I found myself in China standing outside a rectangular red and gold painted building I knew to be a school, with a tall roof  supported by many dougongs. Around me were about 50 other people my age, all pacing anxiously. I was anxious too; I was awaiting news of the academic fate of my daughter. There was a chill in the air with Autumn on the way. The leaves in the ancient forest surrounding the school weren’t yet changing, but they were showing the fatigue you see in leaves that have been feeding a tree all Spring and Summer, with the green looking almost lifeless, ready to give in. I watched as the mid-morning sunlight danced through the leaves onto the ground where I nervously kicked my feet back and forth on the path that led from the school to the garden. It was a place of pure beauty, with the grandeur of nature mirrored in the architecture. It was the time of year in my village when parents bring their six-year-old children to see if they will be accepted into school. It’s an open house of sorts, but one to which only the children are invited. Parents stand outside waiting while their children express their academic aspirations to sages of many disciplines. Professors are looking for children they believe have particular talent in the area they are skilled at teaching, and select only the students they believe will succeed. It becomes a highly competitive audition which shapes the rest of the child’s life. Through the doorway I can hear conversations about the beauty of art, the science of plant cultivation, the exactness and unlocked mysteries of mathematics, and the timelessness of literature. These are children that will become academic apprentices taught by some of the wisest people in all of China, and may grow up to shape the future of Chinese academics. I stand in awe of all the children already sure of what pieces of the world are most fascinating to them, and remember when I was six how horrible it felt to be rejected. I dreamed of greatness, but was not chosen for the coveted school on the hill. I couldn’t bear to think how Lan would feel if she did not get accepted. I muttered reassuringly to myself that I had done everything I could to foster her creativity and imagination, as she wanted to be an artist.

Suddenly, I hear her call my name. I turn toward the doorway to see her standing beside a tall elderly lady dressed in red silk. Lan had tears in her eyes, and the professor looked at me knowingly, as if her heart was broken for me. Children who were chosen did not return home for many years, as their life became committed completely to their studies. I was filled with excitement as I realized my daughter, MY daughter, had been chosen! At the same moment, I was in grief when I considered how long I would be without her. She ran to me, grabbed my leg in a tight hug, and cried. I knelt down beside her and cried along with her for a short time before doing my best to cheer her up and say my goodbyes. I wrapped my arms around her to give a final hug…

…And I woke up. I lay in bed crying, greatly moved by the dream I had experienced. As real as a nightmare feels when you’re at the moment just before death, that incomparable fear that spreads throughout your entire body, I felt that level of sadness when I was trying to say goodbye to my daughter. And just as you can’t quite shake the fear when you wake up from a horrible dream, I couldn’t shake the sadness. It just felt, somehow, surreal. I’d never known sadness quite like this. I lay there for what felt like an hour, tears pouring from my face. Then suddenly…

…I wake up. ACTUALLY wake up. I had only dreamed I woke up before. All the sobbing never happened – my pillow was dry. Now, instead of feeling sad, I was frustrated and annoyed. I didn’t understand why if I was going to have a dream-within-a-dream it couldn’t have been more fun, more exciting, maybe even a little funny. Why had my brain concocted a life completely alien to my own, on another continent, in another time, with an entirely new set of life experiences not tied to the life I know in the waking world? Did I really need to construct a China that only had pretty buildings, gardens, and silks? Way to go, cultured brain. And what’s with schools stealing children at such great emotional cost? What could it mean?

Then, just as suddenly as I had woken up before, the frustration and confusion drifted away like a dried rose petal in the wind. I was left with a calm and serenity that felt like the hug of a grandmother. I learned that through exercises of turmoil, our hearts learn also to feel joy. Through grief, we can find peace.

You see, not long before this night, Matthew’s grandmother passed away. My grandmothers both passed away in the same week when I was 17, and my grandfathers both before I was born. My grandmothers played a great role in shaping who I am today (you can read a little about them here). When I moved to Minnesota six years ago, both of Matthew’s grandmothers, and truly his entire family, welcomed me. Although it’s never easy to be 1,300 miles from my own family, I’ve been surrounded by people I love and who love me. Very early on, Matthew’s grandmothers became my grandmothers too. The loss was a great painful burden to me, much more than I first realized. But the calm I felt after this dream felt exactly the way I felt when I got a hug from Memaw, and I knew everything was going to be ok. It is no longer time to lament. Rather, it is time to live, keeping those who have gone close in the heart. Though the anguish will always be present, soothing memories will always be with me.

It didn’t take much convincing for me to decide that Matthew and I could drive out to the rescue. I’d lived in Minnesota for 6 years, but still hadn’t seen any of Western Minnesota or the Dakotas. And – I admit – I have a low threshold for needing a reason for a road trip. With the help of Crystina, we gained entry into his house and located his spare key. I stopped at home, charged up devices, and Matthew and I set out for what was a bit of a longer journey than I had originally realized. We were headed for Deadwood, which is almost as far as going to Wyoming or Montana from here.

And in this weekend’s episode of Unplanned Roundtrip Adventures, South Dakota (and perhaps Wyoming, Montana, instagr.am/p/OfQhr3uacS/

— Jason (ツ) (@jayysenn) August 18, 2012

We finally started driving at about 7 PM. It didn’t take long before we were in that part of Minnesota where there aren’t all that many people all too often. I had never been to that part of Minnesota, actually, and thought it was awesome when I saw my very first red-and-white-highway-closing arm used for times when heavy snow forces the state to close the freeway. I’ve been here long enough to know that happened every now and then, but didn’t know there were permanently-installed mechanisms to help enforce the closures. And then, it got dark. Nothing very eventful, just a really gently setting sun. Not very long after that, we stopped at a gas station for a bathroom and some food not far from the border with South Dakota.

Sunset clouds instagr.am/p/OfZJL_OaUO/

— Jason (ツ) (@jayysenn) August 19, 2012

Since Matthew and I got the Jeep Liberty after his old car caught fire on I-494 (not kidding) we’ve consciously not eaten in it unless it was a non-messy food and we were parked. We decided before we left we would suspend that rule until we got back. Great idea. Matthew got a smoked sausage on a hot dog bun with barbecue sauce, and only ate part of the bun. He was driving, so he handed me the rest to throw out the window “for the birds” – you know – because birds just go CRAZY for barbecue sauce. Well – the bun decided it liked it better inside the Jeep, and came back in the window and wedged itself between the seat and my back, barbecue sauce and all.

Threw a hot dog bun out the window for the birds. It flew back in. Condiments ensued. #FirstNewCarStain

— Jason (ツ) (@jayysenn) August 19, 2012

Soon after, I noticed the font was different on the road signs, which was my clue we had crossed the border. We then drove through Soiux Falls, and knew the rest of South Dakota was likely to be a lot less fascinating, especially at night. It did not disappoint. We swapped positions, and I drove into the night with Matthew drifting in and out of sleep. It was so dark that I couldn’t tell what kind of land I was driving through. Since I’d never been to the state, I really had no idea what it was, and it was a little creepy. It could have been rolling hills, mountains, flat prairies, anything, and I was none the wiser. I could see about a foot on each side of the pavement, and there was one car at a time coming the other direction every five or ten minutes. The best comparison I could think of to this kind of driving was a treadmill. The road was definitely moving beneath me, but the rest of the world seemed to be standing still. I then opened the sunroof and was in pure awe and disbelief at the look of the night sky. There wasn’t a cloud anywhere, and I had never seen such a dense view of stars in my life.  The night sky is one of the few things I don’t like about living in an urban area, but even growing up in a rural area, this was simply beyond what I had previously comprehended.

More treadmill.

After quite a bit of driving, I saw a sign for an exit to a scenic overlook. My hip was hurting, so I thought a stretch could do some good. I pulled in, turned off the car, woke Matthew, and stepped out into the night. Being in such a dark place was even more amazing than just seeing it through the sunroof. It was so dark it almost felt tangible. While Matthew setup his DSLR to try taking a few photos of the stars, I used the LED on my phone to walk around until I found a path leading to a fence. Even shining the light over the fence, I couldn’t see a single thing – the darkness was just too heavy. I know only that I was in the Buffalo Gap National Grassland. I made my way back to where Matthew was, and then another amazing first experience happened – wolves. I heard wolves howling from far away in every direction. It was the kind of beautiful thing that comes completely unexpectedly and goose bumps just cover your body.

More treadmill.

We finally got to Deadwood just after 5:00 in the morning, and the party trio were still awake, waiting on us. The lady working at the hotel (who seemed to be a receptionist, janitor, and hotelier all in one) called over “the Monkeys” and we were met with some giant appreciative hugs (Monkeys, you ask? They got in trouble the night before for jumping on the beds). We spent a while talking and laughing a little further into the morning, then all caught a nap for a couple hours. After that, our ways parted again. Matthew drove through the day, as we caught side trips into Mount Rushmore, Wall Drug, and the Badlands National Park. Later on, driving through the prairie, I noticed a lot of different ways that farmers stack their hay, as it’s that time of year. Yes, that was about the most exciting thing after we left the Badlands.

OH: “You can learn a lot about someone based on how they lay their hay.”

— KATrGEEK (@KATrGEEK) August 20, 2012

I picked up driving at dark again, and got us most of the way home before Matthew finished the trip. We got home at 5:00 in the morning, and successfully made it to work that day, and the whole week after. There’s of course a lot more to the trip than I can describe here (or that you’d have the attention span for) but I really cherish the time spent with Matthew, the awesome things we experienced, and being able to help a friend in need. I can’t wait to join up with the party trio soon to fill each other in on the details of the second half of our trips!

You can find more photos on my Twitter or Instagram.

Bonus: Video of Bison encounter by the party trio on their way toward Deadwood. Enjoy!

It’s a question I love to ask people – discussing it can give you a glimpse of insight into how people think about life. It’s interesting to see how people would push the envelope of human abilities if given the chance.

My own answer to this question is flight. People often consider turning things to gold with just a touch, becoming invisible, or teleporting. For me, an innate ability to fly would be incredibly fulfilling. I must admit that I’m influenced in this perception by my dreams.

I’ve had very many dreams in which I was able to fly. While I am dreaming, it does not occur to me that this ability is not natural, but just seems a normal extension of my abilities. Looking back on the dreams when I’m awake, I look quite silly to myself. No, I don’t flap my arms like wings, but rather run with my knees kicking really high, as if I’m riding an imaginary bike (come to think of it, it looks a bit like ET flying across the moon). The faster I spin my knees and feet around, the higher I rise. It always feels incredible and exhilarating, and when I’m (quite literally) on top of the world, everything seems absolutely perfect.

So, why do I think this would be the best superpower to have? For me, it’s about the experience more than about the ability. Sure, it would be nice to be able to teleport wherever I wished, but once I got used to it, it wouldn’t feel any different than walking through a door. It would just become a matter of fact. Invisibility seems like it would get lonely after a while. Flying, however, would always be an experience that would never be quite the same. You can fly over new landscapes, through ever-changing weather, and you can share it with other people (assuming you found some friends who could fly). Think of it as a road trip not bound by roads. That’s what I would enjoy most.

So – what would your superpower be?

Since I have your attention, I wanted to let you know you can connect with me on Spotify. It’s hard to find people that you’re not already friends with on Facebook, so here’s how:

I’m always looking for interesting people to connect with on Spotify so that I can discover new music, so if you’d like to share, please do! Cheers!

And moonlight on my face

I’ve never found myself to be

In such a perfect place

I hear the gentle song

Of crickets in the grass

Another gorgeous Summer night

Will come and go too fast

With fireflies in the field

And bullfrogs in the lake

I wish that life would be this calm

Tomorrow when I wake

Still time will move along

As we fly ’round the Sun

And when we’re old and grey we’ll see

That time has just begun

So – what is happiness, anyway? I’ve said before that the little things are what matter most. I’ve also told you about BFF Night, one night a week where my best friends gather at my house, I make dinner, and we eat and play games. I had a moment a few nights ago at dinner that reminded me of my idea of true happiness. Matthew and I went to our favorite Chinese restaurant, Kwan’s, run by the cutest couple you could ever possibly meet, hands down (By the way, I had no idea they had a website until I just looked, in case I could link you there. I’m suddenly very excited in a geeky kind of way just to know they’re online). In the corner, there were two middle-aged women eating dinner together. They were the kind of women you’d likely hear about from Garrison Keillor – very Minnesotan, and very full of stories that were hilarious – even if only to them. I couldn’t help but hear nearly every word they said, all the way until they parted ways and left the restaurant. Their conversation wasn’t itself anything worth writing about. They weren’t really that funny. They were just normal-lookin’ and slightly above average. What struck me though was their clear spiritual connection that showed signs of great strength that only comes from being close with someone for a long time. It reminded me of people I have in my life that mean so much to me – and how sometimes we’re pretty much in our own little world where everything is funny and life is good.

I realized what I want in life is to be able to go to a sparsely populated hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant when I’m 54 to meet someone I can laugh and smile with for an hour or two. Someone who’s there to listen to my life and tell me about theirs. I thought about my life right now, and couldn’t help but smile when I saw that I’ve been extraordinarily fortunate to have met people I believe will still be in my life decades from now, and that I can share those kinds of moments with. Although I live about 1,300 miles away from where I grew up, and just as far from all of my family (and I do miss them dearly every day), I’m surrounded by amazing people who ensure my happiness as much as I do theirs. Why? Because I think of them often. They’re top of mind every time I think of myself – because they’re part of me. That for me is true happiness. Your happiness may come from a different place, but for me, that’s all I need.

How do YOU define happiness?

While I am not Latino (my family heritage is almost entirely German), the Latino culture plays a huge influential role in my life. My tastes in food, music, and art, among other things, often have as many or more roots in Latino culture than my Southern US upbringing. Don’t get me wrong – I love a good gravy biscuit as much as the next North Carolinian, but pastelón? Mofongo? No contest.

I digress (record scratch).

The episode mentioned the recent Time cover story “Yo Decido.” Seeing it presented by this episode about the unique struggles of the LGBT Latino community spoke to me in a way it hadn’t before when I first saw the article. Before, it had been about the power of the Latino vote in the upcoming presidential election. This context, however, reminded me how important it is that people in Minnesota know what they are voting for with the marriage amendment on the ballot.

Of course I will make my voice known by voting, but that’s only the price of admission. What’s most important is making sure people know who I am, and who my family is. When people don’t have context to know what effect this will have on real people they know, it’s unlikely they’ll find the motivation to vote, or to make the right choice when they do. So I believe my real power is in telling my story. By doing so, I will influence others, and then, truly, Yo Decido.

Ingredients: 2 8 oz. packages cream cheese, softened 1 packet dry ranch dressing mix 1/4 teaspoon paprika 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese 1/4 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese Crushed nuts or additional Parmesan for coating Desired garnishes Crackers or mini bread slices for serving	Cheeseball Snowman
Directions: Combine cheeses, ranch mix, and paprika in bowl until thoroughly incorporated together. Spread the crushed nuts or Parmesan cheese in a shallow dish. Use a spoon to form the mixture into a ball in the bowl, then turn out into the coating. Coat the ball well, then add any embellishments desired. Chill for at least two hours in the refrigerator before serving.

Be creative! The picture here is a snowman I made, using a baby carrot nose, peppercorn face and buttons, pretzel arms, Parmesan snow, and a slice of a Fruit Roll-Up for a scarf. My grandmother always rolled hers in pecans and served them simply as a traditional cheeseball. But you can use the mixture like a soft clay and make all kinds of creative things themed for a party. And of course, this isn’t far beyond an empty canvas for flavor. Change up the cheeses you add, throw in some bacon, maybe even add a little heat with ground chiles – it’s all up to you. Now – get creating, and let me know what YOU made!

Ingredients: 1 prepared pie crust 1 1/4 cup cubed ham 1 1/4 cup cubed turkey 1 1/2 cups shredded cheddar cheese 4 eggs 1 cup milk 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon dried parsley 1/2 teaspoon dried onion	Ham and Turkey Quiche
Directions: Preheat oven to 375F. Add the ham and turkey to the pie crust, then top with cheese. In a bowl, beat the eggs with the milk, then add spices. Pour egg mixture over ingredients in pie crust. Bake on the center rack for about 35 minutes or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Allow to cool for 10 minutes, slice and serve.

Filled and Ready to Bake

This is another recipe that you can really customize to make it your own. It’s awesome with a variety of vegetables, meats, cheeses, and spices. Imagine sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, and gouda or feta. Or perhaps sausage, bacon, and cheddar. Asparagus, mushroom, and swiss/provalone? Quiche is comfort food at its best, as it conforms to your individual taste as you put into it whatever will make you happy. All you need to do is place whatever fillings you want into the crust, top with cheese, and pour over the egg mixture. It works best if you place the largest pieces (for instance, broccoli) on bottom, followed by smaller pieces. This will fill in the space between the larger pieces and make sure your fillings don’t take up too much space and burn above the egg mixture. Filled, it should look about like this picture with a little bit of space between the top of the fillings and the top of the crust. If yours has more filling in it, just place it on a cookie sheet before baking in case it bubbles over (otherwise you may be cleaning burnt cheese and egg from the bottom of your oven).

Oil-Based Pie Crust

For the crust, I use an Oil Pie Crust Recipe from AllRecipes.com. Now – I love a crust made with butter as much as the next Southerner, but quiche is very rich with the eggs and cheese, and the oil-based crust really does complement it well without stealing the show. If you use this recipe for crust, take the recommendation of the reviewers and roll it out between plastic wrap or wax paper. Since it’s oil-based, you don’t want to get the oil all over your rolling pin and yourself, and if you add enough flour to soak up all the oil, you’ll have way too much flour and it will be tough (speaking of which, make sure you sift the flour before measuring or it will be too much).  The best thing about this recipe is how forgiving it is. It is much easier to press seams together if you rip this dough than a traditional pastry is.If you don’t want to make your own crust, there’s nothing wrong with buying a pre-made crust.

With that, I’ll leave you to your own devices to create your perfect quiche. Come back and let me know what you put in yours and how it tasted!

I was in the UK, staying with Jethro and Emily. I’m not sure if it was a house or a flat, but I’m sure it was quite old. It was a quaint and comfortable place with 2 dogs and several cats (No, Emily, I did not just call you a cat lady). I was cold, so I attempted to raise the temperature on the thermostat. This was a device installed on the wall so that the top was about eye level and about the size of a pillow. While it had visible signs of wear that would date it to be at least 30-40 years old, it had a digital display and buttons retrofitted into it. Three buttons, in fact: Up (+), Down (-), and Mode (M). When I approached it, it displayed “62.5°F” (Yes, Fahrenheit). I pressed the Up button, and it incremented by .5°F until it reached 64.0°F, where it then jumped to 98.5°F. I pressed the Down button, but saw it jumped right back down into the 60s.

Emily and Jethro both sat on the sofa laughing. Emily suggested I try the Mode button. I did so, and it turned off. Another press, and the lights dimmed. Another press, and music started playing – the soundtrack from Kinky Boots, a movie (based on a true story about a shoemaker from Northampton) I highly recommend if you haven’t seen it. Another press, the lights returned. Another press, and the temperature flashed, indicating I was back in temperature control mode. Pressing Up and Down however yielded the same results. Finally, through fits of uncontrollable laughter at my lack of understanding of English technology, she cackled “Just add nutmeg! Don’t you know only a cat can fine-tune the temperature the way you want it from inside?”

Cat-Operated Thermostat: Just Add Nutmeg

I inspected the device further, and there was a micro grater above the controls, and on the side of the device was a cutout, showing a hollow interior with a carpeted bottom. Inside on the front were several lights and buttons with no labels; I had no clue what they were for. It reminded me of the Wizard’s secret control room behind the curtain on The Wizard of Oz. Emily repeated that I should add nutmeg, and handed me a whole seed. I grated it using the micro grater, and a black cat came running and jumped through the opening on the side. The cat made some huffing noises, then purred and jumped around.

“Tell it what you want,” Emily said. So I said, “Sixty-nine and a half degrees, please.”  Several beeps later, the display read exactly as I had requested, and the cat jumped back down to the floor and made a figure eight between my legs, spreading brown dust on my jeans.

Then, I woke up. With “Yes Sir I Can Boogie” from Kinky Boots stuck in my head. 0_o

Now, I’ll admit, I don’t actually have any idea if thermostats are similar at all in the UK to those here in the States, but I’ll look that up later. I am pretty sure, however, they probably aren’t as big as this was, aren’t powered by cats, and don’t require nutmeg. Also - Celsius.

I also know that after waking up thinking about nutmeg, I can’t get the idea of baking a quiche out of my head, and I have plenty of eggs. So, as soon as this is published, I’m off to cook!

It started as a recipe for pizza dip, where you press cream cheese into the bottom of a glass pie pan, top with a jar of pizza sauce, then the pizza toppings you like, finish with cheese and bake. Thinking about the people that would be at the party, I realized my friend Coral was bringing her mom, who is allergic to tomatoes, chiles, and bananas. Matthew suggested an artichoke dip instead, so I thought I’d make it in the same format and see what happened.

I used a baking dish slightly larger than a pie pan for this, so if you’re trying to follow this recipe exactly, pay attention to how much of each ingredient you think will fit into your dish. As all of these ingredients taste great on their own, and there aren’t any spices added, all of the amounts are versatile. That being said, don’t be afraid to add some kick with herbs and spices you enjoy. The great thing about making a dish like this is how personal it can be. Don’t like artichokes? Replace it with something you do like. Or, use the artichokes, but add spinach and mushrooms. Perhaps make your own Alfredo sauce, and add some roasted garlic. The possibilities are endless. All you need to remember is to (1) press cream cheese into a baking dish, (2) top with a sauce and some toppings you like, (3) add cheese, and (4) bake. Adding the things you like means you’ll be able to enjoy something truly yours, or share something with someone made especially for them.

What would you do different to this recipe to make it perfect?

What did this building become in my dream? The restaurant portion was replaced by a sushi place. Still a restaurant, but I distinctly knew in my dream that I was in Minneapolis, even though this building looked almost exactly like the building in Albemarle, down to the street and setting. The skating rink? That became, of course, a theater. As I walked in (with Matthew and his mom) I noticed a poster for the show: The Kids in the Hall – On Tour! I took off my overcoat slowly and peered at Matthew. In my dream, I hadn’t heard of The Kids in the Hall, but Matthew assured me it was one of his mom’s favorites and that I would absolutely love it. It turned out that only David Foley made it to the show, and he showed up too drunk to be funny; we ended up leaving halfway through the show. At that point in my dream, I woke up.

It was then I realized how many things my brain was piecing together. I had just gotten a Boxee Box (LOVE, by the way – if you’re thinking about getting one, do it! http://bit.ly/wWEEsa). One of the shows I saw available right before bed was The Kids in the Hall. I had also just spent a very hectic week between North Carolina and Minnesota, with lots of traveling and visiting friends and family. My mind totally mixed up which things go where, and planted that building in Minnesota. I did seem to remember, however, that we had recently gone to see A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie together, which turned out much more delightful than this show did in my dream.

Every detail I considered from my dream had been somehow on my mind in the past week. It kind of made me wonder – If I can pinpoint where all the details of my dream came from, is it possible a completely different life experience could be had with all the same details, just jumbled around in a different order? Which also made me think of all the hypotheses swirling around regarding our understanding of the cosmos. Perhaps the dream I had really happened in another universe (queue the Twilight Zone music)? Perhaps I’ve been watching too much PBS lately. Whatever the case, it’s certainly fun to discover my life on shuffle, in my dreams!

I was walking down the hallway in my house thinking what an excellent job I’d done with my hair today as I saw my reflection in a mirror. Stopping to admire myself for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something strange in the background. I immediately recognized it as alien. It looked as if it were made from a photographic slide with thin heavy paper extending from it making a body and legs. It walked awkwardly, reminding me of a crab. The slide was animated, and there was a face on it. The picture flickered and rolled a little, as if it were a very old CRT, but it was thin like an LCD. It produced its own light. I dashed into a room and peeked around the door frame, trying to stay out of its view, as I didn’t think it had seen me yet. I wasn’t even sure if it could see, but as it wasn’t walking into walls, I assumed it had some kind of sense about it.

The creature got just past the doorway and I grabbed it, folding it onto itself. I was surprised how neatly this happened, forming a perfect rectangle with the slide in the middle. I had expected it to fight or be difficult to do, but it seemed a natural state for it, like a beetle putting its wings back in place. A feeling of relief rushed over me. I wasn’t sure this thing was dangerous, but after the adventures I’ve had with the Doctor, I wasn’t going to chance it, and I put the creature in my pocket.

As always though, I was curious, so I stepped outside to see if there were more around. I didn’t see anything, so I decided to check my neighbor’s house. Walking in, there was delightful music and singing. “Phew!” I thought – they’re safe! I walk toward their living room, and see my neighbors dancing as I look around the corner, dressed in red and purple aerobic spandex. I noticed that their faces were older than I remembered, and decided I needed to visit my neighbors more often. Then I noticed they looked older still, and that if I paid attention, their clothes were changing, and there was a bit of syncopation to their dancing, almost as if they were lit by a strobe. In front of each of them sat a “slide crab,”  as I’d decided to call it, and I could see an almost aural connection between each person and the creature. Suddenly, one of them turned around and saw me. I could feel it lock its gaze on me, and began walking slowly toward me. Luckily these creatures did walk much slower than me, so I was able to out-run it. My neighbor’s house had a bit of a circle in the floor plan, and I was able to view the living room through another door after crawling quickly into the closet-sized laundry room with vented doors.

As I sat on the washer watching them dance, I realized that in their timeline, everything seemed normal. But in my timeline, years were passing quickly. The syncopation and changes were because they were doing the same thing every day in their timeline, but it wasn’t quite the same each day. In my timeline, I was seeing a few seconds corresponding to each day. I watched them getting older, but they seemed happier than I’d ever seen them before as they just kept dancing and singing the same song over, and over, and over, and over.

With a jolt, I realized I had just watched the performance 4 times. Somehow I had slipped into their timeline, but gotten back out of it. It was joyous – the kind of joy people describe with an out of body experience, or reuniting with a long-lost loved one. The kind of happiness that feels tangible. I pull the creature I’ve kept out of my pocket. Each time I slip into the accelerated timeline, it glows with its own ambient light, its brightness directly correlated to the strength of my joy.

“Vworp, vworp! Vworp, vworp!” I hear the TARDIS coming and and snap back to where I should be. The blue light shines through the vents as it becomes visible, and then the Doctor steps out. I fling open the door and tell him he has to destroy the creatures! He asks if I’m OK, and I run and embrace him. He points his sonic screwdriver at a “slide crab” and it folds up like mine, but it also puts an extra layer on the outside. He picks it up and knocks on it – it seems to be contained in white plastic.

“Self-defense mechanism. The soul crab’s biggest weakness is that if it’s scared enough, it goes dormant for centuries,” the Doctor explained.

“What about mine?”

He pointed the sonic screwdriver at the one in my hand, and the protective layer appears. He does the same to those controlling my neighbors, and a couple more he found crawling around outside the front door.

“You called these things “soul crabs.” What do they do?”

“They steal your soul, Amy. The best part of your soul – your happiness. They speed things up and drain every bit of possible happiness for the rest of your lifetime, then fly away. They leave you a shell with no possibility of happiness. It’s worse than death. The face you see one carry is the face of their last victim. The good thing is, if they don’t complete it, it’s like someone pressed ‘abort’ and the victim is fully restored. Your neighbors and you are just fine.”

With that, we walked back to the TARDIS, bidding my neighbors goodbye, and close the door.

As the door closed, I woke up. I’ll never know what the next adventure was in the TARDIS, but I was so glad to be whisked away after that experience. After waking up, I felt like I had legitimately gone through the full fear, joy, relief, and other emotions Amy had during this “episode.” I was in awe of how safe and secure I felt as soon as I heard the TARDIS. My dream may be no Steven Moffat, but experiencing the story first-hand was better than watching an episode can ever be. And for those of you wondering, the Doctor had the face of Matt Smith.

New My Burger Logo

Whether you know me in real life or just online, you’ve probably heard me talk about My Burger. Why? Because they’re the best thing since sliced buns, that’s why. For the real answer, read my previous post detailing how our love affair began.

Perhaps because I am addicted to social media and tend to see things right away, I responded in time to join a focus group to give feedback to My Burger. Along with other burger fanatics, we went through food, atmosphere, location, hours, employees, brand, and everything else that goes along with running a successful business. And starting “soonish,” you can see all that feedback put into action at their new location in Uptown! I was invited to the pre-opening party last week, and we replaced BFF Night with a trip to the new My Burger. We were all impressed and stuffed. I can’t wait until you can try it out for yourself!

The first thing you’ll notice is their proximity to the place I left for My Burger. I can’t wait for the opportunity to get a burger to go and walk down to the lakes this Summer. Uptown is such a perfect location for them.  When you walk in the door, you’ll see they’ve kept a bit of the industrial feel with exposed concrete walls, but with accents that feel both very polished and inviting.

My Burger Menu

Their new menu is quite close to the original, with a few upgrades. Of note is the addition of spices and sauces. It’s still incredibly simple, but also quite perfect. There aren’t so many options as to overload you, but enough to make your burger uniquely yours. To make sure you’re getting your burger exactly as you want it, there are now customer-facing displays showing the order being entered so you’re sure to get what you ask for. Remember that I don’t eat beef? How is it that I’m so in love with My Burger? They also have chicken, fish, and veggie options. My absolute favorite (as a brand new combination) is a chicken burger, add blue cheese, bacon, mushrooms, and Cajun spices, no lettuce. This all on a brown buttered bun served with their amazing fries or onion rings. I’m salivating right now writing this. And I really, really want a strawberry malt right about now.

I can’t wait until you can all give them a shot to see what all my fuss is about. You no longer have to drive downtown during the day, pay for parking, and navigate the skyways if you’re don’t work downtown. Now you can mosey on over to Uptown during the day or in the evening and enjoy life at your own pace, perhaps even with a local beer.

If you try them, let me know what you think in the comments! Be sure to like them on Facebook and follow them on Twitter.

Malt Machines & Sweet Pickles

My Burger Uptown

If you’ve kept up with me pretty much anywhere online, you’ll know I’m originally from North Carolina, but live in Minneapolis (Check out my post “Hotdish & Sweet Tea” to learn more about my life as a Minnesota transplant). Living 1,300 miles from home can be tough when the family and friends you grew up with are also just as far away. So, how do I stay sane? Much of it is thanks to my BFFs and our weekly BFF Night.

I met Matthew 5 years ago, Matty 4 years ago, then Coral 3 years ago, and from then also Crystina and others through Coral. Using the term “best friend” got complicated and awkward as we’ve all ended up spending so much time together, and are all close to each other in unique ways. So, we have a group of people we refer to as our BFFs to make sense of it all. We have honorary members outside of Minneapolis, in North Carolina, Texas, and Iowa. We even have a Twitter account used to spam all our phones at once, @EpicBFFs.

Every Wednesday, we have BFF Night. Almost always at my house, we commit ourselves to having a home-cooked meal and games together once a week. Sometimes it’s as simple as bratwurst and mashed potatoes. Other times, it might be as grand as chorizo-stuffed chicken breast with raspberry chipotle mole (a recipe I created and posted on AllRecipes.com that I’m quite proud of). But always, it’s a fun and happy time that we spend with each other, and for many of us, the highlight of our week.

Last December, it became incredibly clear how special my group of friends has become. We had three holiday-themed BFF Nights to cover all the religions represented in the group. We had traditional Chanukkah, Yule, and Christmas meals complete with traditional activities for each holiday. Two things really struck me about this. First, noticing the true diversity of the group, it’s amazing how we’ve all found each other and how well we get along and complement each other. Second, while all three of the holidays we celebrated were gift-giving holidays, we did not exchange gifts. Instead, we pooled the money we would have spent on each other and found ways to collectively use it for good. One of those things was buying gifts for needy families in Minnesota; we even got to shop for it all together.

Whether you have family and friends close to you or not, are you taking time to eat at home on a regular basis? If not, you should be. If you look, you can find a lot of articles with plenty of research showing the benefits of eating family meals at home. All of the BFFs have jobs and other commitments that keep us busy all week long. Eating together once a week keeps us from eating out while keeping us focused on relationships that matter. It’s also therapeutic for me to take raw ingredients and create something amazing, beautiful, and indulgent. I am incredibly blessed to be a part of this group of friends who always takes time for each other and helps each other every time it’s needed.

What’s your favorite meal to cook at home?

As Matthew and I were driving north on I-35W, someone I went to high school with passed us on the left riding her bicycle. It was Shannon, with long brown hair with a hair bow covered in colorful beads pulling it into a ponytail.

“Blow the horn! That’s Shannon. I went to high school with her!”

“You’ve noticed people from high school around town a lot lately. There must be at least ten or more here by now.”

He was right. I went home and checked my high school list on Facebook, and found over 20 people from my graduating class now living in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Right away I knew I wanted to get some folks together and enjoy a night out to dinner for catching up while it’s still Summer. Naturally, I sent a Facebook event invite for a planning meeting to get this all figured out.

Everyone was as anxious as I was to see all the people they never realized were now living in the Twin Cities, and everyone invited showed up to the meeting room I rented for the session. We talked at length about the restaurants and clubs we liked most, and spent plenty of time going through correct parliamentary procedure (thank you Mrs. Narghang and FBLA) to decide on the best venues. In the end, we decided to meet at Caribe Bistro in St. Paul in about a month, and that an official invite would go out on Facebook. We were about to adjourn, but Lauren realized I was the only one who knew where Caribe Bistro was, and that I should find a way to help people get there. The obvious course of action was to grab my laptop and a spindle of blank CDs and burn the Caribe Bistro Twitter account and a link to a Google Maps location for them onto a disc for each person at the meeting. Only when I completed this task did I realized I neither had CD labels nor a suitable instrument for writing on them. So, I got individually wrapped moist towelettes out of my laptop bag, taped one to the top of each CD, and wrote on each with a ball-point pen “Caribe Bistro – SSHS Class of 2002 Minnesota Resident Reunion.” I then handed out the CDs, taking special care to instruct everyone to remove the towelette and tape from the disc before inserting into their computer, as failure to do so could result in damage to their computer that would not be covered by warranty or service plan.

And that, folks, is where I woke up. It was then I realized nearly everything in my dream was much more complicated than it needed to be. Why meet to determine when and where to meet; would a Facebook discussion and invite not suffice? Why burn CDs, when I was sending an invite anyway that could include more than enough information? And why does taping a moist towelette seem an appropriate CD label in the absence of a Sharpie?

Luckily, I understand where most of the details came from. The over-complication of details was a result of my feelings about yesterday’s meeting. The towelettes? I rode in my friend Matt’s car a few days ago and it seemed obvious he has a hoarding problem with Fingerbowl towelettes, as they were leeching out of every orifice in his car (this may be a hyperbolic statement). High school friends? I read over a thread just a couple days ago discussing plans for our 10-year reunion coming up next year. What I can’t quite figure out is why although I am friends with many of my classmates on Facebook and know what they look like today, everyone in the meeting (including myself) looked as we did in about ninth or tenth grade. I also don’t know how Shannon managed to ride her bicycle fast enough to pass us on the freeway in the left lane (aren’t bicycles illegal on freeways?). I guess some details of my dreams are just too ridiculous to warrant trying to decode.

If any of my high school classmates read this and are looking for a fun, energetic, inviting place to move or just visit, I’ll be glad to show you around! You’ll be glad you came. In any event, I hope to see you in May!

Baclofen, like tizanidine, is an anti-spastic, which is a specialized muscle relaxer. While some indications are similar, it’s a much different experience. The immediate difference with tizanidine was like putting glasses on for the first time; the world was suddenly a much clearer and verdant place. Perhaps the difference that stands out the most with the new drug is the side effects. I took a large dosage of tizanidine once every night which put me into a wonderful deep sleep, from which I awoke approximately eight hours later feeling refreshed and ready for anything (I had never felt that way in my life). Baclofen on the other hand I take four times a day, and in the beginning it altered my mood. Maybe a more accurate description would be to compare my chances of not crying at any moment during the first week to the chances a Tiffany lampshade would have in the HOV lane of I-35W at 5:13 PM on a Thursday. I cried watching the news whenever there was a story about someone who died (and that’s a lot). I cried telling my friends about crying. Yes, I even cried watching Star Trek clips on YouTube. I cried for over half an hour after watching the last 5 minutes of Voyager. Janeway said “We did it” with such a surprised tone, and I lost it. Totally lost it. So, I knew I had to find a way to fix it.

Recently, I got one of the early invites to Spotify in the US because apparently I have Klout on Twitter (thanks by the way to all of you who keep me typing away all day and night). I decided Music was the best way to artificially inflate my mood and started building some playlists. I started out with dubstep, which I listen to almost exclusively at work. When I need to focus and drown out the sounds around me, I play Daft Punk, Deadmau5, or Skrillex at full volume through my Altec Lansing earbuds. If you’re looking for affordable earbuds that successfully block out sound, try Altec Lansing. They’re so great, in fact, I had to be physically jolted to remove them in order to discover there was a tornado drill this past severe weather week. But, I digress.

It’s funny how music discovery happens. I added all of Susan Boyle’s music because while I followed the initial meme, I hadn’t followed up to see what she released, and I was curious (I’ve removed most of it now). The nobody-to-somebody story inspired me, and I then added Jackie Evancho.  I had no idea I would enjoy arias so much. After consulting with friends and, of course, Wikipedia, I found out some of the most important arias and added them to a playlist. It’s changed and morphed over the past few weeks, and while it’s nowhere near comprehensive, and will never be complete, I’ve been really REALLY stuck on it. Would I have gotten so into this genre if it hadn’t been for the mood changes? Who knows (I don’t)? But I’m certainly enjoying this endeavor.

I also built a large playlist of showtunes, as I am quite the theater buff thanks to my good friend Rick, but I haven’t listened to it much since Mary Poppins made me cry during the second week of the new pills. The crying phase is over now though, and so is the initial drowsiness that was forcing me to take naps in the middle of the day. While I’m still having headaches, I’m working separately on other factors. I bought a Zeo to help me learn to sleep better (I’ll write about that soon) and I’m going to see a physical therapist soon to try getting some help for this neck of mine, which is the source of most of my head troubles.

I’ll let you know more as I continue by journeys (with migraine treatment and musical discoveries). In the meantime, if you have Spotify and are my friend on Facebook, let’s connect (my social profiles are linked at the top of the page)! Much of my music is public, and I’d love to learn from others and build my library.

Spring Oreos

I found myself in the breakroom of what seemed to be a small one-story office building. There were large tinted windows, but meager furnishings inside. I sat at a table by the window with what seemed to be the only two coworkers I ever conversed with, John and Elizabeth. For lunch, I had a piece of white bread, Elizabeth had an entire package of Double Stuf Oreos, and John had an entire package of the brand new Quadruple Stuf Limited-Edition Spring Oreos. Let’s just say there was so much of the creme filling, there were eight cookies in the package. If you’re not familiar with the Oreos that come out in the spring with yellow creme, I found a picture for you; just imagine them with four times the creme. Elizabeth gave me a couple of her cookies as I tried to eat my slice of bread very slowly, hoping not to finish too quickly as I didn’t want to sit and watch them eat while I had nothing left. Even though she was sharing, I couldn’t help longing for one of John’s cookies. He had what seemed to be a well-practiced routine of opening the Oreos, scraping out the creme into one of the open slots in the package, and dipping the cookies themselves in milk before eating them. For me, the best part of Oreos is the creme, and this growing pile of it was making my mouth water like a ravenous wolf. I reached out a hand and gave a pouty face hoping John would offer me a cookie, but it took him a while to comply. He gave me a look, handed me a cookie, and told me he only was giving sharing with me because Elizabeth wasn’t around and because he appreciated me and my womanly ways. I scarfed it down as he began eating the pile of creme with the fork he had been using for scraping and Elizabeth rejoined the table.

That’s when I woke up. I’m still not sure what “womanly ways” John had taken note of that were worth sharing his special cookies, but I do know my friend Coral gets more meat in her bowl at Chipotle when she flirts with the guy behind the counter.  Perhaps I should just start winking hopefully at everyone I see eating cookies.

There was one slight problem after waking up this morning. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted the taste of Oreo more than the moment I realized it had all been a dream. Bakers Square has an Oreo pie, the filling for which tastes just slightly sweeter than the creme actually in Oreos (which is to say it probably contains materials not naturally occurring on Earth to allow such a supersaturation of sugar). So, I acquired a full pie to take into work so that I could share the laugh with John. Now where am I to find spring Oreos this time of year so that I can make a pile of creme to eat with a fork?

I’ll start with sweet tea, as chronologically in my life it came first. I grew up in rural North Carolina. Where I was born, acorns don’t fall far from trees. Most people put down roots right where they are without looking very far beyond the horizon.  Days are filled with hard work to make a living, and nights are spent in white wooden swings on wrap-around porches with a book in one hand and sweet tea in the other. Gently swaying forward and backward, you can hear bullfrogs, crickets, and other creatures singing their songs while the stress of the day just seems to melt away into the night. The hottest days end with storms and showers that cool down the Earth so you can sleep. If you’ve got a problem that relaxing into the dusk can’t handle, you’ve always got your neighbors that you’ve probably known your whole life to help talk you through it. Everyone matters, everyone is good at something, and nobody gets left behind.

Hotdish came next, when I moved to Minnesota. The differences here are immense. There are a lot of transients, and the general world view seems much broader. With 3.5 million residents, the Twin Cities is the nation’s 16th-largest metropolitan area. The majority of Minnesota, however, is rural. When the Winter hits, the way Minnesotans outside the metropolitan areas survive is based on the community. People make sure others are taken care of and not left cold or stranded. There’s no better way to warm up in the bitter cold of a Minnesota Winter than with a heaping portion of whatever hotdish someone has cooked up. It stays warm for a long time, and has no problem filling you up with its generous starch and meat. Originally used by farm wives to feed large families and church congregations, it remains a staple year-round at church gatherings, family reunions, and potlucks. No matter how easy most hotdishes are to make, you can always feel the love in every bite.

So what do you get when you add both together? Well, you get to indulge yourself while sharing with others. You find a mix of Southern Hospitality and Minnesota Nice. You remember both to work hard and to relax. You know that others around you need your love and support as much as you need theirs. Each bite of hotdish will make you feel at home in a place that adopted you, and no matter how far away you are from the place of your birth, one sip of sweet tea makes sure you never forget putting others first always seems to work out right.

In the literal sense of them both, hotdish and sweet tea really do go well together. If you don’t believe it, just come see me. I’ll make you some of both and chat until the dusk turns to dawn.

As we were driving away from ordering, I noticed the screen said Double Cheeseburger and water. I made Matthew confirm my order at the first window. The employee repeated the order perfectly before I handed over my card. I then checked and double-checked my receipt: perfect. Once we got the bag, I opened it and made sure I had a Fillet-o-Fish box. Even so, I then opened it to make sure it really was the right thing in the box.

It was then I realized how much faith I put into electronic information: sometimes more than informed humans or real life itself. It was interesting to me that even the Fillet-o-Fish box wasn’t enough for me to believe I had the right sandwich, all because the screen said Double Cheeseburger. Most likely, they processed an employee sale between us and the next car, but that’s all it took for me to mistrust all the evidence proving my order was right.

Have you ever felt disoriented after seeing incorrect information? Wrong hours on a website? Bad information on Wikipedia? What should we be doing to make sure human trust still has room in the future to trust humans?

So, what’s in store? That’s a good question. When I first began the pills, I had mood swings, was more talkative than ever in my life, and was pretty darn annoying for a couple weeks. Also, I’ve now spent nearly a year with my sleep regulated for me as tizanidine lowers blood pressure, heart rate, and respiration. I have never slept better in my life than this past year. Will my mood change again? Will I be able to sleep appropriately and get up in the mornings? Will I lose all of these wonderful vivid adventures that live only in my dreams? We’ll see.

To increase the chances of success without the assistance of medication, I’m taking vacation, having an ergonomist assess my work area, and working on a sleep rhythm. I may just have to light candles and listen to nature music in a bubble bath. That should do just fine.

How do you relax and de-stress?

My friend @CorieRose brought me a butterfly painted by her nephew, River. I put it up in my cube right away, and noticed he included his initials “RK” in the wing design with a mirror image. How cute!

They'll pee on ye!

Memaw was a true Southern Belle who never even got her driver’s license. Before I started school, I stayed with Memaw during the day while my mom worked, my sister went to school, and my dad slept (he worked 3rd shift). Sometimes she’d call a taxi to take us to Sky City, a delightful old-fashioned department store of sorts with a grill in the back.  ”Two cheeseburgers, please” she’d say, and go on with small talk with the cook.  It was always fun to go out for a treat, but it was even more fun to stay in and help Memaw cook. We would make fried chicken livers, green beans, and creamed potatoes, and I would always make her save 2 chicken livers for my mom to have when she got off work. Every week or two, we would make pies. Usually chocolate or sweet potato pies, and the crust was always from scratch. I never realized until I took cooking classes in high school how special it was to have made so much pastry dough already in my life. On weekends, I would often ask my parents to spend the night with Memaw. They (and she) almost always said yes. Sometimes it was me alone, and sometimes my sister came along too. When I started fifth grade, we moved to a bigger house and Memaw moved in with us. Despite keeping most of us awake at night with her snoring, it was a lot of fun to have her in the same house.

Homemade pastry is the best!

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