Won't You Be My President?

Mike Huckabee is good. While the other presidential candidates are slinging muck, furrowing their brows and sounding stern, Huckabee is making himself as easy to love as eggnog. He has a new commercial out in Iowa that features a close-up of him in a red sweater, in front of a Christmas tree. He says that while campaigning is important, we all need to take time to remember what the season is really about—celebrating the birth of Christ, and spending time with friends and family. He wishes all Iowans a merry Christmas, and smiles with the perfect mix of serenity and confidence. It warms my heart.

I'm not voting for him, but his commercial sure makes me feel nice.

Asolutely, Completely, Really Very Bored

I am so supremely bored. I'm in the throes of a funk that makes me want to cut my hair, buy all new clothes and paint my fingernails black, just for a change. The sight of my regular breakfast cereal makes me sick, and I can't stand my normal morning routine.

It's the Christmas season! Why am I bored? Maybe because I am waiting for Christmas to get here, and to be with all the people I love, and the waiting is so dull and monotonous. And of course it's winter, which always makes me go a little crazy.

Everything is the same, and I am sick of it! Just a few days ago I blogged about how much I hate change. That is true too—I am scared of big changes (and small ones). But sometimes I just get so bored and restless that I itch for a change of any kind and feel like I must absolutely chop my hair off really short before I go completely insane!

But I don't want really short hair. Or pierced ears, or black fingernails. It's a change of scene that I really want, and a change of occupation. And while right now I crave them, I'm sure I will be terrified when they come. In a way, that's comforting.

What I Want

My blog is narcissistic, I can't hide it.

I want a room with bookshelves on at least three of the walls.
I want to wear a pink dress.
I want to go on a long bicycle ride that lasts for miles and miles, like an all-day adventure trek.
To eat sushi by the ocean.
Take a rainforest canopy tour.
Write a book.
I want to stand on a high green hill in the Yorkshire Dales, where it's always windy.
I want to own every episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show
To study the Bible regularly, and really read it, not just flip through the pages
To be stronger, physically and emotionally
To do ten push-ups, the real kind (I used to be able to do this, so I know it's possible!)

Cake

It's December, and all I want to do is put on my flannel pajamas and burrow under a blanket on the couch, maybe with a hot cocoa, or better yet an Irish coffee. I want to be warm and cozy and safe. I want to turn on all the lamps, every glowing bulb, and flood my little apartment with yellow artificial light. The Irish coffee will warm my lips and belly with the subtle heat of whiskey, and the canned laughter from a TV sitcom will relax my facial muscles until I'm smiling along.

Maybe I'll even bake a cake, a dense, chocolaty one with gooey icing and chopped walnuts on top. It would be the perfect counterpoint to a crisp, chilly evening. It's been a long time since I've made a cake, but I'm sure the recipe is still in my box, covered in butter stains.

Baking a cake seems like the beginning of a story. Who is the cake for? Will it taste good? Will they like it? But I don't have time for a whole story right now, so I will just put on my pajamas and go to bed. Maybe I will leave the lamp on for a while.

Returns

Every spring I have a variation of the same dream. In the dream, the location changes, but the plot is always similar. I'm usually at my parent's house, sometimes at college, sometimes at my current apartment. The sky is gray, or green, and the wind whips the trees into a tangle of bouncing limbs. A rumble starts in the distance, and I go to the window, where I see a tornado, sometimes far away, sometimes imminent, but always scary. I try to hide somewhere, pulling blankets over my head or burrowing under a table. Before the tornado hits, I wake up.

Isn't it strange how our brains return to the same old things? I sometimes feel like I'm stuck in a cycle of repetition, destined to repeat past mistakes and entertain dusty ideas. The same thoughts keep cropping up, like weeds that struggle to the surface even after a liberal dousing with Roundup. A few of the most persistent include the wish for bigger breasts, the need for more motivation, curiosity about whether or not I would look good with short hair, the desire to work harder, be less lazy, and the thought that no matter how hard I try I will never be as likable as I want to be.

Rip them out, replace them with roses of good thoughts, repeat. That is the cycle. I think the good thoughts return again and again too, but we don't remember them as well. Thoughts like, I'm beautiful, loved, intelligent and friendly. It's important to replay the nice thoughts. My favorites include getting my masters' degree in the mail, getting off the plane at Heathrow airport on my first trip abroad, and the feeling in tummy the first time my boyfriend told me he loved me. So even if tornadoes return every year, my happy thoughts will ensure I'm not blown away.

Snow Tastes Good

Snow is just frozen water, but it has its own smell, its own taste. I know because I used to eat snow. When you're a kid, there's something wonderful about licking a handful of puffy, sparkling white flakes. It's like eating glitter, only colder. I hardly know how to describe the taste, and can only say it tasted like minerals, like fresh, brilliant water. Maybe it absorbed the flavor of chimney smoke as people tried to stay warm during the biting Iowa winter.

Today, when I cleaned the five inches of perfect, virgin snow off my car after work, I resisted the urge to touch my tongue to the soft layers. Next time, I think I'll give in and see if snow still tastes the way I remember.

Rules

A life in the 21st century is a life without rules. There are no guidelines for how to get a date, how to get a job, where you should live, how you should treat people or what kind of relationships you should pursue. There are lots of top ten lists, lots of tips and strategies, but no yardstick by which to measure your life. We have no rules, just goals such as "make a lot of money" or "fulfill your dreams." But I often wonder which goals I should chase, and how I should gauge my progress. If you have suggestions, please let me know.

The only real advice America has to give is "go to college." Then everything will be okay. Oh, and don't do drugs or get pregnant too young or smoke. But we know that college is hardly a ticket to the good life. It takes so much more, and sometimes I think it may take more than I am prepared to give.

Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I want a quick fix, a set of rules to tell me exactly what to do. Then everything would be easy. But more than rules for how to live, I want to know what my goal should be—money, love or helping the poor. Those are the choices, right?

Jello Salad

It's ubiquitous at every family holiday, at least in my family. Not part of the meal, per se, but also not a dessert, and definitely not a real "salad," Jello salad exists in a separate culinary realm. It's the tiny throw-pillow on a bed covered with shams. It's the baby's breath in a bouquet of roses, the gloss applied on top of lipstick. While not strictly necessary, and perhaps not missed when it's gone, Jello salad is comforting, sweet and oh-so American.

You start with Jello mix in your favorite flavor—strawberry, cherry, lime, orange or raspberry. You can't really screw it up, so choose whatever you like. Popular additions to the Jello base include fruit (mandarin oranges are often de rigueur), nuts and marshmallows.

According to the JELL-O Web site (that's just plain Jello to you and me) congealed salads became popular as early as the 1930s, but today they remind me of post-World War Two housewives and the days when vacuum cleaners were a novelty. No longer cool, Jello has become kitsch.

But it's not Christmas without cherry salad! It's not Easter without orange salad with chopped walnuts, marshmallows, grapes and mandarin oranges from a can. And how could we celebrate July 4th without strawberry delight, a strawberry Jello and cream cheese concoction poured over sponge cake and chilled? No matter that I'm too full anyway and pie is waiting. The taste instantly reminds me that though most days are just ordinary, today is a holiday.

My Favorite Jello Salad Recipe:

1 package cherry JELL-O
I can cherry pie filling

Make JELL-O and pour into a glass dish. Pour in pie filling and spread around. Chill.

Change

I don't like change. The things on my desk at work are still arranged the way I set them up on my very first day. I've been working at my job for 18 months. I want to get a new car, but I can't bear the thought of getting rid of the old one. That red Mustang is me, and I can't let it go.

I can't let it go off to strangers, even if it doesn't have side airbags, anti-lock brakes, front-wheel drive or a trunk that stays open without my arm for a prop. I love it. It's the same thing when I bring clothes to Goodwill, though less intense. I remember all the good times I had wearing those outfits and I can't stand the thought of never seeing them again.

But, I tell myself, you are young. This is the time to experience new things. I don't want to become rigid. So I am embarking on a slow path toward embracing change. Today, I moved the little green frog that sits beside my computer monitor. The frog now rests on top of some books. I'm not sure of I like it as much, but I will leave it. For a while at least. Next, I have big plans to put a new hand towel in my bathroom, and maybe throw away some of the magazines taking over my coffee table.