BAM!

(Note:  Hey, there!  Sorry for the delays.  I've got a freakishly early speech meet this weekend, a show next week, and progress reports due all on top of my normal explosion of school work for this time of year; so it may take me longer than I would like to wrap up my recounting of the New York weekend.  I will get there, though, and I'm willing to bet that I beat Jason to it. :)  At the moment I have (checks clock) 14 minutes until my "Go to bed!" alarm goes off, so let's see if I can at least get up to the show itself, shall we?)

After eating our way through the Hipster Market, we turned our sights and our path towards the Brooklyn Art Museum.

It was about a 20 minute walk away, and I throughly enjoyed the autumn afternoon as we walked.  The trees were nearing the end of their red-and-gold decor, the weather was brisk but not uncomfortable, and the sky was dappled with clouds like so:

Isn't it strange, I thought, to be in NewYork and see so much sky?

I also wondered how many triumphal arches are in the area.  This one seemed to be dedicated to the Civil War.

Not really in keeping with the Roman tradition, unless the South was way farther north than I thought; but who am I to dismiss a good triumphal arch?

As we crossed to the other side of the arch we found...

...another market! (That's the public library in the background, if you're wondering)  More farmer's than hipster's this time, and we passed several people toting bundles of fresh and oh-so-green-smelling eucalyptus home:

Shortly after I took this photo, Jason suddenly turned to me with wide, happy eyes and darted away.  That can only mean one thing.

He spotted Belgian waffles.

And so we partook.  After all, it had been nearly 20 minutes since our last meal.

I got a mini waffle, which was actually a pretty good size.  I'll have to keep that in mind when I'm making them for my Humanities class next term.  The vendors were incredulous that we didn't want any toppings on our waffles ("But you get one for free!"), but we insisted on remaining waffles purists as well as waffle snobs.

Fortified with those caramelized, crunchy pearls of sugar and dough, we followed the walls of the botanical gardens to find:

The Brooklyn Art Museum.

Which unexpectedly had enormous lines.  The larger one was for the temporary exhibition, so we forwent seeing that in favor of only a 30 minute wait for the general admission.  Should you fear that Brooklyn's hipster image disappears inside the museum, no worries - they put a bird on it:

Neither of us knew much about the BAM's collections, so we snagged a map and scanned it for ideas of where to go.  Jason recalled hearing about the period rooms when he spotted that section, so off to the fourth floor!

We stepped out of the elevator and found ourselves in an exhibit of work from Kenya-native/Brooklyn-based artist Wangechi Mutu.  

(from the BAM website)

I didn't love all of her pieces, but every single one was fascinating.  It was the first time I've seen collages that struck me as artfully complex pieces of work.

Appropriately, we exited that room to find ourselves in an area labeled "The Feminist Center", the core of which is Judy Chicago's permanent installation, "The Dinner Party."

You know it's going to be a good installation piece when it begins with a map showing visitors "how the artist intended patrons to view the project."  Dutifully we walked underneath embroidered banners such as:

(from the BAM website)

I could already tell that I was doing the right thing.  I mean, not only was I, a woman, there to guide my male companion through this passage, but I was actually menstruating at the time.  

I am, like, totes female, guys.

The passage led us to a dimly lit, triangular room.  In the center was a trio of banquet tables set on top of a white tiled triangle with gold lettering:

Each place setting included an embroidered table runner with the name of a female-promoting society or significant woman from history, a matching set of utensils, a chalice, and a hand-painted china plate that thematically depicts the "central core."  You know what that means:

Vaginas!  Vaginas everywhere!

The embroidery was beautiful, though, and I have to admire the creativity of each piece.  I mean, check out Emily Dickinson's vagina place setting:

(from the BAM website)

Yep.  Seems about right.

We emerged from the dining room into a section with displays that briefly (and with not-so-thinly-veiled bias) explain each honored woman.  Like the place settings, the woman are ordered chronologically.  As we studied the boards (and enjoyed sitting down), we found that underneath each featured woman was a list of women who were influenced by her or who accomplished similar work.  Under dear Emily, for example, was a list of female poets such as Christina Rossetti and Edna St. Vincent Millay.  Those names are the words that make up the gold lettering on the tile floor.

It was actually an interesting way to browse history, and we spent quite a lot of time looking through the names and accomplishments.  I have to admit that while we began the exhibit with eye rolling, it wound up being one of the highlights of the day.  Plus, I found something interesting on this striking column:

Look at what I found towards the bottom of the list of women who were burned as witches:

Huh.  That's one ancestral story (not to mention an unexplored use for my furry beast) I haven't heard yet.  (And by "furry beast" I do mean Natasha, in case you are disoriented by all the vulvae).

Fortified this time by a renewed sense of my own natural feminine powers, we tracked down the period rooms we initially sought.

Compared with the previous exhibits, they were familiar and calm.




Or so we thought:

It's startling to step into a glass cubicle expecting to see a serene plantation home dining room and instead find a scene of carnage and crows.  This is one of the few times I have been absolutely certain that the artist's objectives for the viewers were fully met.  Valerie Hegarty's installations into (onto?) four of the period rooms is a temporary exhibit; and again, while I didn't particularly like them, I can't help but admire the strength of the reaction they provoked in me.

Scary.

We were both drooping by then, so we curtailed our exploration of the BAM and headed back to the hotel to rest and regroup before the show.  As no cabs were in sight, we walked back to the hotel and had just enough time for Jason to take a power nap while I bought show tickets for another joint quick trip (Chicago, here we come!) and began researching our chosen destination for next summer's grand adventure.  Once Jason woke, he arranged for our ride to the show and I whittled down the contents of my purse to the most-essential-items-that-I-can-carry-in-my-pocket.  We then grabbed our room keys, our scarves, and our phones and headed out to Then She Fell.

An Unexpected Market

As it often does, our conversation over brunch to Woodland turned towards reminiscing over memorable food we've shared on our travels.  This led us to conclude that the best way we could spend our day in Brooklyn is hunting for treats.  

A quick internet search suggested we begin our search with a gourmet doughnut shop called Dough.

We set off in the direction of the shop, enjoying the glorious fall weather and the red and gold foliage.  We had been walking for about 30 minutes when, lo, what is this?

White tent tops?  Stands filled with items from somebody's attic?  Androgynous young urbanites in skinny jeans and handmade knitwear?  It's a Hipster Market!

Most excellent.  We dove in to wander through the stands of repurposed mason jars, rusted tin panels and giant lettering, still-in-the-box baseball action figures from the 1980's, vintage clothing, vinyl records, handstiched jeans (choose your own thread color!), and not one but two stalls selling a variety of skeleton keys.

It's possible that I didn't resist these spools of assorted trim.

Mostly, though, we ate our way through the market enjoying: 

Miniature whoopie pies,

(Mmm... pumpkin spice)

The very shop we had been hunting:

(Mmm... salted caramel chocolate)

(Although Jason's Hibiscus doughnut was the winner here)

and, of course, a New York hot dog.  Or in this case, an Asian-inspired hot dog served bahn-mi style:

(Mmm... pickled carrots).

Also, cider:

(Mmm... cider).

It was a delicious event to stumble upon.  

Brunch in Brooklyn

Alas, Jason's work demands exploded this week; so when I arrived at our hotel, he was still at the New York office, lawyerly slaving away.  I unpacked, then tried (unsuccessfully) to stay awake by watching Colbert.

At about 1:30 AM, the front desk called to see if I wanted them to let a certain Mr. Davis up. Which was odd, since they had no problems with checking me in to his hotel room, listed under his name.

In any case, a dapperly dressed Mr. Davis soon appeared at my door, his Chuck Bass-style suit and bow tie putting my pajama pants and tshirt to shame.

Happily, the work he put in that night plus his taking the early train out Sunday put a large enough dent in the demand to allow him to play with me today.

And by play, I mean eat good food.  Starting with brunch.

We walked a few blocks over to an area that lit up with restaurants on the Yelp app, and picked the first one that looked good:  Woodland.

With an upscale hipster charm (think forest murals painted on brick walls), it seemed an appropriate way to begin our day in Brooklyn.

Roasted beet salad with goat cheese and arugula.  Because of course.

The Full Brooklyn - eggs, sausage, bacon, sautéed mushrooms and tomatoes, with a side of pickled lettuce (!) and carrots

Fortified, we headed out to explore the borough.

Hi, New York Traffic!

Freedom! Freedom in a Two Foot Space!

Why, looky here!

The plane is taking off and I'm taking a photo on my cell phone of the Kindle app on my iPad!

Such occupied bliss should and would be savored if I hadn't misplaced my motion-sickness treatment watch.  As it is, I suffer through the nausea because I can read for the whole dang flight now.

Thanks for catching up with the times, FAA!

Run Away!

Why, hello DIA!  It's been entirely too long, hasn't it?

Yes, I'm running away for the weekend.  Out Friday night, back Sunday afternoon.  Just enough time to eat some good food, see a (hopefully) great play, and maybe squeeze in an art museum.  At the very least there will be good conversation, for I am rendezvousing with M. Jason, of course, in our nearly-home-away-from-home:

New York!

P.S.  I see you finally upgraded your drinking fountains, DIA.  Good for you!

Well, what do you know!

Try the test here.

Klutz

In the past week I...

- sliced open my thumb on a picture of Chuck Bass,
- cut both of my wrists,
- burned my hand,
and
- sliced a three inch gash in my thigh that was deep enough to make me think "Do I need stitches?"  and then think "Nah, I'll just put a gauze on it." Then, when I bleed through that piece of gauze, I cover it with another piece of gauze.  Then, when I bleed through that, I get a newer, bigger piece of gauze and a lot of medical tape and also some Neosporin and then I congratulate myself on knowing first aid.
- Two days later, the bandages gave me a rash four times the size of the gash.

Old age is dangerous.

Teenagers

When I hear the news of yet another school shooting, I wonder about my choice of a profession.  They didn't cover how to defend yourself against a kid with a gun in Teacher College; let alone how to make the choice to be the last line of defense, to put yourself between the shooter and the rest of your students.  It's a demoralizing, scary, horrific situation to consider while cleaning up after another day in a classroom.

But then my speechers come in with a big bag of chocolates and orange flowers and a card signed by the entire team because they all wanted to wish me a happy birthday, and they linger, and we sit on desks and chat about New York and musicals and their AP classes.

These are the kids I teach.

P.S. This.

A Birthday

Now we are 34.

When I decided that I didn't want to spend my birthday riding to Alamosa and back on a school bus, I emailed some of my favorite people in the Denver metro area to see if they wanted to celebrate my birthday with me.  My invitation ran along the lines of "Please come eat good food and watch British men and help alleviate the guilt I feel for not wanting to ride to Alamosa and back on a school bus!"

To my delight, they all quite cheerfully accepted!  This may or may not be because I attached this video to the invitation to tempt them away from their families:

(Dear Makers of the Temple Movie,

Please cast Tom Hiddleston as Satan in the next version.  Benedict Cumberbatch would be fine as well.  Basically, British baritones with good cheekbones = many happy viewings.

Swooningly yours,
Amanda)


So after a lovely day spent doing delightfully mundane things (Sleeping in!  Working out!  Grocery shopping!  Oil painting!), my four favorite local ladies joined me at Vesta's Dipping Grill for dinner at the ridiculous hour of 5:00 because now I am old.  (I pause for a moment to think about the reaction Spaniards would have to our eating dinner at 5:00, but then I imagine they would just assume it's lunchtime and shrug it off.)

Vesta is one of my favorite places to go to splurge on a dinner in Denver - delicious food, hipster vibe, and they take reservations.  Awesome.

Here are mah peeps:

Tammy, Fara, Chuck, Rachel, myself, and Lisa

(Pro tip:  The advantage to eating at a hipster restaurant is when you ask your waiter-with-a-curly-mustache to take a group photo on your iPhone, he will announce that he's taking one without a flash and one with a flash and then proceed to do so WITHOUT NEEDING INSTRUCTIONS!) (Framing, naturally, will remain an issue.)

And here's the food:

A vegetarian chili amuse-bouche

Bread with roasted garlic

Roasted beet salad with pine nuts and camembert brulee 

Flatbread with assorted sauces selected by our waiter

Tagliatelle with mushrooms, shallots, and butternut squash

Venison kielbasa with assorted mustards
(which we dove into because I remembered to take a photo)

Not pictured:  Watercress and spinach salad with pear jam en croute.
It looked delicious, trust me.

My fondness for these ladies was confirmed when they
1) ordered appetizers and
2) immediately passed their appetizers around for everyone else to try.

We did not share our main courses because...

... we all ordered the exact same thing.

Ribeye steak with asparagus, spring peas, house-made bacon, cherry tomato risotto, and sweet corn soubise.
Cherry tomato risotto!  How could any one of us pass that up?

We did each order a variety of sauces and were quick to pass them around the table for all to try.

My selection: Pineapple peddy marmalade, basil emulsion, and miso buerre blanc

Great company, good conversation, and delicious food - it was everything I hoped it would be.  In fact, the ladies went above and beyond and, to my surprise, brought gifts.  Fara's is perfectly literary; Lisa's is delicious; Rachel's, in proper sisterly fashion, references a joke from our high school days; and Tammy's... well, Tammy's is the one that makes me giggle every time I look at it.

See, Tammy and I both indulge in watching the glamorous and ridiculous (xoxo) Gossip Girl.  Upon discovering our mutual lamentable taste, we bonded over the bad acting, the appalling writing, the fabulous clothes, and the villain who has perfected the art of smoldering - Chuck Bass.  Ed Westwick really does a remarkable job at being such a deplorable hottie, and Tammy and I both want to see the new version of Romeo and Juliet 20% because we're Shakespeare fans and 80% because Chuck Bass is Tybalt.

Hence her gift:

Seriously.  Giggles.  Every time.  Chuck Bass now smolders at me (while quoting Shakespeare!) from my desk at school.

From dinner we headed to Rachel's house for Phase II of the evening.  In her cushy movie theater basement we enjoyed fruit tart, gelato, and an evening of Stephen Fry.

Rachel pointed out that when I promised British men, Stephen Fry is not who came to mind.  I argued that, age and sexual preferences aside, Stephen Fry is a sexy British man.  I mean, have you heard him talk about language?  How does his pronunciation of "enjoy" not make your knees melt?

Rachel retaliated with this:

Okay, she has a point.  Still, we all very much enjoyed watching one of the latest episodes of QI, a few scenes from the version of Twelfth Night that's now in New York, and an episode of Jeeves and Wooster.

All in all, it was a perfect way to herald my start of another year on the earth.

The Fort

"What do you have for us today, Waterhouse?" my assistants ask, throwing their backpacks into a corner as they arrive in my room for third period.

"Guys, I think it's time to tackle the office."  I have several boxes of miscellaneous things stored in the office I share with the custodians.  Files of short stories and poems from my days of teaching English, fabric donations, props, scripts, speech team stuff - it's a hodge-podge of items that I haven't had time to sort through.  But I have two highly energetic boys for my assistants that period, and I warned them on the first day that this would be one of the main items on their to-do list for the term.

They groan, fulfilling their teenage obligation to at least appear to resent anything I ask them to do; but they listen as I go over my recommended strategy for sorting and organizing things.  I know I only have about 30 seconds of their attention when it comes to instructions, so I talk fast.  Sure enough, they cut me off before I'm done; exclaiming "We got this!" as they run into my office.

I shake my head and go back to grading.  My planning period at the end of each quarter is densely-packed and highly valuable, so I congratulate myself for finding a way to keep my assistants meaningfully occupied without being distracted myself by their all-too-entertaining chatter.

About ten minutes and 35 worksheets later, I hear my name.  "Waterhouse!" they call from the office.  "Come see what we did!"

Oh, dear.

I leaned against the doorjamb.  "What's this?"

"We made a fort!" they exclaim proudly.

"I can see that.  You also found my practice swords?"

"Yeah!  These are awesome!"

"I know.  They were a birthday gift from my grandfather a few years ago."

"Your grandfather's awesome!"

"Yes.  You do know that I need to have access to the mini-fridge back there, right?"  I indicate the corner under the cabinets.

"Oh, we thought of that.  See?"  One of them drops to his knees and crawls inside the fort.  "We built it so you can still open the door and everything.  Like this."  I hear the muffled sound of the door opening underneath the layers of cardboard.  "And you can close it too."  The door scrapes against the cardboard.  "Wait, hold on."  I hear him try again.  "Okay, it worked a second ago."  The entire structure shudders as he tries to slam the door over and over again.

"Yes, well, I don't think the janitors will be too keen on having to crawl into a fort to get their lunches,"  I point out as he makes his way out.

"No, I'm pretty sure they'll think it's awesome," they tell me.

"Sorry, guys," I say, smiling.  "I need access to that fridge."  I turn to go, then think better of it.  "And the sink, the microwave, the desks, and my phone."

I leave them looking at their fort, one of them scratching his head with the hilt of a sword.

Midway through my next pile of assignments, I hear a shout, a crash, and a bought of laughter.

"We found a better place to build!" they say, squirming out from under the collapsed pile of boxes.  "We just need to make it more structurally sound."

I do that teacher thing where I close my eyes and exhale through my nose.  They know this gesture well.

"We'll clean it up, Waterhouse," they assure me.  "Don't worry!"

Just then the bell rang.

"Tomorrow!" they shout, grabbing their backpacks and dashing out the door to their lunches and their girlfriends.

I turn back to look at my office:

I wonder what the janitors will think when they show up for their evening shifts.

The next few days are filled with tasks for all three of us as we prepare for the speech meet that weekend.  The custodians are patient with me, accustomed as they are to finding all kinds of strange messes around show time, so the office moves to the bottom of our collective to-do lists.

Before third period starts on the Monday after the meet, I make my customary to-do list for them on the board.

"What're we doing today?" they enter asking with the usual bag-toss.  

I point to my one-item list.  "The office," I say.  "Make it better."

They grin, salute, and run off.  Forty somewhat-suspiciously quiet minutes later, I look up from my computer to see them standing side by side in the entrance to my room, grinning.

"Come see our fort," they say.

They give me a tour with the pride of new homeowners.  "This is the clipboard where visitors have to sign in.  This is the weapon storage.  This is the doorway, and this is the animal hide for people to wipe their feet on.  And see?  You can still get to your phone!"

I decide not to complain about the giant paper banner I have to duck under to answer my phone and not to point out that I no longer have access to my filing cabinet.  I won't need the stuff in there for another few weeks anyway.  In fact, I am surprised, both by their creativity and by the sight of so many random artifacts of my 12 years of teaching displayed in front of me.

"And look!" they beckon for me to come inside.  Apparently as the landowner I do not have to sign in.  "Here's the weird green viney-curtain thing we found...

"...and here's our magnetic poetry wall with the Message of the Day!"  They point to the side of my filing cabinet where my long-forgotten Magnetic Poetry Kit: Great Literature Edition was now arranged.

"This is the letter that Shakespeare lost in Guillver's fish in 1984
Well; first it was Tarzan from Wonderland who was my lover.  Stranger journeys
are great alone.  I love Les Miserables and taking Finnegan's aunt to a Slaughterhouse.
That's the end of time."

"Isn't it awesome?!"

"Yes, guys," I have to admit.  "This is an awesome fort."

They spent the rest of the period and the first part of lunch giving tours to the other assistants.  I return to my desk, listening to the exclamations of their friends as they show off my office as I work.

The next day, I hand them a stack of review packets to grade.

"Can we grade them in the fort?" they ask.

"Sure," I say.

"Whoo-hoo!"  They snatch the papers from my hands and run off to my office.  I pick up the answer key they dropped in their haste.  By the time I walk it to them in my office they're sitting against the wall under the paper banner next to an iPod playing Imagine Dragons.

They do a great job grading, as always.  They're smart, reliable boys, and they keep me entertained while doing what I need them to do; which is why they had a surprise waiting for them in the fort this morning:

The Fort Fairy (whose form references this video, a favorite of one of the boys and an ongoing joke between us) rewards good assistants with their favorite kind of food -

synthetic, neon-colored, and so spicy it's in the Mexican section of the grocery store. 

Feast or Famine

There's a golden six weeks or so each year - a time when the balance between work and non-work is just right.

This isn't that time.

I've been quieter on my blog because, as is so often the case, I'm busy.  I'm busy, and the topics I keep wanting to write about are the kind that require more than a photo update or a 5-minute write up.

So, I shall attempt to summarize all of my thoughts of the past month in a 5-minute write up:


I went to a theater teacher's convention here in Denver. 

Notable occurrences include:

- It was like a marvelous dream to have a day where going to work meant getting up at 7, taking public transportation, having a glorious 45 minutes to get lunch, and being able to associate with adults all day.

- I love DCTC.  It's one of my Hogwarts, and has been ever since I first saw a play there on a field trip way back when I was in high school, oh so long ago.  I don't get to live there, but I do get to visit a few times a year.

- I learned (again) that when I panic about comparative credentials, I'm usually ahead of the crowd.

- It turns out that two of my fellow Smoky Hill High School Theater alums are theater teachers in the Denver metro area.  We discovered each other mid-sessions; and while it was fun to see them, I was reminded why I don't want to go to any high school reunions.

- I've also given a lot of thought to my own high school drama experiences.  I was a part of a tight-knit circle of super-dedicated theater kids.  We were writing plays, designing sets, going to see plays, and creating our own shows year-round, usually with little or no involvement from our teacher.

My students are nowhere near this level.  I have been assuming that it's my fault - that I'm failing as a teacher to instill similar passion and independence in my students.  Now I wonder whether I was just a part of a really unusual group of kids - one of those freak classes that come through once or twice in a career.

Again, here I am learning that I am not the norm.


I miss having time to work out.
I went to the gym 5, 6, 7 times a week this summer and at the beginning of the school year.  Not so much anymore.  I can sacrifice TV or reading or even Christmas gift crafting for gym time, but not work or necessary household tasks or work or proper sleep or work.  Sigh.



It's getting colder:

I took my students to see Death of a Salesman at the DCTC.

I really didn't like this play when I first read it in high school, and I was unsurprised to find my opinion hasn't changed.  However, this was a solid production, in the round no less, and I was surprised to see how much my students responded to the themes and characters of the play.  It's depressing, sure, but it also addresses issues of family loyalty, parental expectations, and measures of success in ways that are still relevant even when door-to-door salesmen aren't just dead, they've been buried for 60 years.


Speaking of the DCTC
I arranged for a Teaching Artist from the DCTC to come to my school to teach playwriting workshops for seven of our classes (two of mine and five English classes):

The fellow in the blue shirt on the left is David, their Educational Director.  He contacted me about this opportunity when his department first won the grant that funds it, specifically citing the great rapport I've built between their programs and my students over the last four years.  That was nice to hear, and the workshops went beautifully.


The First Speech Meet of the Year
I headed up the mountains and through stunning fall foliage to Vail with 24 students this weekend for our first meet.  Happily, we came home with a ton of awards.  Even happier, there were no medical issues on this trip!  (Not that there have been many in the past, but I had to be trained in some especially squeemish emergency procedures for one kiddo on this trip.  I was quite happy to turn said kiddo over to the parents Saturday night without having to use the issued rubber gloves.)

Dwindling Meets
Sadly, this meet brought news of yet another future meet being canceled.  This coupled with the cancelation earlier in the week means our already-lean season is getting harder and harder to fill.  It's not good for the kids to go three weeks or more without competing, and yet there are no competitions to which we can go.  I spent part of my day today cobbling together an alternate plan of running a semi-and-largely-informal meet at our school and then taking the team to an improv show in order to make up for yet another lost competition.  It's far from ideal, but with budgets (and therefore teams) being slashed all around, it's getting harder and harder to maintain a full season.


A Family Visit
Andy, Jenn, and my parents all came out to Denver this weekend.  The primary purpose was to visit the baby, of course, but there was a secondary goal of celebrating my and Andy's birthdays.  As previously mentioned, I missed hanging out with them Friday and Saturday, but I did get to join them Sunday for Sam's blessing and joint early-present-opening at the Mason's.  After Mom and Dad took off Sunday afternoon and we gave the Masons a bit of peace and quiet, I got to catch up with Andy and Jenn a bit more over dinner.  At the surprisingly-tasty Bonefish Grill we discussed family relationships and noted how as adults you have to make the choice to be friends with your siblings.  I made that choice quite deliberately in my post-college years, and I am always glad to rediscover how much I love hanging out with my siblings, both natural and by marriage.

Okay, that was more than 5 minutes, but I feel somewhat purged in my narrative build-up.  At least enough so to turn back to work:

It's the end of the quarter, grading awaits.  And so, good night!

The End of the Beginning

Today was my last free Saturday until February 1.  Oy.

Our first speech meet is next weekend, an overnighter in Vail.  The kids are psyched, and I'm ready to move into the next phase of coaching.  After a month of after-school practices, it's time for them to put their pieces to the test.

Following that meet are nine more spread out over four months.  Add in a birthday celebration, a trip to New York, the class play, and a couple of holidays and *Poof!* - there go my weekends.  Granted, many of those are ideal ways to spend time, but there is still something psychologically daunting about seeing so many dots on my mobile calendar.

In preparation, I have been doing what I can to get ready.  Last Saturday was primarily spent getting my car fixed (I figured brakes would be a good thing what with the 6000-foot daily altitude change and winter and all).  I also ran errands, picking up supplies for a couple of Christmas crafts, and met up with a friend for a bit.

Today started off with a much-needed haircut, then I ran up to Rachel and Ben's to babysit the boys.  Sam slept, ate, and slept some more while Jack played on my tablet, ate lunch, and discussed Daniel Tiger's teeth with me.

After a trip to the grocery store, a few loads of laundry, and a quick dinner from WhichWich; I launched into full cleaning mode, scrubbing down my kitchen and both bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming, polishing my floors.  I even washed the newly-discovered spider webs out of the wreath on my door, despite their potential for DIY Halloween decor.

I'm excited to sleep in a bit tomorrow, thanks to Conference weekend.  My plan is to work on the previously-mentioned Christmas projects and to meet up with Rachel to talk shop for this year's musical.  It's hard to believe that it's already that time of year, but we announce the show in less than a month and auditions are right after Thanksgiving, so we both need to get cracking!