Just Another Day at Work

Matt's solo Formations flight, completed today. He's flying the one marked 845 and 2265, the lead of the two aircraft.



...my brother is SO much cooler than your brother.

Why I Love My Brother

He just sent me this story with the note, "because the author put in the last line." He knows me so well. 

Woman Shoots Herself While Trying to Kill Mice

POTTER VALLEY, Calif. — A Mendocino County woman who was trying to kill mice in her trailer with a gun ended up shooting herself and another person.

The 43-year-old woman pulled out her .44-caliber Magnum revolver after she saw the mice scurrying across the floor of her trailer on Highway 20 in Potter Valley, sheriff's officials said.

But she accidentally dropped the gun, which went off as it struck the floor. The bullet went through the woman's kneecap, bounced off the keys sitting on the belt loop of a 42-year-old man in the trailer and grazed the man's groin before ending up in his coin pocket.

Authorities did not release the shooting victims' names.

The mice escaped the shooting unharmed.

Father's Day

He's spending this weekend moving out of one house and into another, poor man.

Happy Father's Day to my wonderful dad.

I Think It's Stress

Personal Development, Canine-Style

(via Nan - and it led me to a great site and some good music.)

This was perfect to read right now. I'm tired and sick and all I want to do is loll around in the grass barefoot next to somebody who's going to lick my hand and maybe run with me later.

Nothing's really wrong - there's lots of wonderful stuff going on, and the only truly bad things in my life are worries about a few of my friends and the very real problems they're dealing with.

Me, I don't have anything that a nap in the sunshine couldn't handle.

T, I think I'm borrowing Murphy and Judah next weekend.

Home Sweet Home

Growing up, our neighborhood was mostly wooded acre lots, so most neighbors weren't usually very close - geographically or emotionally.

Especially after college, but really starting in high school, I was a bit of a nomad for a while. I always had a mailing address, but I was just as often somewhere else. Apart from Wroxton, I didn't usually call anyplace home.

But now, my mortgage application is with the underwriters. The appraiser just left. I've got four painters' estimates coming. It's not official yet, and all my fingers are still crossed (well, not really, I'm typing, but you understand the metaphor) - but the point is, it's getting there.

I'm about to not just have a home, I'm about to buy a home. My home.

This is, to put it briefly, a big deal. And one that I'm sure will knock me sideways and cause repeated spells of hysterical freaking out. Because that's how I do. I know it's full of responsibilities and expenses and probably a handful of lonesomeness.

But I love that it feels like a treehouse. I love leaving the windows open all day. I love eating breakfast on the deck and watching the sun rise over the hills. I love that every now and then my neighbors and I spend a day going in and out of each other's houses barefoot with drinks in our hands and small children running around. I love how many of the stars I can see at night.

This isn't a gloat yet. It won't be real for a while. But it's very much a looking forward to. It scares me to death. But I do the things that scare me. So yeah. I'm happy.

What Matters to You Right Now?

Answer that, please. What's really getting to you?

Now. Please go read this story about Matt Logelin. (You can't see his blog right now - the traffic from the story probably crashed it - but you can see his photostream.)

I defy you not to have it break your heart.

It just makes your world stop. And when it creaks back into motion, all you want to do is find someone you care about and hold them as tight as you can while you tell them exactly how much you love that they are there, that minute, and how much they matter, and how little anything else does.

Maybe, if the smallest bit of good could come from something so breathtakingly unfair, maybe that's it. It's hard to even think that though.

If you pray, or think, or whatever you do - let's do some for him.

First Memories

So I've got a new theory: that your first memory is a total Rorschach test for you as a person.

It's worked 100% so far. Everyone I've asked has remembered something that's exactly what you'd pin on them.

The gay remembered rearranging the furniture in his room.
The biker chick remembered hurting herself and getting fixed up.
The thinker remembered realizing she could hear her own thoughts.
The entrepreneur remembered doing what her family thought she couldn't.
The mama remembered standing up to a bully.
The musician remembered his mother surprising him with a new song.

Mine is sitting on my father's shoulders in a dim, green hospital hallway looking down into the nursery window at my new baby brother.

Make of that what you will, but first tell me yours.

(Confidential: this is where you click X Comments and type something!)

Guest Post: Unfortunate News

From my cousin Pat (Yes, that cousin Pat.)

Subject:
Talk about a bad day

Body:
You only need to read the headline:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,339270,00.html

Thirty

So. Thirty. Wow. (Not to be eloquent, or anything.)

I didn't expect to feel ready for this great big milestone birthday, but I actually think I am. My twenties have been... well, a lot of things. Good and bad and big and little and - just a lot. And now, I guess I feel like I'm better at being me, sort of. I'm more like who I really am most of the time than I ever used to... but at the same time I think I'm awfully different than I used to be....

Ugh. I'm doing an awful job of explaining. Okay. There are two weird ways to sum it up.

First. I sing now.

Not on stage or anything, God no. Not even hardly ever in front of anybody. But before the last year or so, I always sang so quietly that I couldn't even hear it myself. I hadn't really sung out loud since I was about six.

And this is completely eye-rollingly maudlin, but true - it's a lot because I've found people who sort of turn me up. Who sing (and don't care if they're off-key). Who play my game. Who let me hear their songs. Who tell me I'm not making enough noise.

So I doubt I'm any better than I ever was, which was never very good. But I'm finally loud enough to hear myself. I can hear what I'm singing. I can also hear what I want and what I don't want. I'm loud enough to hear myself. And that is very good.

And the second... I use the word "home" now.

For most of my 20s, you wouldn't hear me calling anyplace "home." It was, internally, a very big deal to me. Because no place felt like home anymore. I was a nomad, a vagrant. "Home" was a word fraught with a lot of meaning, for me. It made me wistful. But now, I have people and places that feel like home. Moreover, I just feel at home in me, more. So it's nice to casually be able to talk about "home." That, also, is very good.

So who knows if 30's the new 20. But either way, I'm okay with it. In my 20s I had nine mailing addresses in four years. Worked seven jobs. Got three promotions. Put myself through grad school. Totalled two cars. Hooked up, dated, got engaged. Got un-engaged, dated, hooked up. Traveled 14 countries. Watched little people grow up into amazing adults. Had people I loved die. Lost friends, made friends, reconnected with friends.

Some of that I'm phenomenally proud and happy about, and some of it I'm not. But it's all made for a decade that I am so grateful for.

So. Thirty. Wow indeed.

Hindsight

I thought and rethought that last post. But I let it stay. After all, it's true.

I felt like I was being oddly cryptic, though, to put it out there and not explain myself.

Basically, my mother's an alcoholic, I guess since about when that picture was taken. And I've spoken to her once in the last eight years.

I'd be prouder of myself if I could handle a relationship with her, but I haven't been able to figure out how to do it and keep myself okay at the same time.

It's not a dramatic story. She tried to be a good parent. She didn't want to hurt anybody. She's just profoundly unhappy. I wish it wasn't like that, but it is.

So, that's it.

With that said, just to clarify... I am happy. Most days, I'm happy to the point where I feel like I'm tempting fate.

I do think it's a choice. Very much so. But when you're as embarrassingly lucky as I am in so many ways... it isn't a hard one.

Possessions

A box on my doorstep.

Bubble wrap and a pink plastic bag.

A packet of old letters and photos in an old stationery box.

A card, as always with no printed message, just a short handwritten

"March 3, 2008. Dear Sarah, Happy 30th birthday. Love, Mom"

Maybe most people don't immediately think about how giving away possessions is a warning sign of suicide when they open their birthday presents.

I wish I didn't.

Daughter of the Year Winner: Not Me

I'm in a mood today, and in a pretty unbelievably selfish way.

My father had surgery last week, and so I'm home keeping an eye on him. His fiancee and my aunt have been switching off, and since I was away, now it's my turn. He's in a lot more pain than he'd been told to expect, although he's trying to be no trouble. But it's embarrassingly surprising to discover how uncomfortable I am about it.

It's disconcerting to have your parent out of commission and have to, by default, be in charge of them. And since my mother was like that pretty often while I was growing up, I know that's why I react so strongly to it.

But last night I had a completely visceral reaction. "Get out." Sudden, strong. Out of nowhere, my adrenaline went and my reflex was to just get the fuck out, to go someplace safe where I don't have to be in charge of the people who are supposed to be in charge.

Of course that's not what I did. Of course I didn't let it show. Of course it's a totally different situation. Of course I know all that.

But I was just leaning over fidgeting the curtains, and all of a sudden I was 16 and my brain was telling me to go, go now, to do the only thing I knew to handle trouble at home.

It almost took my breath away. I had no idea it was still there at all, let alone to show up in a rush like that. It left me reeling, and I guess I'm not over it yet.

So today, my poor dad is having another difficult day. And I guess I'm still off kilter. So I'm going to keep faking being a good daughter till I actually pull it off.

Edited as I remember another layer of frustration. Because, you see, as lovely as my father is, I am his kid and therefore never really know what I'm talking about. Even when I'm trying to be in charge. Maybe specially then.

So. I suggested calling the surgeon. He blew it off. I got the surgeon on the phone. And it turns out he's NOT the devil incarnate. He's callous. Brusque. He's... a surgeon.)

And oh, wow. Taking NINE Vicodin a day IS bad. It's NOT the way it's supposed to be.

How about that. Just like the dumb kid said. The one who's worked at drugstores and drug companies for a decade.

Grumble grumble bitch bitch, says the dumb kid... and still doesn't let it show....

That's the Way We Roll

There may be cuter Valentine's Day moments, but I doubt it.
Happy V-Day from my cousins and the Jonas Brothers.

Rainy Day at My Cousin's First Job

Pat: note to self

Sarah: ?

Pat: trying to dry socks in the microwave
not the smartest idea

Sarah: HA
pat, I fucking love you.

Pat: i am now sockless

Sarah: um... did they catch fire?

Pat: and i had the even more brilliant idea, of putting them on paper towels.
so that they didnt get any crusty cheese and sauce on them
but that added to the smoke
just intense smelly smoke
no fire
scorched paper towels

Sarah: I'm laughing hysterically, all my coworkers must think I'm crazy

Pat: haha and the icing on the cake is
they were from 2 different pairs
i couldnt find their corresponding partners
so now i ruined 2 pairs of socks

Sarah: I am crying
you have given me four socks worth of laughter this morning
(if it's any consolation)

Pat: hahah
good
if my suffering can bring laughter

Sarah: oh it can

Pat: then thats all i need

Sarah: who needs warm feet when you have that kind of joy in your heart

Pat: haha

Sarah: why are you at home microwaving your socks, anyway? no work?

Pat: lol
im at work
it was the work microwave
i woulda just hung them up to dry if i was at home

Sarah: oh now hang on
just one fucking second
you nuked your mismatched socks
in the WORK MICROWAVE?

Pat: yes
thats why i needed the paper towels to protect from the crusty cheese

Sarah: jesus christ patrick
people EAT FOOD from that thing

Pat: and the hall stinks
i sit right by the microwave
haha yes
the little spinning tray thingie was not in there though
so i know
it didnt contact anything food would contact

Sarah: okay pat
just as a general business tip
keep your socks as far as possible from people's food

Pat: haha meeting time
hey it was early
no one was in
except for the guy adding coffee to the coffee machine

Sarah: enjoy your meeting... barefoot

Pat: haha im in shoes
its just a little
clammy you could say

Sarah: I'd imagine.

It's Gonna Be a Happy New Year

New Year's posts usually are one of two things... lists of the Top Somethings, or wishing people a happy new year. Both overdone. The first I don't have the expertise for, and the second is well-deserved, but finished. So what do you get?

You get me telling you that I know how lucky I am, how many wonderful things I have in my life, and how hard I have to try to deserve them. I've had a truly amazing 2007, and a lot of those wonderful things aren't things; they're wonderful people. And it's eye-rollingly mushy, but it's true: I am just plain blessed to have shared it with them.

So here's what you get... a toast. Here's to doing the best to deserve more good things in 2008.

Weekly Roundup: Multiple Personality Edition

Idle Curiosity asks...

• How much does it hurt after you get kneed in the quad by someone almost a foot bigger than you? Sub-question: is it weird to find it comforting that your leg hurt his knee, too?
  
• How elderly are you when someone who was in kindergarten when you were in college now has a college boyfriend of her own?
• For serious, do there need to be American Girl history dolls devoted to the far-off era of the 1970s?
  

Voice of Experience answers...

• Even more than you'd have thought. Also, no it isn't.
  
• Very. But that's okay.
• No. But perhaps this is additional proof of the elderly-ness.
  

Music Snob notes that...

• There may be a great big junior-high-style crush on Lupe Fiasco going on right now.
  
• The JXL remix of Elvis Presley's "A Little Less Conversation" remains pretty fantastic.
• Fort Minor is fun (but as a Linkin Park side project it's not shocking).
  

Serious Note points out...

• That if you donate $3 to DarfurFast, you can protect a Darfuri civilian for a year. It's a guard for a mother to collect cooking firewood without being raped or killed by militia. On December 5, give up one of your little luxuries and send the money here.

Amateur Psychologist decides...

• Sarah will now get back to decking her halls, and will try not to be too topsy-turvy and happy-sad because it's been a long weekend full of quite a lot of stuff.

Ensign

(proud? braggy? maybe a little. mostly just awed.)

But Then...

Matt called, on liberty, on an out-of-the ordinary Saturday. And eventually what I understood - between him downplaying things by nature, and me not understanding the acronym-filled Navy jargon, it takes a while - was that not only has his class secured (passed enough tests so that they get some basic freedoms) and he passed his navigation test (yet another really hard exam they don't get nearly enough time to study for), but - BUT - his class rocked their drill competition so hard that nobody has any memory of any class ever scoring higher. EVER.

And if all that means even less to you than it did at first to me, it helps to think about how it makes sense that the way to make a drill instructor happy is to drill well. (And drill instructors are not known for being happy.)

The Christmas Card Photo

Derek Natalie and Irie
Originally uploaded by Saranne03

For serious, how photogenic is my family?

Mainely Pictures of the Ocean

I finally posted pictures from Erin and Mike's wedding. Go look at the pretty!

Cliff House balcony panoramic