The Salty Caramels

Friday night, my friend Allison and I spent went downtown to the Columbus Arts Festival to hear the Salty Caramels play. I was pretty impressed with us. We managed to navigate the city bus system and find our way to the Scioto River Mile, which is probably  my new favorite stretch of Columbus. Total bonus: Allison let me take a bajillion pictures of her. She’s totally a blogger’s dream friend. AND gorgeous.

 

The Salty Caramels are a Columbus band that named themselves after an extremely popular flavor of Jeni’s ice cream (which I talk about so much on this blog you would think I invented it). Naturally, Allison and I stopped for some Jeni’s on the way to the show. You know…as a tribute.

There are so many things to love about The Salty Caramels. There’s the obvious one…their sound (which, as I have said before, is something like The Andrews Sisters + Grace Potter and the Nocturnals + The Ditty Bops + First Aid Kit + The Pippettes + Lucky Soul + Bob Dylan). And the fact that these three women all play multiple instruments (including the drums, guitar, bass, saw, glockenspiel, washboard, chains, and kazoo). And the whole adorable vintage fashion thing. And the fact that they sound at least as good live as they do on their record, if not better. Oh, yeah, and this concert knocked another thing off this year’s bucket list. Bam.

Oh, yeah…and then there was the whole…we got to meet them afterwards and they were really nice and let us get a picture with them thing…there’s that, too. Seriously, the nicest women. I hope their album explodes and gets tons of radio play and they get bigger than The Beatles but if that doesn’t happen, I’m still a lifelong fan.

See how I use their first names like I know them? Yeah. I’m a groupie like that. PS: You need to go listen to The Salty Caramels stat. Here’s an example of their awesomeness.

If this song doesn’t make you want to put on a sundress and dance around in your living room…well, then maybe you’re a dude.

love, elizabeth

I plumb forgot

You know that sick feeling you get in your stomach when you suddenly realize that you were supposed to be somewhere fifteen minutes ago and you just…plumb forgot?

Today was my last class for my last required coursework as a PhD student and…I seriously forgot to go. Which was especially bad since I HAD A PRESENTATION TO GIVE. Fortunately for me, my husband is a superhero and literally leapt across the room, car keys in hand, yelling, “I’LL DRIVE YOU, I’LL DRIVE!” I made it in time to contribute to class and to look sufficiently sheepish.

*Forehead smack.*

Source: almostbritish.tumblr.com via Birute on Pinterest

 

Alright. Time to make me feel better! What was the last thing you just totally forgot to do?

love, elizabeth

poetry found in laundry room

If you’re like me and you find laundry a deplorable chore, maybe it’s because, like me, you think the communal laundry room is kinda gross and inconvenient (#firstworldproblem). Oh, yeah. And expensive.



So when Kyle and I went down to do a few loads yesterday, imagine my delight when I saw this on one of the dryers.*



I need to find whoever wrote this and be their friend.

Anyone find any public poetry lately? It’s my favorite kind.

love, elizabeth

*I apologize for the impolite language of this poet-genius. Their laundry-induced rage is palpable.

Love Story: Chapter 8

Wow, sorry, guys. Took me some time to get back to this! Have you missed any of the love story? You can catch up here. 

CHAPTER 8

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once.”

- John Green, The Fault In Our Stars

I guess when it comes down to it, love is all about leaps. It’s not there until it is. At least, that’s the way it was for me. I had left Kyle that night, completely freaked out by his sudden declaration of love. But two days later as I again drove away, I rolled down my window and shouted at the top of my lungs across a parking lot, “I LOVE YOU, KYLE SURNAME!”

“I LOVE YOU, TOO!” he shouted back.

And that…was that.

There are two important things to know about the summer of 2005. (I mean, outside the scope of this story, there’s probably about fifty billion things to know about the summer of 2005.) But contextually…two things.

The first. From the second Kyle asked me to be his exclusive lady and from the second I said yes, there was a ticking clock on our relationship. I had accepted a summer stock job for a tiny theatre in the mountains and Kyle was going to California to see his older sister, who was pregnant at the time. I remember informing Kyle that we really couldn’t get serious because I was going to be leaving. “So this isn’t going anywhere, okay?” And those two months just FLEW by. We were spending every second we could together but the closer the summer got, the bigger the knot in my stomach. I didn’t want to say good-bye. Still, I knew how foolish it was to try to make it long-distance. It seemed like an unfair thing to ask. So I didn’t ask. And the summer crept closer.

And secondly…gulp….my relationship with Kyle was kindofatotalsecret. I was still living at home and I had gotten it into my head that my parents wouldn’t approve.So rather than risk losing him, I just didn’t tell anyone.  I was so scared that I kept Kyle a secret for almost six months before my family found out. I think there are probably lots of people who still don’t know that except… now they do! It’s crazy how fear (even misplaced fear) can so motivate you. Right now, my mother is reading this and rolling her eyes heavenward. It all worked out, Mom, but I’m sorry for putting you through that, anyway.

As May rounded the corner and this unspoken need to make a decision grew, I was also desperately trying to keep this heavy secret from my parents. So when Kyle announced somewhat abruptly one afternoon, “I don’t want to break up,” I somehow knew that this moment was a turning point; that my answer, that our answer, was going to change the course of our lives, that we were somehow inextricably tying ourselves together. I imagine one of those grafted trees in which the different branches are cut open and brought together, lashed together, and they just somehow keep growing, sharing chlorophyll and sunlight and water because their fates are tied to one another.

I felt like I wasn’t just saying, “Yes, I want to make this work over the summer.” I was saying, “I want to make this work…forever.” And so I made a ridiculous demand. “Okay,” I said. “Then here’s the deal. If we don’t break up, we’re agreeing that this is going to work no matter what. That we have no doubts about the future of our relationship.” (???? Seriously??!!? I had some major GUTS back then!) It honestly didn’t occur to me at that second what exactly I was saying.

But Kyle didn’t even pause. “Yeah, okay,” he said.

“Okay, “ I said. “No doubts?”

“No doubts,” he said.

And to this day, every time one of us leaves the house or hangs up the phone, we say it.

“No doubts?”

“No doubts.”

Which is good because it would end up being one of the hardest summers of my life. Without a doubt.

TO BE CONTINUED

love, elizabeth

Lessons from Date Night

My husband never stops amazing me. Just when I think he’s wooed all he can woo, he goes and woos me just a wee bit more. (See what I did there?) I learn a lot on our date nights. Here’s some stuff I thought about last night…

1. Dating isn’t a price tag; it’s an attitude. Who made up the rule that going out had to be so expensive? Pack a picnic and get outside. Check out local papers for community events like free concerts, art gallery nights, or theatre in the park. Go to a nice restaurant and split a large appetizer or dessert. See if your credit or debit card rewards can be applied towards free movie or concert tickets. Order take-out and make up your own rules to an old board game. Find out if any of the museums or zoos in your city have community appreciation days with discounted or free tickets. Hit up an arcade or roller rink.

2. There’s nothing sexier than the silence between two people who have been together long enough to hear all the stuff that cozy silence can say.

3. I don’t know everything about my husband yet and that’s awesome. Kyle and I play a game when we’re out together, cleverly called, ‘What don’t I know about you?’ in which we (surprise!) try to find out what we don’t know about each other. Last night, I found out that Kyle ran track for a year in high school. I can’t believe I didn’t know that!

4. Sometimes I try to imagine that we’re on our first or second date again. It’s like learning to flirt all over again.

Now I want to know…what are your best date night tips (for dating singles, for long-term partners, for anybody!)?

love, elizabeth

Sangria and a Summer Night

I’ve been dying for a good excuse to try to make a yummy summer drink and I finally had my chance this last weekend! I made this delicious sangria recipe on Saturday night and, if I do say so myself, it turned out pretty darn delicious. I poured it over frozen strawberries and ice and it was so cool and refreshing. The best thing about sangria, I’ve discovered, is that it keeps well in the fridge for a few days and actually tastes even better after about 24 hours (which is good because I still have half a pitcher in the fridge). The perfect drink for a summer night. For a non-alcoholic version, you can also try this recipe out.

I hope that this Memorial Day is a time of remembrance and honor for our fallen service members and their families, as well as prayer for our active-duty and veteran armed forces. A special thank-you to both my parents and little brother for their service to their country and to any members of the military or their families that might read this blog! Please know you are loved.

Happy Memorial Day!

elizabeth

Nice Work If You Can Get It

 

Okay, serious Elizabeth time. I really don’t want to get all soap-box-y but I guess getting what you want is overrated.

What I really want is to talk about that thing we all do. Or aspire to do. Or aspire to retire from doing in a few decades. Work. I think work is really important. Work is good and hard work…is really good. So I guess what I’m struggling with is why some work is respected and some work…is not. I don’t mean work ethic or quality or even pay scale. I mean, literally, the kind of work you do and the kind of respect it receives.

The longer Kyle spends in the service industry, the more I am made aware of the prejudices surrounding jobs in this field. Not too long ago, a customer came into the coffeehouse where Kyle was working and after impatiently waiting to receive his coffee, sarcastically and loudly remarked, “Wow, it’s amazing what a room full of GEDs can accomplish.” This comment is based on six separately damaging assumptions and I’d like to consider them.

Assumption #1: That people who make lattes don’t have college degrees. Ironically, ALL the baristas working that morning had bachelor’s degrees (and one employee had her master’s). This assumption is connected to another troubling belief…

Assumption #2: That people who make lattes do it because they’re not qualified to do anything else. It might not just be an assumption about your level of education but also about your competence, your skillset, your interests, and your inherent intelligence.

Assumption #3: That people who make lattes and also happen to not have college degrees don’t deserve the same level of respect as the degree-holders. Who seriously made that rule?

Assumption #4: That people who make lattes don’t work as hard as people who are doctors or lawyers or professors or accountants or whatever it is that we think of as a “real career.” Don’t misunderstand. I believe some work is objectively “harder” than other work (I imagine brain surgery, for instance, requires more finesse than say, operating a cash register). Some work might be harder than other work but I think baristas can work just as hard as doctors at what they do.

Assumption #5: That people who make lattes don’t have a right to take pride in their work because it’s not a “grown-up job.” There are lots and lots of talented, intelligent people who work really hard just to pay rent and buy groceries and support their families. It doesn’t get more “grown-up” than that whether you’re getting paid six figures or minimum wage.

Assumption #6: That people who make lattes are not worth as much as people who work at jobs that pay more money. Again, to be clear…I’m not saying all jobs have the same economic value. There’s a reason we pay a few dollars for a latte and much more for, say, open heart surgery. But I am saying that paychecks do not determine the inherent worth of a worker. Or a worker’s work ethic.

Obviously when I say “people who make lattes,” I mean, people who make lattes, people who pump gas, people who wash dishes, people who tear ticket stubs, people who scrub toilets and make beds, people who make sandwiches, or people who do anything else related to service.

All of this has made me reconsider my own attitudes about what it means to work and what it means to respect someone for their work. I often find myself complaining about poor customer service but I am beginning to wonder…if people who made lattes or people who flip burgers or people who wax legs were treated like their work had worth…I wonder if they might believe it, too…and I wonder how that might impact our experiences of that service…

Thanks for letting me work out that mind itch.

What about you? Do you have or have you had a job in the service industry? What are your experiences around the way we judge the value of work?

love, elizabeth