I feel Like a 6th Grader.

   I always thought that once a person was no longer tied to some sort of academic institution that the concept of "Christmas Vacation" would fly right out the window.  At that point in life, there are no more socially mandated days (or weeks) off from your every day responsibilities.  Now, you'd be lucky to get one paid day off if you worked for the right organization.  Never again would the final days of class drag by as you awaited the fateful final bell before winter break.  Never again would delicious treats grace your workspace to begin the sugar induced coma that you would enjoy for the entire vacation.  I thought that all of these things were over once I entered the adult (read: lame) world and held a real job and had to be a grown up.

   Recently however, I have discovered that I was mistaken.  The anticipation and frustration with the slow moving clock during the days before Christmas are alive and well in my world.  Although I may not be looking forward to nearly a month of zero-responsibilities (ah... how I miss college...), I am able to look forward to 5.5 days of zero-responsibilities, and these days, that is definitely a lot.  I find myself having a hard time concentrating on the tasks at hand because I'm too busy thinking about the cookies I get to bake, the tree I get to decorate (because Mom and Dad have "conveniently" decided to let me do it once I arrive -- which I don't mind at all, but I still find kind of funny), the movies I get to watch (24 hours straight of "A Christmas Story" anyone??), and the time I get to spend with my awesome parents who I generally don't get to hang out with nearly enough.

   As a sixth grader, most of the anticipation of the winter break came from the hordes of presents that awaited me (MUST HAVE BARBIES), but now the currency of choice is simply relaxation time.  Maybe that means I'm a grown-up now (how did that happen??), but I don't care.  I'm still sitting here, eating candy canes, anxiously awaiting the moment when I can forget every-day things like work and bills and shoveling snow, and can jump on that plane to Nashville.  In the meantime, I'll continue pretending to care about things like summary judgment and DUI's and restitution.  Sigh.  Is it tomorrow yet?

Nostrils DO serve a purpose.

   I have a cold.  Not the world's most earth shattering news, and certainly not the first cold I've had, but crap-tastic nonetheless.  But I have discovered that there are four stages of having a cold that I inevitably go through over the course of its virulent effects. 

   First, there is denial.  "No, this naggy sore throat is nothing, I'm not getting sick!".  "I'm only coughing because I have a tickle in my throat... the cat slept on my head last night and its just remnant cat hair in my lungs, I'm not getting sick!".  "My nose is only runny because it's cold outside, I'm not getting sick!".  During this phase I will proceed about my day as if nothing is wrong.  Would I ordinarily take the garbage out without a coat on when it is 5 degrees outside?  Yes!  Therefore I can do it now too!  I am invincible!!

   Second, there is realization.  This usually happens the morning after the second day of denial when you wake up with cement in your head and a pile of Kleenexes on the table next to your bed.  "I CAN'T BREATHE THROUGH MY NOSE.  I might be getting sick".  "I can only breathe through my right nostril... I might be getting sick".  "Now I can only breathe through my left nostril... I might be getting sick".  The moment of joy that you experience during this phase when one nostril clears is immediately dampened when your realize that your other previously-operational nostril is now closed for business.  I was created with two nostrils for a reason.  It is unacceptable when one or both of them are not fully-functional.

   Third, there is anger.  "Why am I sick??  What germ infested plague-ridden surface did I come into contact with that infected me with horse flu (or whatever is this year's version of animal-origin death)??".  "I used my mango and orange flavored hand sanitizer religiously, how could this happen!"  "This is a travesty!".  "I don't have time to be sick!  I have a bazillion and ten things to accomplish this week and laying in bed draining snot is not one of them!!".

   Finally, there is acceptance.  In this stage, you consider what it is worth to go into work, and then (if you're me), the guilt of taking a sick day overcomes the desire to lay on the couch with a blanket and a movie and you go in anyway, armed with Dayquil, Kleenex and cough drops.  At this moment you strongly consider purchasing stock in the Kleenex Corporation.  However, the blessed angel robed in red that is always at your side during these bouts with viral plague will save you from your suffering come bedtime.  She is called "Nyquil" and she makes all the bad-ness disappear...  Behold:

  Can you hear the angels singing and the heavens rejoicing??  Because I sure can.  Isn't she glorious?  However, Nyquil can be a tricky mistress and you must be sure to select the lovely cherry flavored bottle lest you grab the horrible green bottle.  The green version of Nyquil can only be described as Hiroshima in a bottle.  I would gladly suffer the perils of my cold than drink that verdigris tinted toxin.

   I am currently in the acceptance phase of this cold and will therefore partake of the lovely Red-lady's potion later tonight.  In the meantime, her not-as-awesome-but-still-kinda-awesome orange cousin's elixir will suffice (Dayquil).  Pass the Kleenex.

Merry Freaking-Rural Christmas...

   I moved from the relative hustle and bustle of the Twin Cities to the conversely rural town of Morris exactly two years, three months, and 8 days ago.  It is no secret that I am not a country girl, and I have come to terms with that over the past two years.  However, when I first made my transition to the sticks, it wasn't as apparent to me just how out of place I really was.  As a disclaimer to all of my Morris friends, who have made living out here exceptionally more enjoyable than I ever thought possible, I still have to say that given my option, the Twin Cities will always win out over Morris as the superior place to reside... but you all already knew that... and you forgive me for it anyway.  Thus the tone has been set for the remainder of this post.

   In November of 2008, I was facing my first winter and my first holiday season in Morris.  I was asked by a friend if I would like to attend the annual Morris holiday parade with her.  I was told that there would be floats be-decked in full, lighted holiday glory, so naturally, being the ostrich that I am, my letch for shiny objects won out and I agreed to attend.  Having lived in the Twin Cities for several years, when I am informed of a Holiday Parade that involves lights, I immediately think of, and expect, a show worthy of calling itself the Holidazzle Parade.  Huge floats bejeweled with thousands of shiny Christmas lights, Christmas music blaring from each one, and even SANTA CLAUS!!  Oh be still my beating heart.  With those images pulsing through my mind, I prepared for the Morris version that freezing cold November evening, thoroughly expecting a smaller scale, but not at all prepared for what I got.

   As I stood there on the curb, freezing and wearing my winter coat, mittens, hat, scarf and wrapped in the comforter from my bed, I saw the first parade entrants begin their trek down Main Street.  What was that coming down the street??  Wait, really?  No, it can't be... IT WAS.  A TRACTOR with strings of Christmas lights draped over it, powered by a portable generator.  NO WAY.  I was unable to process this for a good 30 seconds.  All of my lofty expectations had been blown to pieces by that tractor.  I truly was living in the country now.  Dear lord, a tractor?!  The tractor was eventually followed by a SNOW PLOW similarly decked out in strings of Christmas lights, among other various trucks with trailers decorated for the occasion.  For this, I was not prepared. 

   I'll be honest.  I remember calling a friend from back in civilization and regaling her with the story of the parade.  Needless to say I have never heard her laugh harder at my misery (you know who you are, Ninnymuggins).  I was truly in shock over just how different my new surroundings were from anything I had experienced in the past.  How was it possible that I had warped into this alternate universe where most stores are not open on Sundays, rent was nearly half what I was used to paying, gravel roads exist, and Target is a far away oasis???  And so I wallowed in self-pity because clearly this was not civilization.  A life with no Target is no life at all.

   That realization of what my surroundings had become was my low point.  I have since come to terms with, and accepted my fate as a current rural Minnesota resident.  Although I whine, kick and scream about not living in a place with a collective population of more than 6,000, it really isn't all bad.  I returned to the fateful holiday parade the following year, and again this year, just a couple of weeks ago.  I realized that despite the less than splendorous displays, the floats are actually "kinda cute".  You can get frozen candy and Dairy Queen coupons if you play your cards right and wave at the right parade marchers.  And of course, Santa made his appearance all the way out here in Morris as well.  Despite it being insanely cold...

I've still had fun each year attending the parade.  So I figure, as long as I am stuck living in the sticks, I can at least make the best of it.  Oooh and aaaah over the snowplow, hang out with the friends I've made, and enjoy my frozen candy.  Here are a few pictures from the 2010 parade... some of them aren't very good because it was freezing, my camera hates the cold as much as I do, and shivering does not lead to clear photos.  Enjoy!

The infamous snow plow with icicle lights on it... har har har...

Snow plow again.

And of course the FFA rolling up in their grain bin trailer thingy...