will continue anyways, just to make him work for it). I think I will know though. It is really my only hope at this point. As long as I can keep my head on straight and remember that the absence of a kitchen appliance garage isn't a dealbreaker I think it will happen. With a semi load of my stuff and a few gallons of paint I'm sure I can make anything feel like home... well, as long as it has stainless steel appliances ;).

And the thunder rolls

There are few things more exciting in my mind than to really experience a thunderstorm. One of my fondest memories is sitting on the front porch of my best friend's house, perched above the neighborhood, watching rain pelt down on the street and lightening illuminating the sky. We would run to the grocery store while the winds built before the storm came and get a roll of pre-made cookie dough. We got two spoons and shared it the while rocking in the big swing together. We would chat about first kisses and crushes during the lulls of the storm. The feel of thick summer air vibrating with energy always brings me back to that spot.

In Texas, dark clouds would build over the mountain range over the course of hot, summer days. If you were lucky, those clouds would build and build until they exploded into a fury only nature can create. The hard desert floor couldn't swallow the sheets of rain fast enough and the ground would quickly flood. It was so alien to hop between these small lakes of water in the hot and usually, dry, Chihuahuan desert. One day the clouds exploded while a friend and I were on the side of the mountain. We were on the steepest trail in the park, making our way down. The steep grade was a crumbly, rock substrate that we had to scurry down as quickly as possible. That is, as quickly as possible, without slipping into one of the threatening agaves, waiting patiently on the side of the trail. We found a huge boulder off the side of the trail that gave us shelter from the rain, and more importantly, the lightening. From this spot we could enjoy the show until the clouds disappeared further down into the desert.

Iowa always had amazing storms. Something about all those wide, open spaces made storms even stronger. The wind would whip and the sounds of thunder would shake the house. I knew I should be scared, but I was too excited. Before we moved I was waiting for just one good storm before I left. I watched the forecast (ok so I checked the weather on my phone, but religiously) and each day the little thunderbolt appeared for the upcoming day. Every day came and then went, without a storm. I really thought, aah, the storm gods are just building anticipation and they will come through with a  great one  for me right before I leave. It didn't happen. It was such a disappointment. I'll try to be an optimist and say that now I can remember the storms in a way that was probably better than they ever were in reality (but really Iowa is just disappointing).

For me small things, like thunderstorms, are some of my favorite things about life. I enjoy what I can often miss if I am too busy. The feel of a warm towel from the dryer, the sight of green leaves swaying in the wind, the taste the first sweet watermelon of the season,  the sound of hooves hitting the pavement, or even the smell of tires when you first enter Fleet Farm. Sometimes big things I really look forward to end up letting me down in the end, because I have built them up so much in my mind. It is when I work on being in the present, not ruminating about the past or anticipating the next day, but really experiencing life in that moment, that I am happiest. Maybe sometimes I am guilty of getting too wrapped up in being present and forget to make long term plans, but I feel like I am truly living life when I am in this mindset. No one can predict what tomorrow can bring. If I spend all of my energy sorting out the future, won't I regret not experiencing what is right in front of me? I find myself more content in activities that I used to think of as chores. I can find joy in matching socks (I pretend it is a game of pick up sticks and try to match a pair without touching any others) or slicing vegetables for supper or sucking up dog hairballs with the vacuum. Of course no one who is human can always be in the present, but the more work towards it, the better I feel. I'll keep striving for the right balance, but if you see lightening, don't be expecting me to be doing much other than looking out on the storm.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

I stink at change. It is probably one of my least attractive traits. I have had this problem for as long back as I can remember. I am in the midst of change now. As I write, movers are packing my things. The boxes are starting to accumulate. One would think I would welcome this change. We have been talking about leaving Iowa in the dust for years. We are happy to be moving back to Wisconsin. Yet this tightness in my chest and rolling in my stomach is building. Even good change is hard.

My dog left last week to make the move ahead of me. On our last afternoon together we sat out on the deck and I watched him sit in his favorite spot watching traffic and squirrels. I mourned the loss of this favorite spot for him. I clung to the familiarity of this image. The dumb thing about it is that the dog could care less. He just needs food, water, and a walk. Maybe a bone to gnaw on. I was making up stuff to freak out about.  Next I am going to worry about my plants missing the exact angle of sunshine they receive at their window here. I am a special kind of change-hater.

Moving from one state to another is a considerable change. Most people would understand having a moment of nostalgia. I am much worse at change than that. I get sad when my husband leaves for work every morning. Then I get anxious when he comes back from work. Yes, even the small, familiar shift from him being gone, to being here again irks me. Then there is leaving to go to Wisconsin for the weekend, going on vacation, even going to run errands-  all these changes make me uneasy. The prescription for Xanax has not been wasted on me. Don't worry too much, I haven't become a hermit yet- I lure of magical "finds" at TJ Maxx and Thai food will keep successfully calling me out of the house.

I don't know what it is that makes change so hard. Is it the fear of the unknown? Do I actually secretly like the places and things I leave so much that it causes this heartache? Am I just a baby that embraces any chance to feign distress?

I tried to live a life that changed all the time: a new apartment every year of college; studying abroad and becoming a seasonal park ranger. It never got easier (one year I literally puked everyday in rebellion against the change.) I always counted the days until I could go back home while in in these situations, yet when the time came to leave I worried that it was too soon. Even now I pine for places that I didn't really embrace while actually there. I suppose I will make up things to miss about Iowa too.

I know that memories live on inside me, not in the places I leave. Yet I ruminate about all the special moments that occurred here and somehow feel like I am losing those memories. My husband proposed here. This is where we adopted our dog from the shelter. This is the first real home I had since leaving my parents' place. I could go on with stupid, little things. It doesn't matter, I can remember these things from Wisconsin, or Tahiti even, it just doesn't matter where I am. So, why can't I let it go?

Thankfully there are a few things comforting me this time around. I always moved alone, a lone ranger if you will. Now I have my husband and my dog. These things are a constant. I know that wherever I land next they will make it a home. Now I just have to figure out where that place to land is...

Hello Aldo? It's me, Betsy...

A certain man in a sweater vest got the best of me today. He is not the first of his peers to do this. I also have a bone to pick with a certain man with two first names. Before I lose readers due solely to political reasons let me explain that I am neither Republican nor Democrat. My opinions do not conveniently fit into those neat boxes. One of my biggest priorities, our planet, used to be a pinnacle of conservative agendas. We've all seen the iconic pictures of Teddy Roosevelt surveying western vistas with John Muir at his side. Sometime between now and then the liberal side of politicians picked up the environmentalists and then proceeded to mostly ignore them. So, I won't say that I feel much love from either side of the table. I am most certainly not saying one person should win over another. This is a call for others to consider the implications of their sound bites.

Lately, those chasing each other's tails to get their names on the big ticket have had considerable success in eliminating large sectors of prospective voters rather than gaining them. Anyone loving "America the Beautiful" is likely part of the turned off crowd. Mr. Sweater Vest has decided that anyone that does not wish to have dominion (definition: sovereign authority or complete control) over the earth is now a radical environmentalist. Fine, I'll be radical if that is what it means to believe that mountains are more than the elements hidden in their crevasses, rocks are more than the oil under them, and prairies are more than the loamy soil amongst their roots.

Mr. Two First Names is calling for the elimination of the Department of the Interior, who controls a little subagency called The National Park Service. What will happen to the national parks? Well that is yet to be seen, but suggestions do include selling them to private entities. As a former park ranger (always in my heart) I take real issue to this. National parks are more than land to be partitioned off to the highest bidder.

Maybe these two men and many others would feel differently if they had had the experiences I have had. It is a common phrase amongst park service employees to say that they get "paid in sunsets." The sunsets are great, but I believe I was always paid in moments of visitors having true engagement with nature. Perhaps the only thing more beautiful than watching small salmon swimming in the freshwater streams of the Hoh Rain Forest is to watch a child spot one for the first time and squeal with delight. Or watching an adults' rusty gears turn in their head after setting themselves to the doldrums of daily routine over the amazing survival capabilities of a kangaroo rat in the desert. Or seeing an indifferent teenager sincerely interested in the slime and slither of a banana slug as opposed to an electronic device. A naturalist witnesses small miracles everyday.

The breathtaking views from a mountain, the crisp, clean taste of water from a freshwater spring, the wonder of encountering a wild animal in it's element- these things will not last without protection. They barely do with it. Most hikers have encountered the water bottle on the path, graffiti on the rocks, and toilet paper in the bushes. Yet these are small threats compared to the pierce of an oil drill, the scar of fracking, and the sting of acid rain.

We need a voice of reason to set our priorities straight. Someone to stand up and say some things in this world are worth more than having the lowest gasoline price possible. I wonder what Aldo Leopold would say about this (do it, look him up...). I am what you might call a Leopold-phile. Interning on the land he once called his own and that inspired A Sand County Almanac was one of the greatest honors of my life. He didn't wear tie-dyed t-shirts, listen to jam bands, or eat tofu. No, he was good ol' boy and he loved this planet too. One of his greatest quotes was "a thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise." Selling the national parks and having dominion over the earth seem to tend otherwise in my opinion. Have all the leaders willing to say this come and gone? Where is Leopold, Roosevelt or Muir now that we need them?  Now that the greed of consumerism has its eyes on nature's best jewels.

We can live and find a way to adapt without the use of finite resources (we are still determined, intelligent, and inventive Americans, right?). However I am not sure that I could truly live without nature's resources and the beauty, adventure, and hope it gives to my life.

The Haters

Have you ever found yourself sucked into one of Joel Osteen's inspirational "messages" on late night television? If not, this is the time to open a new tab, and google him... maybe make sure you are alone first. He is a spirited, smiley Christian minister. I myself am not religious, and usually born-again types can scare me (i.e. If I blink too long I might end up in a mega-church with the doors locked and on a plank above a Baptismal pool, but that's my issue, not yours) yet I cannot deny that he is an amazingly captivating speaker and his topics can be universal. On this particular night he was talking about ignoring those who do not support you and choosing your battles. If people do not celebrate you, be nice, but move on and stay the course. I cannot argue with that and in fact, I love that!

I am often so worried about other people think. I'm probably even guilty of letting it drive some of the important decisions in my life. I no longer want to allow myself to do things just to please others or to impress others. I have to remember to keep true to myself. Sometimes I know I should just step out of the influence of others and listen to the voice inside of me. I know I have a lot of soul searching in front of me and probably a lot of mistakes but I can't let the fear of being judged by others stop me. I told my husband tonight that I want to try out for the television show The Voice. If you haven't seen it, you may just want to skip to the next paragraph because this is going to get specific. I have it all planned out in my head. I am going to sing The Thunder Rolls by Garth Brooks and it is going to be show-stoppingly great. Then, all the judges are going to turn around and fight for me. I am going to wobble between Blake and Adam, but I am ultimately going to choose Blake because I think Adam and his tattoos will distract me too much. Of course my husband laughed because he has never heard me sing beyond a whisper tone unless I am doing a parody of Josh Groban or Mariah Carey or someone. And in all honestly, I'm probably not what the show is looking for, but maybe I should take on one of those crazy dreams in my head. Who cares if no one turns around their chair?! At least I tried.

Often the ones who judge you are the ones you are judging yourself. I can be distracted by others that rub me the wrong way instead of being inspired by those I admire. Another late night led me to making a list (with my trusty 50 pack of Crayola markers) of the traits of those not so favorite people along with those who make my heart hurt because I think they're so amazing. I found that I don't enjoy those who are two-faced, loud (bad loud, not good loud, you know what I mean) and selfish. Most of my favorite people are reflective, intelligent, confident, and caring. I can tend to waste a lot of time thinking about those not-so-favorites. For instance, do you ever find yourself in the shower reliving a moment from a month ago that still makes your blood boil and you're rehashing all the things you should have said (but really shouldn't have) and then realize you've been standing there waaay to long and the water is getting cold? I want to show them how they are wrong, force them to be the people I want them to be, but this is completely not my job. People are going to do what they want and I can only control myself (and thank goodness for that because the world should not be filled with multiple Betsys- there would be a real shortage of kitschy forest animal trinkets). I need to focus on aspiring to be more like those I do admire and avoiding being that two-faced, loud, selfish person I don't much admire. I can lead by example. Anger is energy I could be using towards more useful endeavors. At the end of the day, no matter what those haters say about me, offense is taken, not given. I choose whether or not I am going to let their issues affect me or let it just roll off my back (brush your shoulders off, right?). I can't let the negative energy control my life.

I might start small and finally wear those cute over-the-knee socks I have been scared to bust out before I move on to more daring goals like speaking up for myself amongst a tough crowd or trying something I might fail at, but I know I'll get there. I am the one stuck with me for the rest of my life, so I might as well focus on liking myself instead of trying so hard to make others like me.

My Jungle

Have you ever noticed something and then you start noticing that same thing everywhere you go? It's like a sign? Let me explain. I was driving the other day in Waterloo and there is a "highway" with about fifty stoplights on it. I kept getting stopped right next to this semi truck hauling livestock, despite my attempts to slow down, speed up, change lanes- just about anything to get away. I couldn't escape it and when we stopped at those fifty stoplights I saw piglets... adorable, peach-fuzzed, pink piglets. Then, the next day, in Dubuque, I had the same thing happen, this time it was some big-eyed, hairy cows. Then, three days later, again. See, I have this history with livestock trucks. When I was 12 years old my mother and I were driving across the Tower Drive bridge (in Green Bay) and we passed a similar truck. I looked over and there was this cow sticking his head out one of those little holes. He was letting the air whip across his face, just like a dog does when you open the car window. It was so cute and then it stuck me... this cow was on his way to Packerland Packing. It only had a few minutes left to see sunshine, feel that breeze, and just simply be alive. I never was the same. I stopped eating red meat that day. Soon I stopped eating chicken, and then fish. (Note: I believe that this choice, coupled with my lack of nutritional knowledge and love for only bean burritos has caused my ridiculously short legs). I relapsed into my carnivorous ways during college, because despite my feelings, I do love meat. A couple years ago I read this great book The Kind Diet by Alicia Silverstone, and decided to reinvest in my beliefs and become a vegan.

It is one thing to think you are going to be a vegan and it is a whole different thing to be a vegan. It requires a lot of sacrifice. After a week or two, you don't really mind not eating meat or dairy. Even despite everyone's cries, "Oh, but I could never give up cheese, oh I love cheese so much!" it isn't so bad. And it is a lot healthier. The real challenges set in after those initial couple weeks. After withstanding the never ending eye rolls from dining companions and heckling servers about the preparation of those steamed veggies, you realize, I want to eat something actually off the menu, that I wouldn't make at home. Vegan-friendly restaurants do exist, but it is hard to convince the average person that in fact, Thai and Indian food is good and isn't going to make them smell funny.  The other real sacrifices are time and money. Almost every meal needs to be prepared from scratch, using ingredients that usually cost considerably more than conventional ones. You can be that hippie who soaks their own beans, cooks their own seitan and avoids mock meats, but even being a housewife, I find that difficult. I love to cook, but there are those nights you just don't want to cook this gourmet meal. (To be clear though, I think all of these sacrifices are worth the cost in the long run.)

So you cheat now and then. I let myself eat eggs that come from a local farm, where I can actually see the chickens. I buy bison burgers from a lady at farmers market from the next town over. I occasionally make the perch that my husband's grandfather catches for us. I actually order something off the menu at restaurants. It starts off innocently enough and then you realize, wow, I've been eating an animal product every day this week. Maybe I did sneak a little cheese while chowing down on green enchiladas in Santa Fe, add a little real milk to the mashed potatoes, eat that slightly burnt bratwurst that summer day. Even though it was a choice I made to avoid animal products, I still feel like I did something wrong when I let down my vegan guard.

I think what disappoints me the most is I am not a good example of a vegan. Just the other day a friend tried to bait me into a debate on the harm in eating dairy products- I didn't even try to explain myself. I try to be approachable to others and don't tell the whole story. I tell people I am a vegan for health choices, but that is only part of the story. It does make you feel light, energetic and free, but it's also great for the environment and for the animals. I don't think it is right to stuff a cow full of corn, which isn't meant to digest, and then violently slaughter the animal at poorly run facilities. Same goes for pigs, or hogs as we call them in Iowa. I don't think it is right to squish chickens in a crate way too small for them and cut off part of their beaks to make them egg-laying machines. I don't think it is right to take a calf away from it's mother to feed it powdered chemicals, just so humans can drink that milk meant for them. I truly don't think it is worth the amount of money saved to buy factory farmed meat instead of local, grass-fed meat. I think if we were forced to see the truth and really think about it, more people would feel this way. Maybe if I fought harder for my values and didn't shirk away from tough conversations I could be a better model to those around me and it would make a difference. I won't be discouraged by the fear of being seen as a frenzied, PETA card carrying lunatic, because maybe I am just like one of those people. I definitely don't always agree with my friends and family on issues, so I can be free to do the same. It is okay to not go with the flow if it means I am standing strong on what I believe.

Maybe this is a new years resolution that came one month late, but I am going to try harder. I want to be the change that I want to see in the world. I won't be perfect, but at least I will be striving for a goal. I hope the next time one of those trucks passes me by I'll know I tried my hardest to keep those animals out in the breezy sunshine.

Ready or not...

I woke up this morning to a fresh blanket of snow. Wait, let's be more specific. I woke up this morning to the clattering of my dog's toenails on the hardwood floor. I groaned... rolled over and swallowed the fact that I was going to have to get up and let the dog out long before I was ready to wake up (the truth is once I am awoken all I can think about is how I really have to go to the bathroom and if I am up to go there then the guilt that I should just be a good dog mom and let him out weighs me down until I do it). So, I trudged my way to the back door, inevitably tripping over my over-eager dog only to find that once the door was opened my dog refused to go outside. I looked out and everything was white- I thought it was beautiful. Yet my dog had somehow forgotten what snow was over the course of the previous three seasons. My now awake husband finally pushed him out of the door against his will. The dog sniffed the white substance, licked it and then ran out into the yard, tail wagging again. I smiled and then laughed as I watched him. I imagine it was similar to how a parent feels after being awoken in the middle of the night only to find their baby grinning at them from the crib, wide awake. I could not help but be touched by my silly dog's "new" discoveries.

I am excited about this snowfall. I will admit that it is entirely possible that it is because I know that this snow won't last. This isn't the snow that will form the constant tire boogers behind my car wheels. It isn't the grey snow that lurks in every parking lot come February. It also isn't the snow that I will have to shovel in the driveway while battling the temperature disparity between by extremities and my core (oh yeah, that's me wearing a ski mask, boots, gloves and just long underwear shoveling away on my very busy street). It is just a temporary reminder of things to come. A warning to get ready because while you were trying to wait until the very last minute to rake those leaves, winter was still making its way to you.

This snow is beautiful, white, and clean . It covers everything in sight, creating an alien landscape. Unlike any other season, winter has the power to change your surroundings in such a short time. The buds of spring take weeks to bloom, the heat of summer builds slowly and the leaves of autumn turn gradually. Snow is different. It takes a view that you have gotten used to, maybe even resigned to, and makes it brand new. It gives you the energy to keep going because somehow things feel fresh again.

Winter is a season that I need to bring me back to center. Other seasons are filled with chaos, but winter is more of a constant which allows me to turn inward. It also allows me to bring my awareness to the small things. I was excited to take the dog for a walk today, because it suddenly felt like a new adventure. We went down to a bike trail that follows the Cedar River. It was quiet, not a single biker, jogger, or morning speed walker to distract me. Just the trees, the river, the snow, and us. I noticed a hawk swoop above the trail ahead of me, which is something that would have probably been camouflaged by leaves just a week earlier (or even more likely, that I would have been too distracted to notice because I was trying to stop my dog from running in front of a biker, while they are ringing their annoying little bell and my dog is running circles around my legs and I am just trying to keep upright). Even more special to me was that I again noticed the chickadees flitting from branch to branch. Chickadees remind me of my late grandmother and listening to their familiar song brings me back to forests of Wisconsin. I am lucky that a species so common is so dear to me. I can have a piece of home almost anywhere I go, as long as I have the consciousness to notice them.

Winter is a cozy season. I think one of the best compliments I have ever gotten is when a friend once told me how "cozy" I was. At the time I think it made me feel like a grandmother, but now I have come to appreciate and embrace this trait. I am looking forward to a season filled with knitting scarves, drinking hot tea, wearing fuzzy sweaters, and reading Laura Ingalls Wilder by the roaring woodstove. Maybe my winter-loving husband is wearing off on me, but I can't wait for that next layer of white.