Recycling

To all my family & friends who have visited, called/messaged and especially tolerated my doped-up rambling, thank you.

This is a post about other posts. I’m recovering well from surgery, but I have to limit my time on the computer or it starts generating nausea-inducing special effects. Also, I’m re-reading David Foster Wallace’s A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again and his writing humbles me to the point of paralysis. Further justification for my laziness: while this blogging thing is wonderful, too often posts appear and disappear like calendar pages flipping by in old-timey movie montage of time passing. I wish some would stick around longer.

I had my first blogging anniversary while I was recovering, and looking back at posts from last year, there are two that stand out for me:

You Know Where You Are? You’re In The Jungle, Baby : This helped me forget that it’s February in MN for a few (much needed) minutes.

The Vargus Debacle of 2010: On dolphins and other dangerous dashboard creatures. And how funny Urban is.

They were both written around and about the time we went to Belize, which makes me wonder if we should be thinking about a vacation. You know, for the sake of my writing.

                    I can make sacrifices for my art


But true love is better than a vacation. Urban wrote a moving and romantic  post about my illness and his experience as a caregiver (he also threw in some helpful post-surgery care tips). Isn’t he sweet? Yeah, and more than that …

 
He’s trouble  

By turns funny, sweet and troublesome (i.e. perfect), lately Urban has just been really supportive. Not only with the surgery stuff, either.

I have an article at the Huffington Post that I’m very proud of, and not only for the obvious reasons. It’s the first thing I’ve submitted to the HuffPo that wasn’t self-consciously written for the HuffPo. Like, I just wrote it because I was going to fucking implode with rage if I didn’t. Deciding to send it in to my editor came later, and after some deliberation over how much of myself I really want to share with the public.  

There a lot more to say about all of that, but that is a post for anther day. I’m tired and the screen is getting all wiggly.

Thanks for the love, y’all.

The Vargus Debacle of 2010

Who knew dolphins could be so much trouble?

We live in the middle of nowhere, way too far to take a cab or get a ride to the airport. When we go out of town, we drive to our friends Larry & Valerie's place in St Paul (near the MSP airport) and leave our car there. If they are working & can't give us a ride, we just catch a cab.

When we returned from Beilze, we got a cab from the airport. After 24 hours in transit, we were relived to finally make it to our car. Urban started to pull on his seatbelt, froze, and exclaimed "Where's Vargus?"

Vargus is a small rubbery dolphin, one of a small rubbery menagerie that we got out of a vending machine in Cannon Falls, MN. He's tiny enough to fall into a bottle of beer. He hatched out of a clear plastic egg & lives on the dashboard of the Red Barron (our hybrid SUV). Most of his brethren are still rolling around in their plastic eggs on the floor of the car, but Vargus is special. Urban asserts he is a "Bluetooth-enabled navigator dolphin" and is very, very attached to him. He does a little squeaky voice for Vargus, who calls him "boss."

If the car is ever stolen Urban will probably call the cops, totally distraught, and say "Help! Someone took my dolphin!"

Well, there we were, in the Barron, with no Vargus. This was clearly not an accident, as in his place was a little (previously floor-dwelling) octopus. After a frantic search, Urban determined that both Vargus and the empty egg were missing.

Our friend Valerie had kidnapped Vargus. Or, as Urban put it once we realized what had happened, MY friend Valerie.

We are frequent travelers, yet we somehow managed to get lost on the way home. From the airport. To the house we’ve lived at for six years.

For the next two weeks, every daily traffic annoyance, like missing an exit or long red lights, would cause Urban to mutter that this wouldn't happen if Vargus were here. Since we have an identical dolphin, I suggested that we put it on the dashboard. He looked at me like I was insane, and said "That is not Vargus, that's just some stupid rubber dolphin." Every time we got in the car, he looked so disgruntled it would give me the giggles, which would make him look even more disgruntled, which would (of course) make me laugh even harder, until I was practically rolling around on the floor with the stupid rubber dolphin.

Yesterday Urban finally went to St. Paul to get Vargus. He texted me a pic of Vargus on Valerie's shelf, in his little plastic egg, with the caption "Hostage."

Negotiations were successful! We got in the Barron this morning and there he was in all in his tiny rubber dolphin glory. I said "Hey, Vargus, you're back!"

In his squeaky dolphin voice, Vargus replied: "I'm not talking to you."