Defenestration

from dictionary.com:

de·fen·es·trate (dē-fěn'ĭ-strāt') tr.v.
de·fen·es·trat·ed, de·fen·es·trat·ing, de·fen·es·trates

To throw out of a window.

I learned this word in high school, during a lesson about the Defenestration of Prague. I could not have been more delighted. Why waste time throwing something out a window, when it can be defenestrated instead? I love that the English language has a specific word for this.

Mmm...nostalgia...

I recently encountered this article about fry sauce, and its burgeoning popularity outside of Utah. I grew up in Utah, but it never occurred to me that fry sauce was one of those (many) things that were unique to our state. I was first introduced to fry sauce in my formative years, when my dad used to mix the stuff up to go with our tater tots. Our homemade fry sauce was light pink and somewhat lumpy, while restaurant fry sauce (which I've never liked) typically has a higher ketchup to mayo ratio and is completely smooth. I don't eat tater tots much anymore, and I don't even like mayonaisse, but there is something sweetly nostalgic about eating a lumpy bowl of tater tots with a lumpy bowl of fry sauce. It makes me feel five years old again. I recently mixed up a batch and offered some to my toddler, whose diet consists almost entirely of bread and condiments. She immediately scrunched up her face and said "Yucky, mama!" Must be an acquired taste.

Becoming a writer again

I started this blog primarily as a writing exercise.

This post was hard for me to put together, because I had to admit to myself that I'm no longer a writer. I used to be a writer; when I was in junior high and even younger I used to write constantly. Stories, journal entries, plays, it didn't matter. Around 9th grade I discovered poetry. Actually, that's not entirely true. I think my interest in poetry started with Dr. Seuss. I kept writing throughout high school, because I enjoyed it, felt I was good at it, and it satisfied that deep psychological need we all have to express ourselves. My writing style at that time may not have been very sophisticated or mature, but I was passionate and it felt good.

Then came college, where I majored in English, and found myself doing more assigned writing than I had ever imagined. I learned how to dissect a poem to its very elements of scansion and rhyme. I learned how to read with a critical eye. Sure, I had a lot of fun in college, and learned a lot about writing and how to do it, but it really robbed me of my desire to create writing myself. I found that I could no longer read my stuff objectively, I couldn't handle writing anything that wasn't perfect and didn't meet my own newfound criteria for excellence. And I discovered that I probably wouldn't be able to make a living solely by writing, at least not right away.

So eventually I stopped. Life happened, I became an "adult," I got married, got a job, made money, and had a baby. All along I still considered myself a writer, and kept promising myself I would start writing again soon. And finally, I did. Only to realize that I don't know how to write anymore. The words I want don't come to me the way they used to. I have a hard time describing the simplest things, like the way an apple tastes or the way a sunset looks. I'm not a writer. But I hope to be one again someday, and so I'm starting this blog as part of this larger goal. I always felt like I had talent as a writer, but maybe I was good at it just because I did it so much. Either way, I hope to get back to the euphoria I used to feel when I produced something that, to me at least, was good and satisfying.

The scariest thing for me is to allow other people to read my writing as I go through this process. But I think it's essential. And so, here I am. As Ray Bradbury wrote, "The trick is: knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out."

"an oceaning abyss of orange dream"

I took this photo in May 2006 on the Pacific Coast Highway, just north of the Oregon-California border. I was in the middle of a grueling 11 hour drive, I was hungry, and my daughter was wailing in the backseat. I stopped anyway. The quote above is from a lovely e.e. cummings poem: you can read it here.

Welcome to my blog!

I love reading other people's blogs, and generally feel that I express myself best through writing. It was only a matter of time until I started a blog of my own. Enjoy!