Of Bishop's Weed and Books

I was recently reading a memoir in which the author references the troubles of bishop's weed.  She spoke of how difficult it is to get rid of, its root structure, how very weed-like it is.  Being unfamiliar with this chlorophyllic pest, I googled it.  What stared back at me on the screen was my beloved snow-in-the-mountain.

How dare she?  I was flabbergasted and flummoxed and furious in a way that you only get over something that matters not even a little bit.  But then I saw a map.  For someone with such a tenuous grasp on geography, I seem to love maps in an unreasonable amount.


[Side note:  I am currently attempting to complete my bishop's week/ snow-in-the-mountain thoughts while one child butchers the lyrics to The Star Spangled Banner, the other asks me to play "the chainsaw video" for the umpteenth time, and the other hollers to me from the laundry room that I should maybe wash the sleeping bag today as she's pretty sure a close-knit family of insects took up residency while she had it at camp.  If another person asks me why I've been such an absentee blogger as of late, I'm going to station all three children around said person and have them interrogate at will, because that is a fairly accurate picture of summer break.]

Maps.  Bishop's weed.  Right.

This map illustrates which states find bishop's weed to be an invasive plant.  The author in question lives in upstate New York where, according to this map, snow-in-the-mountain is not invasive, but apparently in neighboring Vermont it is.  Since we all know how respectful plants and other wild things are of state lines, I think I'll give this lady a break.

Also, it just dawned on me that perhaps I enjoy maps so much because I have such a poor grasp on world geography.  They are truly useful to me and my reaction is often one of delighted wonder.  I know my North, Central, and South American geography quite well; the rest of the world, I mean, it's really far away.  (Why, yes, I have used this as an excuse in the past.)  This means I more or less shackle Derek to me when we are going to play any sort of trivia game, as his knowledge of all things geographical and really anything involving spatial relationships is excellent.  I excel in the Harry Potter categories, which come up more often than you think.

[And now Caedmon is upstairs yelling things out his bedroom window at his brother in the backyard.  Something about listening to the Eragon audiobook without Atticus, a grave sin indeed in the context of their relationship.  Adelaide is snuffling over the fact that her brothers already know who their teachers are but she doesn't and how could the United States Postal Service fail her and why is life so unfair?  It would appear that I am expected to answer these questions to her satisfaction.  Spoiler alert:  Even those newspaper advice columnists could not generate a reply that satisfied Daughter when she is in this state.]

Speaking of newspaper advice columnists (why, yes, forced and clumsy segues are kind of my thing), the book that provoked this plant-based inner turmoil?  It's fantastic.

Ms. Dickinson has been giving strangers advice for years through her column Ask Amy; I don't confess to being particularly acquainted with this column except on occasion.  I read an excerpt of this book a while back some place or other and knew it had to be mine, or at least the library's.  As soon as it had been processed, I snatched it off the library shelf before anyone else could (a disturbing practice of mine that I confess is becoming more and more habitual; the only problem with this is I have less time to read than ever, so half the time I return the books unread), and have plowed through it over the course of yesterday evening and in small snippets this morning.  It's short, and relatable, and you'll find yourself wanting to underline passage after passage- although if you are a person who engages in this type of behavior with library books, may I instead recommend the following:

A charming children's book about how to treat library books that would benefit more adults I see at the library than kids.  (Interaction with a very nice, responsible patron some months ago as she is checking out:  "I'd like to check this book out, but there seems to be something on it.  Is it just me, or is that blood?"  Me, appalled:  "Let me just clean that off for you."  *Uses an excessive amount of Clorox wipes, makes weak joke about finding blood on the cover of a murder mystery.*)




Also, because our children have altered my brain in such a way that it hops back and forth more than ever, here is "the chainsaw video" that was incomprehensibly introduced to our daughter at church camp and that all three of our offspring are more or less now obsessed with.



Adelaide spends half the time this video is playing staring at my face, as it wears an expression of apparently hilarious bewilderment.  Really, though, this is supposed to be farcical, right?  These people aren't doing this with any degree of seriousness... right?  (See also:  "Signs you are getting old.")  And now, to round out this meandering and increasingly digressive post, a multiple choice question:  How many of our children can currently be found doing "The Chainsaw," a dance move seemingly engineered to make Christian kids look as profoundly not-cool as possible?
Is it
a) 1
b) 2
c) 3
d) I don't know because they are in the backyard and under no circumstances am I upsetting a climate in which I get to think my own thoughts for five straight seconds.

Books and Caucuses, But Not Books About Caucuses

Big week, friends.  We're finally over the awful illness that trashed us last week (except for those odd moments where we have to sit down due to continued weakness and lingering nauseau.  OTHER THAN THAT.), today is the Iowa Caucus, and as of midnight tonight, we're in a winter storm/blizzard watch until Wednesday morning at 8 a.m.  Yay, Iowa!

Derek's out caucusing right now while I stay home with the kids; four years ago, I got to go be a good little citizen and caucus while he stayed home.  Either way, after today hopefully we'll stop receiving enough political flyers in the mail to wallpaper the first floor of our house and the radio will stop with the non-stop political ads, at least until the fall.

When we haven't been hearing about how this candidate is evil and a liar and possibly the anti-Christ and how that candidate is a criminal and eats babies and doesn't even know how to garden, we've been hearing about this giant storm that the Weather Powers That Be have somehow had their eye on since it was over Ethiopia.  You know, or somewhere.  It's Monday, and Monday is grocery day in this house, where I emerge with my Aldi bags and my Aldi quarter and my meal plan with my specific lists broken down by store, but today is not just Monday, it's the day before a possible blizzard, which means the stores were packed and people who are somewhat less capable and efficient grocery shoppers than I (read:  99% OF THE POPULATION) were just wandering around, stopping their carts in the middle of the aisles, thinking their no doubt incredibly deep thoughts right in front of the bag of brown rice I needed but couldn't reach without risking a molestation charge.

You know what grocery stores need?  Grocery police.  I don't mean, like, who gets which items, I mean someone to aid the flow of traffic through the store, perhaps help certain shoppers lessen their risk of imminent death by other shoppers.  I would be terrific at this, because I understand that moving through a store should be just like driving:  You travel on the right, if you have to make a stop you pull over, and in general just try to be aware of your surroundings, because as it turns out, you are not the only person in the store attempting to restock your larder!  I could somehow reward conscientious shoppers with discounts or high fives or something, and write citations for those who are pissing off everyone around them, but I'd probably need a whole separate pad for those guilty of just being all-around jerks.

I may already be drunk with power.

Even without grocery police, I made it through all the stores and got everything I need to make bierocks and shredded beef tacos and other deliciousness this week, plus we made our trip to the necessary libraries just a couple days ago, so we are ready.

Look, if the State Library of Iowa says I need three books to weather this storm, then who am I to argue?

I think I'll start with this one, because it won't be starting so much as continuing, as I'm already halfway through and it is fantastic.

Nonfiction history book about medieval England:  Sounds eeeeuuuuurrrgh, right?  But you guys, it is so good.  I can't put it down.  

Now, off to put the kids to bed, aka "I don't care if you're praying your tiny little heart out for a snow day tomorrow:  Chances are, you'll have school, so bed!  Now!  But keep praying, because I don't want to get up, either!"

List!

(Not to be confused with Liszt!  Because I don't even play the piano!)


I haven't made a list in a while.  Let's rectify that mistake, shall we?

• I went garage sale-ing (what is the correct usage of that verb?  Is it saleing, saling, sale-ing?  Someone help me) this morning.  Four t-shirts, one long-sleeved shirt, two pairs of shorts, one jacket, one fancy winter dress that I'm hoping will last two Christmas seasons (all name brands and in excellent condition) and $10 later, Adelaide declared, "I LOVE garage sale-ing!"  I'm pretty sure this is what God was talking about when he said that you should train your children up early.  Yes, definitely.  Definitely talking about garage sales.

• Caedmon has learned how to climb out of his crib.  When I learned this I may or may not have wailed something like, "MY LIFE IS OVER."  He refuses to show me how he does it, possibly because that might put an end to finding him sitting on the kitchen counter early in the morning, shoving fistfuls of cereal into his mouth straight of the box.  I cannot handle the thought of him moving up to a regular bed, one without high sides and confining bars.  Terrible things will happen.

• Sometimes I hate Facebook; yesterday it was fun.  At least a dozen people posted this series of maps, specifically, "22 Maps that Show How Americans Speak English Totally Different From Each Other."  While the awkward phrasing of that title drove me a little crazy, the maps were so fun to peruse.  When we moved to Connecticut, I was amazed at how many times people would stare at me, bewildered, because of my word choices.  Even here in Iowa, I find plenty of linguistic dissimilarities from my southern Kansas home.  These maps seemed pretty accurate, not to mention fascinating.  And so funny.  Why yes, those are crawdads living in the creek, Derek just commented last week on my pronunciation of "lawyer" (it's not loyer; it's law-yer.  Hence the spelling.  Note:  this rule does not hold true for the word "caramel."  Because I said so.), and of course they're tennis shoes.  You really need to look at those maps if you want to have any idea of anything I just said.

Read the Super-Fun Language Maps Here!

• Another fun thing from Facebook:  Remember how I once told you guys about how much I loved working at the bookstore pre-children, and how one of my co-workers and I bonded over a mutual distaste for Dan Brown?  (This was at the height of "The Da Vinci Code" craze, and yes, that previous statement was an out of control run-on sentence.  I am aware.)  Anyway.  A friend of mine posted the funniest thing I've read in a long time onto my wall, or timeline, or whatever the kids are calling it these days:  A satirical article on Dan Brown and his newest book.  Here's one gem I mined for you, in case you're too lazy to click the link:  "New book Inferno, the latest in his celebrated series about fictional Harvard professor Robert Langdon, was inspired by top Italian poet Dante. It wouldn’t be the last in the lucrative sequence, either. He had all the sequels mapped out. The Mozart Acrostic. The Michelangelo Wordsearch. The Newton Sudoku."  If you've read any of his books, you'll find the article hilarious.  If not, it's funny anyway and you should definitely read it.  Because I said so.

Read the Super-Fun Article Making Fun of Dan Brown's so-called Writing Style Here!

• The kiddos and I are headed south early next week.  I'll stick around for about a day, just long enough so that they don't think I drove all that way just to abandon them (even though the very opposite is true, muahahahaha!).  Then I will leave them with their grandparents (my mom and Mark and Derek's folks are splitting up the time), and I will leave.  I will visit a few people for a few days, all by myself, and then I will drive home, all by myself.  I won't see the kids again until the grandparents drive them back up here about a week and a half later.  A week and a half later.  I was telling a friend of mine that it kind of feels like Derek and I have a mild case of Senioritis, but rather than counting down the days 'til graduation, we've been counting down to the moment I drop the kids off.  It's going to be glorious.

• Adelaide has been immersed in a series of books called "Warriors."  It's about these wild cats (not wildcats, but what appear to be clans of Felis catus, who look down on kittypets- cats with owners- and engage in fierce battles of territory and food and the like), and there are enough books in the series- upwards of  37- to have kept her engaged for a couple months now.  This new fascination has infected many other parts of her life, which is fun, but yesterday she introduced me to a new one: the possible inability to separate life from fantasy.  While we were discussing the trip south, she announced that she's going to be sure to spend plenty of time alone with my mom's cat, Ed, an old man of a cat.  She says she's going to try and find out if there are any Thunder Clans or River Clans living nearby, and where Ed sits in the feline hierarchy.  (These books are great for elementary age vocab, by the way.)  I tried to tell her that Ed's been a kittypet for years, but she would not be persuaded.  So Ed's about to get a whole lot of attention, wanted or not.

• I was sure I had more bullet-point-worthy news, but darned if I can think of it right now.  Maybe I'll just add to this list over the next few days.  [Update:  Hey, I actually did it!  I've added two bullet points already!  Go me!]

Full of Hot Air

We first moved to our little town in central Iowa the first of June, almost three years ago.  It wasn't a particularly tumultuous summer, weather-wise, but for some reason, the tornado sirens were going off at least once a week- and I'm talking about outside of the weekly drills, before any smart alecks pounce on that.

It usually occurred during a storm, prompting us to check the radar for twisters, and once even scooping our two sleeping children out of their beds to carry them down to the glorified root cellar we refer to as our basement.

It wasn't always stormy when we heard the familiar wail of the sirens, however, and we were befuddled.  It got to the point where we started ignoring the sirens, a dangerous practice.

One day that summer the kids and I were playing in the front yard when our neighbor drove by.  She slowed and rolled her window down, yelling, "Hey guys!" over the sirens that were once again blaring.

I yelled back, "Is there a tornado headed our way?  I wasn't aware we were in for any severe weather today."

Right about then the sirens wound down, and our kind neighbor was able to explain that those aren't tornado sirens; they're high-wind sirens.  They go off any time we have high winds in our area.

Then she asked, "Do you get a lot of wind down in Kansas?"

To my credit, I checked the belly laughs about to come rumbling up out of my mouth, and merely smiled and said, "Yes.  Yes, we do."  In her defense, I'm pretty positive she's never been to my home state.  This may come as a shock to you, but Kansas is long on wheat and cows but short on tourism.

Here's the thing:  Kansas is indeed windy.

I remember watching two-year-old Adelaide try to stand up in the driveway at Derek's parents' house, who live out in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas.  She kept getting knocked down by the wind, over and over again, before finally giving up and just crawling over to me.

It's the kind of place that sells little wooden dolls with wild, knotted hair and kitschy sayings on their bellies like, "Just Another Windy Day in Kansas."

It's the third-windiest state in the union, behind North Dakota and Texas.  The windiest city in the nation is not Chicago, but Dodge City, Kansas.


I can't imagine having a high-wind siren in my hometown; I doubt a day would go by that it wasn't blaring.

Now, to be fair, Iowa also gets its share of wind; it rounds out the top ten windiest states in America, a list comprised exclusively of states that make up a strip down the middle of the continental U.S.


Having grown up in a place where you get blown around a lot, I enjoy a good windy day.  I also enjoy wind maps, and I recently stumbled upon a really cool one that shows real-time wind patterns across our country.  You'll notice that Kansas is right in the morass of white lines that make up tornado alley.  This map also allows you to zoom in and see wind speeds in different areas. Click here to check it out.

A quick disclaimer with that map:  I don't know how accurate it is, but it does have a link on there that will take you to a more traditional wind map, which is also pretty neat to check out.  Also, it works best if you view it when using Google Chrome as your browser.  FYI.

Looking at this map also drives home the reasoning for Derek's preference for golfing anywhere other than Kansas; apparently it becomes to difficult to direct a small ball towards a hole when the wind keeps blowing it off course.


Note:  I wrote this post yesterday, before a bunch of tornadoes- some reports state as many as 13-  ripped their way through Texas.  Our prayers are with everyone effected by this newest rash of twisters.