Death, Be Not Proud

I love when I stumble upon a movie that serves me a new slice of literature pie. I watched 84 Charing Cross Road the other night, where Anne Bancroft starts a correspondence with Anthony Hopkins, the owner of a bookshop in England.


What a good one.

At one point, Bancroft reads a sermon from John Donne on death (which of course made me cry.) So I looked him up and found a poem that also made me cry.

Per Bancroft, you have to read Donne’s literature out loud. So do it.


Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Contra Twirling Fix

R really does have an adventurous spirit and game to try most anything. Thank goodness too, otherwise being bossy wouldn’t be as much fun.

A co-worker had mentioned that she attends a contra dance once a month in Fayetteville and suggested I go. Well, it only took a few months to find the time to attend one, but last night R and I finally did.

My face positively hurts today from smiling so much. It was like my Jared Haase smile times a hundred. You remember the smile. It still haunts me.

I was pondering what to tell you to not do if attending a contra dance. Oh, how about wear an all white outfit with no second layering and then sweat like you’re in a sauna. Everytime someone put their hand on my back, I felt them pull away like it’d just been burned.

So while learning the actual dance routine, a conversational routine started to emerge…

  • [hand jerks away from my back]
  • “I’m so sorry. I never sweat like this. I don’t even have sweat glands.”
  • [he smiles apologetically for so obviously showing his repulsion, but then realizes that my sweat caused a one person wet t-shirt contest (which I STILL lost, damn genes) and returns hand to my lower back.]
  • “it’s okay, I know I’m disgusting. Please don’t shut me up in an dungeon somewhere a la Buffalo Bill”
  • [his eyes widen and then immediately twirls me over to the next victim whether it was time to or not]

And then it just repeats. Embarrasingly so.

I finally figured out how to stop that line of conversation.

And then the tale of the father-son duo.

They. were. awesome.

I first turned to dance with the son (in the photo below) who is half my age and literally half my size. I smiled sweetly at him, thinking that the more mammoth of the two of us would have to lead.

Um no.

He grabbed my hand, took hold of my back and twirled me like he was trying to start a fire on the floor. I have never. I repeat, never been spun so fast in my life. The first time I kind of just stared at the blurry faces going by and when he let go so I could dance to the middle of the circle with the rest of the girls, I literally stumbled over my left foot and skidded to the center.

No one made eye contact with me, which as everyone knows is much more embarrasing than if they had only laughed at me.

The next time I was more prepared and stared at his face the whole time. I noticed that he never quite looked back at me, but instead was watching the rest of the group and I finally realized it was so he knew when to spin me out to the next move. Professional. I was impressed.

Then the dad asked me to dance. Here we fricken go again. It doesn’t look like we were going fast in the above photo, but I was hanging on for dear life. It was so much fun.

Notice the Jared Hasse grin. And sweaty face.

I managed to catch R in action too. He really improved by the end of the night. I think I just might make a dancer out of him after all.

We both agreed that we are going to insist that our sons know how to lead on the dance floor. Shouldn’t that just be a basic skill learned by all men?

After three straight hours of dancing, we were exhausted. As we were putting the chairs away, the duo who were playing (a fiddle and a banjo — loved it), played a nice waltz. I was asked to dance and, really, what better way to end the evening than with a slow waltz.

This is definitely going to happen again… because I’m already coming down off my twirling high.

Turkey Farm Shanty

This weekend R and I are moving into our new digs. On a turkey farm.

It’s actually a really cute shanty. R thinks it looks like the quintessential country home to generations of meth users, whereas I think it could easily be used in a movie. You know, like in the last scenes of Silence of the Lambs.

Quite adorable, really.

But it is excruciatingly cheap. Making us one step closer to buying our own bit of starry sky.

And it has space. And quiet. And breezes. And trees.

Put those together and you have the most delicious sound that even an iPod can’t rival.

I’d rather be here.

Over Memorial Day Weekend, the trio went canoeing. We could go down these Arkansas rivers every day, it is so relaxing to us.

That is, until my fishing rod gets caught in a tree and the guys have to go back upstream to retrieve it.

Too much fun (at least for the person sitting in the boat taking photos.)

I’m Feeling Lighter Today


We had an interesting 4th anniversary. First Ryan sent flowers for the second time in all of our relationship. It made me feel shy, I don’t know why.

He knows me well, though, because I’ve been whispering into his ear at night that I’d rather he put money towards a plane ticket to Prague instead of on flowers. Besides, one day we’ll have enough rose bushes to have flowers all the time.

But I really enjoyed these. I’m reading a diary of a 15th century woman in Japan of her life as a concubine and then as a nun. Well, isn’t that the plight of every woman.

The Confessions of Lady Nijo. Only one copy of it remained until someone found in the 1800s and kept it way until the 1940s.

So R knew of my current obsession and bought accordingly. Loved it, R, thank you.

Later we went out to eat a neat restaurant in Fayetteville. They buy locally, organically, and have their own gardens in front of the restaurant. The inside was simple, making the food the main star. Mushroom fries – Hello! You made my day. We were in heaven.

And then hell.

I’d had a stomach ache since Tuesday and just kind of dealt with it. I don’t like taking medicine, even tylenol, so I think it has built up my tolerance to pain. And I really prefer not going to the doctor, because I have a fear of being given too many (unnecessary) medicines. I’m turning into a paranoid freak, I know. But you already knew that.

Long story short, my appendix is now bye-bye. It was in the beginning stages, so I was hoping there might be alternatives.

But I’m glad we went through with the surgery. My great grandpa died of a burst appendix and I thought of him a lot, leaving my grandma in a sad situation growing up.

Fine. Just take the darn thing out, then!

Plus, it meant that R would dote on me. That part has been my favorite.

By the way, how much does an appendix weigh? Maybe I’ll win the weigh-in this week with my roommates.

4 years, baby!

Ah, yeaahhh. 4 years. Can’t believe it.

I think I’ll make R watch So You Think You Can Dance tonight. That’s right. 4 years, baby.

I neglected to mention in last year’s post that about month before we were to be married, the roof of our chapel was blown off from a tornado.

Midwest, ugh.

I was sad, R sent me flowers at work (the first time ever — and can I say… so appreciated. No Hallmark law stating he should, just him knowing I was upset and sending an uplifting flower with a sweet note in my time of need. Loved it.),  and I started searching for a new venue. A church down the street offered to take the displaced couples and we had no choice.

But we still went to a service to see who we’d be working with.

They were pretty cool, for being children of the fricken corn.  As soon as the service was over, they turned with arms outstretched and moaning as if half-dead.

Looking back, who doesn’t want to get married in a Thriller video?

So we said yes, and that was that. Oh, if I had to do it over. We’d be in a field, me in a white cotton dress picking wildflowers down the aisle for my bouquet.

Oh well, maybe for our fifth. Right now, enjoy photos from my 3 yr anniversary right here.

While you do that, we will go out to eat with possibly a golf game included. Ta Ta!

Dancing Wedding

Dancing Weddiiiiing – Young and Sweet only seventeeeen. You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your li-i-ife.

Wow, this was a fun one. I’ve been to some where I stay for the meal and slip out the door; others where I sit at the table all night talking with friends without even so much as a glance to the dance floor; and still others where I play whiffle ball and serve guests bbq from a gas station.

Okay that last one  was my own wedding. Yikes.

But this one. This one will be the dancing wedding.

We all knew K & D loved to dance, for them to see this all night:

It must’ve just made their day.

It made mine too, because I’m re-entering the world of dancing without caring.

R thinks he’s been duped. You see, in college our circle of friends would go to a place with a dinky dance floor. And while everyone else was bumping to the music, R and I would stand flat against a wall getting to know each other all the while avoiding drinks getting sloshed into our face by someone’s bad dance move. It was fun. Kind of like dodgeball meets dating. So, he thought I didn’t like to dance, which meant that there was no pressure on his end. And there wasn’t. Truly!

Until recently. If there is a packed floor and good music on, then I’m psyching myself up to get out there if I’m in the mood.

And I don’t care if I dance a little Elaine Benes-esque with my one-handed train conductor move, because if you can’t hear… Journey’s playing and it’s time to move.

So when R went MIA after seeing a good dance crowd, I turned around to find my good ole standby. Mom.

Whaaaaat? What is she doing all. by. herSELF?

Something drastic needed to be done.

So I ran to the DJ and requested Backstreet Boys, stat. HURRY. This is an emergency, my mom is sitting all by herself because she’s not really into House of Pain.

He gave me a sidelong glance and hesitated in the B section. “Are you sure it will go over well with this crowd?” I didn’t care, we had to pump some dancing blood back into Momma Pat and this was the ticket.

As the song started, I ran away from him so no one would know who requested the song. No offense, mom. But could you believe that people gave a loud whoop and clapped?

I grabbed mom and drug her out with me.

She was only a little excited.

By the way, nice bra, Carolyn. Jeez. I’m the classy cousin at the wedding with my unmentionables hanging out in every photo. Sigh.

We slow danced… Still couldn’t seem to find R, so had to make-do with taking photos of my sister and her husband.

And then there were dance-offs:

My nephew, W, partook in one and apparently won?

But grandma was cheering a bit too hard for little W, because the dance-off moved onto her:

And she was booty-ed off the dance floor. No one is safe during a dance off, my friends.

But not to be outdone, my brother-in-law (aka “roommate”) had one out with a groomsmen.

I don’t think anyone can compete with suspenders. Sorry N.

Oh, K & D. What a great wedding! I don’t know who this girl is nor why I took the photo, but I think it had to do with the drawing. Does it seem familiar to this old blog post? Click here.


And Dance. Discuss and dance. That’s pretty much how life goes anyway.