This past year, Cody and I were able to carve out a decent living for ourselves financially. Of course, this was primarily due to the fact that I live with Mom and Dad and have very few bills, but be that as it may, Cody and I have been able to take a vacation, eat at restaurants, and still put a small amount of money into savings. We are incredibly fortunate and realize how truly blessed we are to both have jobs that can sustain us.
So why do I feel the need to talk about money?
Cody and I are nearing the close of our time as LATers. We can see the cohabitational light at the end of the tunnel and are ecstatic about it--except that we are also scared to death because we still have no idea what that means. With no word back from the school to which Cody applied as a PhD candidate, there are still two cities on the table as potential nesting sites, and they are on opposite ends of the state. This also means a lack of security with regard to employment for me. In both cases, Cody knows what he will be doing; he will either stay at his current job as a psych tech and finish his Master's or be a PhD student with some form of research or teaching assistant position. My employment, however, is a little more iffy than that.
Will I end up staying at my small, rural high school for another year where I know what I will be making, what my hours will be, and that I will be provided with insurance and a retirement account? In this scenario, which is what Cody and I are hoping for, Cody gets into his program, we move to a city halfway between the university and my high school, and all is right with the world. In that year, I would begin applying for grad school as well so Cody and I could work on completing our educations together. This, of course, is the goal. Financially, it would make the most sense as well. I would retain my steady income, Cody would have some sort of stipend, and we would live in the city with the lower cost of living. A two bedroom, two bathroom apartment with a patio, walk-in closet, and washer/dryer hookups is in the cards for us, complete with my favorite ammenity--a garden tub! (Every girl's dream bathtub allows her knees and boobs to be in the water at the same time.)
In the other scenario, I move to the city in which Cody has been living for almost two years while he finishes up the licensure portion of his Master's. This is the more frightening of the two options for a few reasons. First, I will have to resign from my position as an English teacher in a market that is not exactly ideal. The area to which I will be moving is busy writing RIF notices for teachers, meaning there will be more jobless teachers on the market than there will be jobs to accommodate them. With this being the case, I will probably have to find a job outside of my field; I've already checked through the newspaper's classifieds, Monster, and CareerBuilder, and the majority of the listed positions want specific degrees and experience that I simply do not have. This city is also one of the most expensive in Indiana due to its affluence and proximity to Chicago, meaning what money we make will not stretch as far as it would in the other potential city of residence. In this scenario, when we find a bigger apartment to accommodate a wife and her things (read: more money), our purse strings will not only tighten--they will tie themselves into a knot that would make a boy scout gasp in horror.
I worry about finances because I have always been budget conscious--a trait inherited from a fabulously frugal mother. When I was a child, I went so far as to count pennies in my possession as well as record the serial numbers of the paper money I received. The main reason behind this was to see how many bills were transferring in and out of my possession. The perk was a small hope that one day, out of billions upon billions of bills, that one of them would find its way back to me. This need to count pennies has not been lost on me. I absolutely hate when I have to transfer money from savings to my checking account. I know the total of all of my bills in a month, what I have as a savings goal per pay period, and how much money I can spend before I get a guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Right now, the pit of my stomach is in knots over the thought of having to scrape out our savings to survive if we end up in Valpo and I can't find a job to supplement Cody's income. I envision tiny, cracking, leaky apartments, ramen noodles, and most of our stuff stuck at my parents' house because we simply have no place for it. I have idealized what life will be like when I get to live with Cody as his wife as opposed to our time living together as fiancés, and now I worry that life's circumstances will shatter that dream into a thousand job applications and empty savings accounts.
Of course, that will be slightly remedied by getting to snuggle with Cody and the pets on a daily basis.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Six Years of Valentines
Just over a week ago, Cody and I celebrated our seventh Valentine's Day together. Well, we celebrated the idea of the holiday together--of course, physically we were over a hundred miles apart on the 14th. This made me think about how Cody and I have celebrated this couple's holiday both during the two years that we cohabitated and throughout the rest of our relationship. And if you are thinking, "I just finished my last chocolate and put away all of the Cupid decorations; why do I want to read about this now?" please know I intended to post this much closer to Valentine's Day. Sadly (and with a little embarrassment), I had to ask Cody what we did for two of those seven V-Days...
The two years in which Cody and I lived together were paradise when it came to holidays. In December we had a tiny Christmas tree atop our dining room table. Around Thanksgiving, I made a darling centerpiece out of a Longaberger basket, ivory scarf, and gourds. And in February, Cody and I would not only have a date night the weekend before or after Valentine's Day, but also a romantic night in on the fourteenth. For both of these years we were in college, so the holiday was a reminder to make time for ourselves and relax. The first year as cohabitators, we spent our Valentine's Day in bed with a bottle of champagne and had a mini-series marathon. The DVDs of choice? Rome--probably the least romantic show in the world. I had never seen it and we never had time to sit down and watch it together, so this was a perfect date for us. We just stayed up until four in the morning talking, laughing, and watching the antics of Romans while finishing off a cheap bottle of champagne. The next year was a little more adult. We had moved to our downtown apartment, so we bundled up and walked three blocks to Adelino's--our favorite tapas restaurant--and splurged on a bottle of wine and delicious Mediterranean food. Afterward, we got coffee at the small coffee house down the street and wandered downtown hand in hand. I loved the romance of people-watching and seeing couples as happy as we were.
For the other five V-Days, Cody and I have had everything from traditional to quirky dates. Our senior year in high school, Cody met me outside my last hour class with a dozen red roses and a diamond necklace. Our first year of college, we were snowed out of class at Purdue, so we kept warm in my dorm with hot chocolate and a Grey's Anatomy season one marathon. The next year we were so busy that we ate burritos together at Cody's apartment. Last year, Cody forgot to make reservations, so we scoured Valparaiso for a restaurant that had an open table and found Parea--another (but not as tasty) tapas place. And the weekend before last, Cody and I recreated that perfect Valentine's date. We went to Adelino's and held hands across a candlelit table, enjoyed a carafe of sangria, and sampled tapas that we had yet to try. (Our rule is not to order the same thing again until we have tried everything on the menu except the rabbit. I couldn't look Thorin in the eye again if we did that.) Afterward, we walked to Java Roaster and settled into a well-worn couch and enjoyed one another's company. Our conversation centered on how lovely it would be if we still had our downtown apartment and could just walk home instead of back to a cold car for a half-hour drive back to my parents' house, and we joked about walking up to apartment 408 and telling the new tenant that we'd be staying the night.
So after seven Valentine's Days, what do I think LATers should do to make the holiday special? In a word, nothing. Every moment spent together should be as wonderful as a V-Day date. When I think of the weekends I have shared with Cody over the past year and a half that we have lived apart, we have had so many fun, exciting, and romantic dates that easily top our Valentine's Days. We have picnicked on the lake shore, gone hiking, dressed up and tried fancy restaurants, shopped for new decorative items for the apartment, and eaten breakfast on a park bench while watching a toddler get his birthday pictures taken. Each weekend I spend in Valparaiso results in a new experience or a new memory that I cherish, even if Cody works the whole weekend or we end up stuck in the apartment. As our time as LATers draws to a close, I hope that we can remember to continue in this mindset once we are just like those lucky spouses who live under the same roof.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Transience
A little more than two years ago, Cody and I lived together in downtown Lafayette. Our one bedroom apartment overlooked beautiful buildings from the fourth floor of a historic complex in which President Grant had stayed when it was used as a hotel. Despite its slanting floor, persistent issues with temperature regulation, and occasional lapses in hot water, that apartment was home because Cody and I were together.
During the spring of 2010, Cody and I had taken classes at St. John's Episcopal Church to better understand the denomination and ready ourselves for confirmation into the church. As the time drew near for the ceremony, our priest handed us paperwork asking for personal information. One question stood out to me as unanswerable: "permanent address".
At this point in my life, my parents were in the process of selling my childhood home--the home in which we had lived for the past nineteen years. I was within months of graduating college and had no idea where I would be able to find a teaching position or a full-time job outside of my field that provided health benefits. Cody had not yet received his acceptance into his Master's program. A "permanent address" seemed like an impossible dream, and I realized for the first time how transient life could be. Cody and I took our papers back to the apartment, and I cried over those two words.
The next day I filled in the pesky, strife-creating blank with my home address--the address I had used from the time I was able to understand the concept of a house having a numerical designation. I found myself wishing away the next couple of months so I would know where on earth I was going to move, where my parents would end up living, and if I would be able to continue cohabitating with my fiancée.
Of course, readers, you know part of the conclusion to that chapter of my life. I began working at my small, rural school in west central Indiana while Cody began attending a small, private university in northwest Indiana. I live with my parents, still in my childhood home due to a snafu with my dad's old company. As I type this, I am looking around at the bedroom in which I have slept since I was four years old; the walls are a different color, the décor has changed, and my bed is on the side of the room that housed my sister's crib once upon a time, but I can see all of its (and my) transformations as clear as day.
Two years after having that initial existential crisis, I find myself thrown back into the lesson that there is no such thing as permanence. Life is fleeting, so why should living arrangements follow a different rule? There is a "for sale" sign in front of the house again, along with a lock box on the side door to the garage that pinches my fingers every time I close it--a nasty reminder that my house will no longer be my own. Cody is eagerly and anxiously awaiting news about being accepted into a Ph.D. program for neuroscience. Everyone seems to be spinning around me at warp speed while I must be reactive. If the house sells and closes before the school year ends, I have to get an apartment. If Cody does not get into the Ph.D. program, I must move to northwest Indiana to avoid a third year apart from my husband--something neither of our mental faculties could survive. The job market for teaching is still difficult; if I have to leave my job, do I leave teaching altogether? Do I embark on a new career? Do I take a job beneath my education level and free up some time for me to write?
Regardless of the outcome of the next few months, I know that my second bout with transience is less frightening than the first. With certainty, I can say that I will be living with my husband after this school year, which makes me ecstatic. I can say that I will either be living in northwest Indiana or southwest Indiana. I can say that I will have health insurance, either on my current policy or added onto Cody's. I will work at my current place of employment or be in the process of interviewing within a smaller area of Indiana. If I keep all of the things I know conclusively in the forefront of my thoughts, the unknowns seem far more bearable--and this time, I'm adult enough to handle the changes with just a teensy flicker of excitement.
(Now I just need to become a famous author so I can buy this house back and turn it into my childhood museum.) ;)
During the spring of 2010, Cody and I had taken classes at St. John's Episcopal Church to better understand the denomination and ready ourselves for confirmation into the church. As the time drew near for the ceremony, our priest handed us paperwork asking for personal information. One question stood out to me as unanswerable: "permanent address".
At this point in my life, my parents were in the process of selling my childhood home--the home in which we had lived for the past nineteen years. I was within months of graduating college and had no idea where I would be able to find a teaching position or a full-time job outside of my field that provided health benefits. Cody had not yet received his acceptance into his Master's program. A "permanent address" seemed like an impossible dream, and I realized for the first time how transient life could be. Cody and I took our papers back to the apartment, and I cried over those two words.
The next day I filled in the pesky, strife-creating blank with my home address--the address I had used from the time I was able to understand the concept of a house having a numerical designation. I found myself wishing away the next couple of months so I would know where on earth I was going to move, where my parents would end up living, and if I would be able to continue cohabitating with my fiancée.
Of course, readers, you know part of the conclusion to that chapter of my life. I began working at my small, rural school in west central Indiana while Cody began attending a small, private university in northwest Indiana. I live with my parents, still in my childhood home due to a snafu with my dad's old company. As I type this, I am looking around at the bedroom in which I have slept since I was four years old; the walls are a different color, the décor has changed, and my bed is on the side of the room that housed my sister's crib once upon a time, but I can see all of its (and my) transformations as clear as day.
Two years after having that initial existential crisis, I find myself thrown back into the lesson that there is no such thing as permanence. Life is fleeting, so why should living arrangements follow a different rule? There is a "for sale" sign in front of the house again, along with a lock box on the side door to the garage that pinches my fingers every time I close it--a nasty reminder that my house will no longer be my own. Cody is eagerly and anxiously awaiting news about being accepted into a Ph.D. program for neuroscience. Everyone seems to be spinning around me at warp speed while I must be reactive. If the house sells and closes before the school year ends, I have to get an apartment. If Cody does not get into the Ph.D. program, I must move to northwest Indiana to avoid a third year apart from my husband--something neither of our mental faculties could survive. The job market for teaching is still difficult; if I have to leave my job, do I leave teaching altogether? Do I embark on a new career? Do I take a job beneath my education level and free up some time for me to write?
Regardless of the outcome of the next few months, I know that my second bout with transience is less frightening than the first. With certainty, I can say that I will be living with my husband after this school year, which makes me ecstatic. I can say that I will either be living in northwest Indiana or southwest Indiana. I can say that I will have health insurance, either on my current policy or added onto Cody's. I will work at my current place of employment or be in the process of interviewing within a smaller area of Indiana. If I keep all of the things I know conclusively in the forefront of my thoughts, the unknowns seem far more bearable--and this time, I'm adult enough to handle the changes with just a teensy flicker of excitement.
(Now I just need to become a famous author so I can buy this house back and turn it into my childhood museum.) ;)
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Reflections on Three Trips to Ground Zero
On September 11, 2001, I was taking my eighth grade standardized test--the ISTEP exam. I remember standing third in line for the water fountain outside our classroom when a boy ran up to us and blurted, "A plane crashed into the World Trade Center in New York!"
I rolled my eyes. I assumed that the boy--a trouble-maker--was making up a terrible lie to delay our test. As I walked into the classroom, however, I noticed that the television had been turned on. We were told that in light of this national emergency, the school was halting the test. We would spend the day watching the news coverage. I swear I did not blink. Smoke was billowing from both towers. I watched each of them collapse, and part of my innocence and sense of security fell with them. My incompletely developed, adolescent brain could only stare in horror and think, "This looks like a scene from a movie. This can't be real." I could only process the buildings falling. The men and women seen jumping were beyond my comprehension.
During my high school band's trip to New York in March of 2003, I saw Ground Zero for the first time. A cross of fused I-beams from the towers stood above a pit of dirt, dump trucks, and intricate ramps. Its perfect proportions draped with a shroud-like sheet of steel was awe-inspiring. I had to believe that God was in this place, that it had not been abandoned as it would be so easy to believe. Looking into the pit, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness; there were people whose remains had yet to be uncovered, identified, and returned to their families lying broken and unrecognizable in the debris. Amid the towering Manhattan skyline, this depression sent such a deluge of emotion coursing through my body that I could not fathom how those directly affected could bear to look into its lack of substance.
The image of Ground Zero was haunting, and it mingled with the footage of 9/11 that will forever be burned into my brain. When I took the opportunity to return to Manhattan six years later, I was curious as to how much the site had changed. I knew that post-9/11 sentiment, both good and bad, was still very much alive--patriotism, yes, but also Islamaphobia. I wondered if Ground Zero had undergone as little change as had happened in the minds of Americans. After journeying from my lodgings on 189th St. all the way down to the site, my friend and I were disappointed to find barricades covering Ground Zero from view. Cranes loomed overhead, but even when we looked from the highest point on the St. Paul's Chapel grounds nearby, we could not see what was happening inside the fence. I thought that perhaps, while the construction of the memorial was taking place, the site should remain covered, allowing the memorial to rise from my last memory of Ground Zero like a phoenix.
A little less than a month ago, my husband took me to New York as my Christmas present. He had never been, and I was ecstatic to be able to share the city with him, accompanied by a college friend with whom we would stay. As we traveled to the South Street Seaport on our first day, I had few thoughts of the World Trade Center memorial. To be honest, I forgot how close the two were. As my husband, friend, and I exited the subway station on Fulton Street, I turned to my right. Standing out in the skyline, incomplete but already possessing a sort of reverence, One World Tower rose from the ashes.
I rolled my eyes. I assumed that the boy--a trouble-maker--was making up a terrible lie to delay our test. As I walked into the classroom, however, I noticed that the television had been turned on. We were told that in light of this national emergency, the school was halting the test. We would spend the day watching the news coverage. I swear I did not blink. Smoke was billowing from both towers. I watched each of them collapse, and part of my innocence and sense of security fell with them. My incompletely developed, adolescent brain could only stare in horror and think, "This looks like a scene from a movie. This can't be real." I could only process the buildings falling. The men and women seen jumping were beyond my comprehension.
During my high school band's trip to New York in March of 2003, I saw Ground Zero for the first time. A cross of fused I-beams from the towers stood above a pit of dirt, dump trucks, and intricate ramps. Its perfect proportions draped with a shroud-like sheet of steel was awe-inspiring. I had to believe that God was in this place, that it had not been abandoned as it would be so easy to believe. Looking into the pit, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness; there were people whose remains had yet to be uncovered, identified, and returned to their families lying broken and unrecognizable in the debris. Amid the towering Manhattan skyline, this depression sent such a deluge of emotion coursing through my body that I could not fathom how those directly affected could bear to look into its lack of substance.
The image of Ground Zero was haunting, and it mingled with the footage of 9/11 that will forever be burned into my brain. When I took the opportunity to return to Manhattan six years later, I was curious as to how much the site had changed. I knew that post-9/11 sentiment, both good and bad, was still very much alive--patriotism, yes, but also Islamaphobia. I wondered if Ground Zero had undergone as little change as had happened in the minds of Americans. After journeying from my lodgings on 189th St. all the way down to the site, my friend and I were disappointed to find barricades covering Ground Zero from view. Cranes loomed overhead, but even when we looked from the highest point on the St. Paul's Chapel grounds nearby, we could not see what was happening inside the fence. I thought that perhaps, while the construction of the memorial was taking place, the site should remain covered, allowing the memorial to rise from my last memory of Ground Zero like a phoenix.
A little less than a month ago, my husband took me to New York as my Christmas present. He had never been, and I was ecstatic to be able to share the city with him, accompanied by a college friend with whom we would stay. As we traveled to the South Street Seaport on our first day, I had few thoughts of the World Trade Center memorial. To be honest, I forgot how close the two were. As my husband, friend, and I exited the subway station on Fulton Street, I turned to my right. Standing out in the skyline, incomplete but already possessing a sort of reverence, One World Tower rose from the ashes.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
R&R in NYC
For those of you who did not read my last post, Cody and I recently went on our first actual vacation. Yes, we once went to Little Nashville for a weekend, and our honeymoon was just six short months ago, but this was the first instance of Cody and I making sure we had everything we needed in two carry-on bags, going to the airport, and flying somewhere fabulous. This is less of a post about the problems associated with living apart five days out of the week and more about the sweet respite of being with each other with no work, school, or social obligations.
First, I absolutely loved getting to go to Manhattan with Cody. New York City is my other love, and being able to share this beautiful location with Cody was magical. Seeing him get excited over seeing the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building as we were landing, watching the awe on his face over the architecture and sheer massiveness of the city, and being able to impress him with my never-present-in-Indiana navigation skills are things that I will always cherish.
Cody and I left Crawfordsville at 3:00am on December 28 after getting about two hours of sleep. My sister, Kelsey, was kind enough to take us to the airport. I had not yet flown out of the new Indianapolis airport, and aside from the having, "An alarm has sounded. Please move to an adjacent area until the situation has been investigated," resounding over the loudspeakers for the first ten minutes we were waiting in line to print boarding passes, I was thoroughly impressed by the architecture, organization, and amenities. Cody and I then enjoyed a coffee and breakfast before entering the security checkpoint. During this time I encountered what is quite possibly the most white trash tattoo ever--mudflap ladies tattooed on a man's calves.
The flight was uneventful; I tried my best to sleep but was unsuccessful. Once we got close to Newark, Cody and I watched for his first glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. We both looked forward to getting a small nap before taking the train into the city--but that was not to be the case. We visited with our friend and his girlfriend until she had to be taken to the airport to fly back to Indiana. We then made ourselves look less like sleep-deprived Hoosiers and were off into the city. I remember thinking during my two-week stay in New York in 2009 that Manhattan was the only city in the world that made me feel short, overweight, and underdressed. Remembering this, I spent my first day in New York in a beautiful black sweater dress, cable-knit tights, and black booties.
After arriving in Penn Station, Cody, our friend, and I took the 6-line to the South Street Seaport in order to see Bodies: the Exhibit. We nearly froze in line, but my neck was rescued by a kiosk selling five dollar scarves. (I am now in possession of a "fauxberry" scarf whose plaid pattern is pretty convincing. The "100% Cashmere" sticker is not.) Once we entered the exhibit, all three of us were amazed by the preservation process and how intricately everything was dissected. There was even a complete circulatory system! The preserving polymer had been injected into the vessels and the rest of the body was eroded with a mild detergent. This visit was especially poignant for me for a couple of reasons. For those readers who do not know, I have a cavernous angioma--a vascular malformation in my brain. Being able to see the cross sections of a brain that had hemorrhaged was an awesome and sobering experience. Being able to hold a human brain at the end of the exhibit was a dream come true.
We finished the day by walking near the National September 11 Memorial (see subsequent post coming soon!) and through Wall Street. The police presence was astonishing due to the OWS movement. We were treated by our friend to chocolate from La Maison du Chocolat and treated him to sushi that night back in Summit, New Jersey.
Our second day, we drove into the city in order to stay at the Sheraton New York Hotel, which was also housing the Iowa State football team for the Pinstripe Bowl. I expected a run-of-the-mill chain hotel, but it was beautiful and still decorated for Christmas. We walked through Central Park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ate lunch at a lovely Irish pub, and traveled downtown with a dear friend of mine who was kind enough to take the subway from 181st St. to the southern end of Manhattan to meander through the streets searching for good pubs. We finally stopped at Swift's, piquing our mutual literary interest. Upon returning to the hotel at around 3am, I had the brilliant idea to walk the five or so blocks to see the Rockefeller Center tree lit up at night and the boys were willing to accommodate my childhood desire. The tree, unfortunately, was blocked off for New Year's Eve preparations, according to one of New York's finest.
The next morning, Cody and I left our friend to sleep in the hotel since he had been awake for a solid twenty-four hours by the time we were all ready for bed. We walked to Times Square in order to see the preparations underway for the New Year's Eve party and to allow Cody to take in what is in my opinion the dirtiest, most crowded, seizure-inducing area in Manhattan. After walking through Times Square, Cody and I found Rockefeller Center and its beautiful tree, with which I have a love-hate relationship. Its size and beauty are breathtaking, but I hate that the city has a 90-something year old tree cut every year for the sole purpose of decoration.
As we walked away, I thought of all of the things that I still wanted to show Cody and still wanted to experience myself. At this point in our last day in the city, I had come to the sad acceptance that I would not get to see the Diego Rivera murals in the MOMA (a mere two blocks away from our hotel) or indulge in the deliciousness of a red velvet cupcake from Magnolia Bakery. Manhattan, however, never lets me down. I had forgotten that Magnolia Bakery has a location near Rockefeller Center. I walked past the store window, happened to turn, and very nearly shrieked with excitement. I pulled Cody into the bakery to order three red velvet cupcakes. He devoured his, of course, but I savored every bite as we sat at the edge of a fountain decorated with huge, red and silver Christmas ball ornaments. We also stopped at a cart for a hot dog. Then my wonderful husband asked me if I would like him to go back to the hotel, pack our things, and check out of the hotel so I could see the Rivera murals. I have never felt unsafe in New York (unlike in Los Angeles...), so I nearly skipped to the museum, waited a meager twenty minutes in line, and allowed the depth and honesty of Rivera's murals to envelop me.
Upon our return to New Jersey, we ate lunch at an amazing Indian restaurant. This was only my second time to eat Indian food, and it was much less intimidating with our very knowledgeable Indian friend telling me exactly what to try. I fell in love with sojji, a semolina-based dessert with cashews and golden raisins. After we got back to our friend's house, our worn-out, sleep-deprived selves lounged and watched Captain America with some delicious pizza for dinner. We were too tired to go to a restaurant.
We fell asleep about nine and woke up at four to go to the airport. We talked over parfaits, muffins, and coffee in the terminal about possibly moving near the city after we both have doctorates and our mixed feelings about leaving--happy to be home in our comfy queen bed instead of mattresses on the floor, but sad to leave the city. Cody might just be having a love affair with New York as well.
First, I absolutely loved getting to go to Manhattan with Cody. New York City is my other love, and being able to share this beautiful location with Cody was magical. Seeing him get excited over seeing the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building as we were landing, watching the awe on his face over the architecture and sheer massiveness of the city, and being able to impress him with my never-present-in-Indiana navigation skills are things that I will always cherish.
Cody and I left Crawfordsville at 3:00am on December 28 after getting about two hours of sleep. My sister, Kelsey, was kind enough to take us to the airport. I had not yet flown out of the new Indianapolis airport, and aside from the having, "An alarm has sounded. Please move to an adjacent area until the situation has been investigated," resounding over the loudspeakers for the first ten minutes we were waiting in line to print boarding passes, I was thoroughly impressed by the architecture, organization, and amenities. Cody and I then enjoyed a coffee and breakfast before entering the security checkpoint. During this time I encountered what is quite possibly the most white trash tattoo ever--mudflap ladies tattooed on a man's calves.
The flight was uneventful; I tried my best to sleep but was unsuccessful. Once we got close to Newark, Cody and I watched for his first glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. We both looked forward to getting a small nap before taking the train into the city--but that was not to be the case. We visited with our friend and his girlfriend until she had to be taken to the airport to fly back to Indiana. We then made ourselves look less like sleep-deprived Hoosiers and were off into the city. I remember thinking during my two-week stay in New York in 2009 that Manhattan was the only city in the world that made me feel short, overweight, and underdressed. Remembering this, I spent my first day in New York in a beautiful black sweater dress, cable-knit tights, and black booties.
After arriving in Penn Station, Cody, our friend, and I took the 6-line to the South Street Seaport in order to see Bodies: the Exhibit. We nearly froze in line, but my neck was rescued by a kiosk selling five dollar scarves. (I am now in possession of a "fauxberry" scarf whose plaid pattern is pretty convincing. The "100% Cashmere" sticker is not.) Once we entered the exhibit, all three of us were amazed by the preservation process and how intricately everything was dissected. There was even a complete circulatory system! The preserving polymer had been injected into the vessels and the rest of the body was eroded with a mild detergent. This visit was especially poignant for me for a couple of reasons. For those readers who do not know, I have a cavernous angioma--a vascular malformation in my brain. Being able to see the cross sections of a brain that had hemorrhaged was an awesome and sobering experience. Being able to hold a human brain at the end of the exhibit was a dream come true.
We finished the day by walking near the National September 11 Memorial (see subsequent post coming soon!) and through Wall Street. The police presence was astonishing due to the OWS movement. We were treated by our friend to chocolate from La Maison du Chocolat and treated him to sushi that night back in Summit, New Jersey.
Our second day, we drove into the city in order to stay at the Sheraton New York Hotel, which was also housing the Iowa State football team for the Pinstripe Bowl. I expected a run-of-the-mill chain hotel, but it was beautiful and still decorated for Christmas. We walked through Central Park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ate lunch at a lovely Irish pub, and traveled downtown with a dear friend of mine who was kind enough to take the subway from 181st St. to the southern end of Manhattan to meander through the streets searching for good pubs. We finally stopped at Swift's, piquing our mutual literary interest. Upon returning to the hotel at around 3am, I had the brilliant idea to walk the five or so blocks to see the Rockefeller Center tree lit up at night and the boys were willing to accommodate my childhood desire. The tree, unfortunately, was blocked off for New Year's Eve preparations, according to one of New York's finest.
The next morning, Cody and I left our friend to sleep in the hotel since he had been awake for a solid twenty-four hours by the time we were all ready for bed. We walked to Times Square in order to see the preparations underway for the New Year's Eve party and to allow Cody to take in what is in my opinion the dirtiest, most crowded, seizure-inducing area in Manhattan. After walking through Times Square, Cody and I found Rockefeller Center and its beautiful tree, with which I have a love-hate relationship. Its size and beauty are breathtaking, but I hate that the city has a 90-something year old tree cut every year for the sole purpose of decoration.
As we walked away, I thought of all of the things that I still wanted to show Cody and still wanted to experience myself. At this point in our last day in the city, I had come to the sad acceptance that I would not get to see the Diego Rivera murals in the MOMA (a mere two blocks away from our hotel) or indulge in the deliciousness of a red velvet cupcake from Magnolia Bakery. Manhattan, however, never lets me down. I had forgotten that Magnolia Bakery has a location near Rockefeller Center. I walked past the store window, happened to turn, and very nearly shrieked with excitement. I pulled Cody into the bakery to order three red velvet cupcakes. He devoured his, of course, but I savored every bite as we sat at the edge of a fountain decorated with huge, red and silver Christmas ball ornaments. We also stopped at a cart for a hot dog. Then my wonderful husband asked me if I would like him to go back to the hotel, pack our things, and check out of the hotel so I could see the Rivera murals. I have never felt unsafe in New York (unlike in Los Angeles...), so I nearly skipped to the museum, waited a meager twenty minutes in line, and allowed the depth and honesty of Rivera's murals to envelop me.
Upon our return to New Jersey, we ate lunch at an amazing Indian restaurant. This was only my second time to eat Indian food, and it was much less intimidating with our very knowledgeable Indian friend telling me exactly what to try. I fell in love with sojji, a semolina-based dessert with cashews and golden raisins. After we got back to our friend's house, our worn-out, sleep-deprived selves lounged and watched Captain America with some delicious pizza for dinner. We were too tired to go to a restaurant.
We fell asleep about nine and woke up at four to go to the airport. We talked over parfaits, muffins, and coffee in the terminal about possibly moving near the city after we both have doctorates and our mixed feelings about leaving--happy to be home in our comfy queen bed instead of mattresses on the floor, but sad to leave the city. Cody might just be having a love affair with New York as well.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Christmas without Cody
When Cody and I first moved in together shortly after becoming engaged, I envisioned decorating Christmas trees, baking goodies, wrapping gifts, and nestling into bed to dream of sugarplum fairies together. We would watch all of our favorite Christmas movies and attend Christmas parties together. We would go to the candlelight service at whatever Episcopal church happened to be in the same town as the two of us and attend each other's family Christmases together. The theme of all of this was togetherness. Now, on our first Christmas as a married couple--on the day marking six months of marriage and six years of dating--we are over a hundred miles away from one another.
I would have willingly gone to Valparaiso--after Christmas morning with my family, that is. Even at twenty-four, I'm not sure that I am ready to give up that time with my parents and sister just yet. There are too many traditions, and I would love for Cody to be a part of those. Unfortunately, there are certain priorities that at this point in our marriage have to take precedence over spending time together. The primary one is earning enough that we can pay our bills and keep adding to our nest egg. So at this moment, while I am listening to the animated version of The Grinch playing on the television behind me and relaxing after an intense game of euchre with my family, Cody is asleep with a kitten on the eight hour break he has between the double he pulled last night into this afternoon and the night shift he will start in three hours. He doesn't mind because he gets holiday pay, but he also really misses being with family right now. I miss him too, especially last night at a Christmas Eve party we attend every year. I know people were only asking why Cody was absent and why I was not with him if he couldn't be home out of genuine curiosity, but it was upsetting nonetheless.
In the two years that we lived together full time and the year and a half that we have been living together on weekends, we have only decorated a tree or gone to a candlelight service together once. Cody has never watched A Muppet Christmas Carol with me or stayed the night with me on Christmas Eve. We've only baked goodies together a couple of years. Our Christmases have remained strangely separate, but, God willing, that will change next year. Besides, I'll give up one holiday with my husband in order to spend three days in New York City with him. We leave in three days! Stay tuned!
I would have willingly gone to Valparaiso--after Christmas morning with my family, that is. Even at twenty-four, I'm not sure that I am ready to give up that time with my parents and sister just yet. There are too many traditions, and I would love for Cody to be a part of those. Unfortunately, there are certain priorities that at this point in our marriage have to take precedence over spending time together. The primary one is earning enough that we can pay our bills and keep adding to our nest egg. So at this moment, while I am listening to the animated version of The Grinch playing on the television behind me and relaxing after an intense game of euchre with my family, Cody is asleep with a kitten on the eight hour break he has between the double he pulled last night into this afternoon and the night shift he will start in three hours. He doesn't mind because he gets holiday pay, but he also really misses being with family right now. I miss him too, especially last night at a Christmas Eve party we attend every year. I know people were only asking why Cody was absent and why I was not with him if he couldn't be home out of genuine curiosity, but it was upsetting nonetheless.
In the two years that we lived together full time and the year and a half that we have been living together on weekends, we have only decorated a tree or gone to a candlelight service together once. Cody has never watched A Muppet Christmas Carol with me or stayed the night with me on Christmas Eve. We've only baked goodies together a couple of years. Our Christmases have remained strangely separate, but, God willing, that will change next year. Besides, I'll give up one holiday with my husband in order to spend three days in New York City with him. We leave in three days! Stay tuned!
Becoming "Parents"
First of all, I apologize for being horribly delinquent in my writing. Perhaps the one downfall of writing a blog about one's life is that one has to first go out and live it, leaving little time for the recording of events. At any rate, since it is Christmas, I am going to give my followers the gift of my blathering. And so, without further ado, how Cody and I have become "parents."
About a month ago, Cody approached me about getting another pet. This is not the first time that he has brought up the topic. Even though Thorin spends most of his time with his daddy, Cody still considers him to be my rabbit. Thorin prefers to be held by me. He gets much more excited at seeing me than Cody. Most of all, I chose him, bought him, and named him without Cody. When we brought Thorin into the family three years ago, Cody and I were only dating, and the rabbits were a McPheeters family decision--okay, Dad wasn't involved in this decision and was pretty much told to deal with the bunnies, but that is another blog post for another day. Because of this, Cody wants a pet that wasn't simply considered mine and later "adopted" by him. If given a chance, that "together pet" would be a dog. Cody has wanted a dog for a very long time now, but apartment regulations and a rabbit that freaked out the one time he saw a puppy have kept this wish from coming to fruition. Due to these issues and the fact that neither of us are home enough to give a dog all of the attention it requires, Cody has been researching pets that require less upkeep. We've discussed ferrets, chinchillas, birds of sundry species, and a plethora of reptiles. The one animal we didn't really talk about, however, was one of the feline persuasion.
Because I knew of Cody's desire to have another pet in the family, I didn't turn a deaf ear to my friend, Sara, when she began to tell me of all the new kittens cropping up around her. Two were found in Hillsboro when some high school boys decided it would be a hilarious idea to try to kill them. Then she found out that her neighbor's cat is pregnant. Finally, the organization for which Sara's sister works placing animals in new homes acquired a beautiful tabby cat and her kittens.
Cody and I just couldn't say no to the picture Sara sent us of a gorgeous, seven week old tabby kitten. My adorable husband spent hours researching how to raise a kitten and how to successfully introduce a kitten and rabbit to each other without having horrible problems. When we decided that we were in fact going to get the cat, Cody went out and spent nearly a hundred dollars on toys and equipment for her. The only real contribution I made was her name. She is just such a beautiful and distinctly marked tabby that the only name to give her was Minerva, after Professor McGonagall (the witch who can turn herself into a cat) in the Harry Potter series. She gets called Minnie quite a bit, though.
I feel that Minnie will be good for Cody and I. She is our first "free-range" pet, since Thorin only gets out of his cage when we are at the apartment. She was also excellent practice for having a newborn since the first night we had her she woke me up every two hours with her crying. Little creep slept through the night for Cody two nights ago, though... And even though Thorin is a mama's boy and prefers me, we have no need to worry about Minerva doing the same. She has already imprinted strongly on her daddy. I'm just an adequate substitute. Besides, Cody needs someone else to keep him company in the apartment. I only hope that my baby (Thorin) learns to love Minerva as much as we do now.
About a month ago, Cody approached me about getting another pet. This is not the first time that he has brought up the topic. Even though Thorin spends most of his time with his daddy, Cody still considers him to be my rabbit. Thorin prefers to be held by me. He gets much more excited at seeing me than Cody. Most of all, I chose him, bought him, and named him without Cody. When we brought Thorin into the family three years ago, Cody and I were only dating, and the rabbits were a McPheeters family decision--okay, Dad wasn't involved in this decision and was pretty much told to deal with the bunnies, but that is another blog post for another day. Because of this, Cody wants a pet that wasn't simply considered mine and later "adopted" by him. If given a chance, that "together pet" would be a dog. Cody has wanted a dog for a very long time now, but apartment regulations and a rabbit that freaked out the one time he saw a puppy have kept this wish from coming to fruition. Due to these issues and the fact that neither of us are home enough to give a dog all of the attention it requires, Cody has been researching pets that require less upkeep. We've discussed ferrets, chinchillas, birds of sundry species, and a plethora of reptiles. The one animal we didn't really talk about, however, was one of the feline persuasion.
Because I knew of Cody's desire to have another pet in the family, I didn't turn a deaf ear to my friend, Sara, when she began to tell me of all the new kittens cropping up around her. Two were found in Hillsboro when some high school boys decided it would be a hilarious idea to try to kill them. Then she found out that her neighbor's cat is pregnant. Finally, the organization for which Sara's sister works placing animals in new homes acquired a beautiful tabby cat and her kittens.
Cody and I just couldn't say no to the picture Sara sent us of a gorgeous, seven week old tabby kitten. My adorable husband spent hours researching how to raise a kitten and how to successfully introduce a kitten and rabbit to each other without having horrible problems. When we decided that we were in fact going to get the cat, Cody went out and spent nearly a hundred dollars on toys and equipment for her. The only real contribution I made was her name. She is just such a beautiful and distinctly marked tabby that the only name to give her was Minerva, after Professor McGonagall (the witch who can turn herself into a cat) in the Harry Potter series. She gets called Minnie quite a bit, though.
I feel that Minnie will be good for Cody and I. She is our first "free-range" pet, since Thorin only gets out of his cage when we are at the apartment. She was also excellent practice for having a newborn since the first night we had her she woke me up every two hours with her crying. Little creep slept through the night for Cody two nights ago, though... And even though Thorin is a mama's boy and prefers me, we have no need to worry about Minerva doing the same. She has already imprinted strongly on her daddy. I'm just an adequate substitute. Besides, Cody needs someone else to keep him company in the apartment. I only hope that my baby (Thorin) learns to love Minerva as much as we do now.
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