Seks år i dag (Six Years Today)

Hello there.

We're actually in Seville right now.  Right now. As you are reading this! The internet told me that I should get Paul a present that was wood, iron, or candy.  So I got him Spain.  I'm sure you can follow that logic.

But I thought I'd schedule this little notice to go up on our sixth anniversary, even though we're away.

Because this is something that should be noted.  I have been officialmente married to Paul for six years, officialmente partners for seven and a half years, officialmente friends for eleven years,  Muy officialmente romantico aaaaaaand that fake Spanish is going to stop now.

(I can't help it.  Because Spain.)

But seriously though, I don't get serious on this here blog because it's all public and junk.  I guess I just want to say that, well, I'll never be able to adequately say what Paul means to me (cliche.  always try and always sound so cliche.)  But, what I do know is that anyone who ever actually sees us together knows a bit what I'm trying to say.

We're just real good together, you know?  Paul is my best friend - and you can tell when you see us. Paul is the handsomest human to walk the earth - and you can tell when you see me look at him.  We're a team, we got each other's backs.  We respect each other's dreams and feelings and opinions and don't try to squash each other into stereotypes or expectations.  We're real, complex, human individuals to each other - we fascinate each other.  We just get it.  We're good at us.

So, six years.  Best six years of my life, you know.

Day 4

The run I did.  For fun.  Something is very weird with me right now...

Day four of not talking to anyone other than Paul face-to-face.

It's starting to get to me I think.  I'm starting to think crazy things, like,  "I'll go for a run.  Yeah!  That sounds like a super, super entertaining thing to do right now!"

...

Very atypical.  Worrying.  Onset of cabin fever.  I knew this was going to happen sometime during the break.  Must. Not. Have. Freakout.

Also, it makes me excessively boring.

Paul:  "How was your day?"

Me:  "Good."

Paul:  "What did you do?"

Me:  "Homework.  ... Fed the fish?...Watched a video about hair braids?.... Ummm...potato...eating?"

The highlights of this week: 

1) German-English practice with my old students.  I love them.  They are awesome.

2) Going out to lunch with German-class folks to say goodbye to my Japanese, French, and Pakistani buddies.  If nothing else, knowing them gave me one of the best pieces of trivia I'll ever learn:

"snow" in Urdu is "barf" 

3) Juha-Matti being nice enough to let me go to his house and play his piano when he's back home in FinNland.  Thank you, Juha-Matti!

4) Going out with Paul tonight to listen to a "band" play, as described on their poster, "Disco Pop Rock Pub Music."   I'm pretty sure we're just going to be able to sit somewhere with bemused looks on our faces and eat fish.

Completely Disconnected Post

My incredibly serious looking introductory picture that has nothing to do with anything in this post

I've discovered that people (aka I)  like blogs and websites with pictures in them, and because I didn't take any pictures today (it was a boring day), I thought I'd make this rather serious looking pairing for today's post.

Yes, yes how terribly intensely serious it looks.  Like I'm about to say something about life's journey or true love or the indomitable spirit of the human race or how my walls have jaundice.

But nope.  Nothing as cool as that.

Just the fact that today I'm back at work (for real)--heading out through the rainstorm to the Lab and the University.

Did you know Paul has this new shirt that makes him look like a faREAKin' supermodel.  Every time he walks into the room I have to grab at my heart because of the pure shock and ecstasy of seeing him.  Seriously.   And then he does that "awww go on" smile thing and I just pass out right there.

On the blue tile of the Aquahaus.

Finally, Jillian Michaels broke my poor little body two days ago.  I was miraculously cured by applying a cayenne pepper poultice to my pulled abdominal muscles and an hour into the four-hour treatment I was pretty much convinced that I burned my skin off and was going to die.

Then I woke up the next morning and could stand up for the first time in two days and I was so happy!  I did an interpretive dance of my suffering and redemption in the kitchen all alone--I was wearing black stretch pants, black flats, and a black shirt.  I channeled Audrey Hepburn.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand scene.

This Year's Philosophy

Christmas Dinner:  Knödel (mashedish potato balls), rotkohl (red, sweeter sauerkraut),
green beans, apple soda-like drink, and THE roast duck.

It could be because it's the end of the year.  It could be because we're away from our families.  It could be because I just finished reading an incredibly intense novel about life's futility, Vietnam, and the cruelties of war (called Matterhorn, if you're feeling like a little existentialism for your New Year).

But, I've been feeling particularly pensive the past couple days.

And by pensive, I generally mean a strange feeling of being simultaneously grateful, sad, happy, guilt-ridden, and a bit of an emotional zombie.

Because always, around this time of year, I look around me and think of how much I have that so many other people in the world need, other things I want with all my heart but am just starting to realize might never happen, and how much better of a person I need to be every day because who knows when you might get shipped off to 'Nam and deployed into the bush to hump through the jungle with the ill-fated Bravo company of the U.S. Marines (that book really is affecting me, I know).

And, like every year, this week between Christmas and the "get ready, set GO!" of the New Year, I've been trying to work through all these thoughts and come up with my next year's Philosophy.  This is sort of what I'm homing in on:

1.  

You can control most things in your life, but not everything.

2.  

But you can't let your whole entire life and existence get wrapped up in the one or ten or fifty things you can't control.

3.  

Because there're 50 billion other things you can control.  

4.  

And maybe the secret to happiness isn't getting yourself to not care about the things you can't control.  Maybe the secret to happiness is recognizing those things that might never be, letting yourself really morn that thing (cuss at it/kick a rock/cry a lot/make sure that it really isn't something you can control), and then look around, wipe your hands on your trousers, and say, "Alright!  What else is going on around here?"

And then you might see the helicopters comin' into your camp's LZ to take you for some R&R in Okinawa, or your incredibly handsome, wonderful husband bringing you a box of tissues, a bowl of some sort of amazing German cheesy noodle ham food he made, and a hug.  And you realize you're going to make it through this beepity-beepin' war.


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And as a side note, I want someone to confirm for me that soldiers in Vietnam really were given drinks with names like "Choo Choo Cherry" and "Bugs Bunny Grape."