Nomads

We are going to be moving all of our junk to a suburb of Portland over the next two days. We are moving because...well, because...we have never lived anywhere longer than a year since we have been married and why start now? Ok, no, but it certainly seems that way.
Anwyay, all of this to say, we will be moving, Sergio has a final on Monday, and neither of us thought to have the electricity turned on, so you probably won't hear from us for a few days while we get sorted out. Until then...

You Probably Already Know How to Make These

I think this is a picture of our meal from the last Super Bowl, but it is almost exactly what we ate tonight. I guess we make this meal once a week or more because wings are great for a budget. We have a few ways we make them now, but this is the basic go-to meal. Cut them at the joint, place on a greased pan, bake at 400 until they reach your preferred texture. I like them when they are really crispy and the very tip of the wing bone is edible. Is that gross? If you have time, they are really good dipped in flour and fried first, but I fear hot oil and stick with baking unless Sergio is around. Meanwhile, heat up half a bottle of Louisiana hot sauce with a few tablespoons of butter. Add spices for heat if you like. We add cumin, chili, oregano, garlic powder, and crushed red pepper. Mix wings and sauce in a bowl and serve. Dip them in something.

If you aren't a buffalo wing fan then mix some butter with soy sauce, chili-garlic sauce, finely diced ginger and garlic, honey, and orange zest over low heat. Mix with cooked wings and serve. Dip them in something.

Does This Mean I'm a Hippie Now?

I am all written out. My first week at Lewis and Clark was a writing workshop that lasted all day. We did freewriting, we used prompts, we wrote poems, we played games, you name it and we tried it. We read aloud. And then we read aloud some more. I did not appreciate the poetry, and I grumbled through a mapping exercise, but I got over the idea of public speaking within the first few minutes. It would have been a miserable week otherwise.

I think the thing I really learned last week was how different a small private school is from a large state school. In fact, upon finding out that some of us had never attended an institution like this one, we got a roll of the eyes and wry, "you think this is strange, you just wait." Here is a list of things I found odd.

My morning teacher brought in cups and saucers from home and made us a hot tea bar.
She decorated the room with fresh flowers and dried lavender.
She brought in cherries and strawberries everyday from her own garden.
Both of my instructors kept the lights off and gave us excessive stretching breaks.
We were never told we were wrong.
We were often told we were "perfect"
My afternoon teacher gave us cookies everyday.
He asked us to write a run-on sentence one page long. My dream assignment.
He also played soft music while we wrote.
We were asked to perform a poem.
I learned what a Tofutti Cutie is and ate one.
We turned in circles to commemorate Summer Solstice.
My morning teacher gave us over half an hour to decorate our notebooks with fancy paper and glue.
People chose to sit on the floor at random times, including the teachers.
People sometimes climbed on tables and laid down to read their stuff aloud for no apparent reason.
Shoes seemed optional.
On the last day we sang songs in a big group.
No attendance grade.
No grade of any kind.

Please keep in mind that I have just begun graduate school and not kindergarten, though I could see if you got confused. Okay, actually it was pretty great, though I wrote some phenomenal crap. Maybe later this week I will pick some especially lame stuff out of my wallpaper clad notebook and share, since I am so good at that now.

Happy Father's Day

Marvin Gaye shot his own son, Ivan the Terrible beat his to death with a club, and Hansel and Gretel's father abondoned them in the woods. Ernest Hemingway often left his child in a crib under the care of a cat, while the children in Peter Pan were left with a dog. Woody Allen married his daughter.
These guys could have used some lessons in good parenting from the two of you.

Love, Dawn and Sergio

At Least This Bike Story Doesn't Involve a Hospital

Sergio and I try to be nice people. We are kind to others, love animals, do our best to protect the environment, and even though we are students and therefore usually broke, we still give money to Save the Children every month. It seems to me that we should have worked up some good Karma at this point. Unfortunately, the universe doesn't see it that way. I had a final on the Portland State campus yesterday morning. I rode my bike in, as I have done more and more often recently, and locked it to the same bike rack that I normally do. A couple of hours later, it was gone. Lock and all. This is the second bike we have had stolen from us, though luckily we are insured this time.
This post might have been funnier if I had written it yesterday while the anger was still on the surface. Today, I can't seem to work up any real ill will. Know, though, that if I had seen someone riding by on my bike yesterday, I felt fully prepared to tackle them and then...well, I don't know what then. The point is, I was probably angrier than I have ever been. Even angrier than the time my brother kept bouncing a tennis ball off of my head while I was trying to sleep. I reacted to that by jumping out of bed screaming and kicking, so it is probably good I didn't see the bike go by yesterday.
One last note. Normally I would leave my helmet on the bike while I went to class, but because I was distracted by the final, I took my helmet with me. That means that this helmet made it through the road bike that I wrecked two years ago, and now the stolen bike. Would anyone like to weigh in on whether or not I should consider this helmet good luck or bad?

In Case You Were Feeling Good Today

We are linking this to make you feel less so.
And this.

Movie

Knocked Up ♣♣♣♣
We haven't laughed this hard in a long time, but it was sweet too. Having said that, we don't know that our parents would enjoy it quite so much.

Struggling is Futile

Everyday this week Sergio has dressed in a suit and tie and gone off to work on the 7 AM train. I drop him off and pick him up. Then he goes to class at 5:30. When he gets home at 7:45, I have dinner waiting on him, right down to a freshly made glass of tea. Because he leaves so early in the morning, I have usually had time to pick up the house and even go so far as to make the bed. Make the Bed! Which I never do. Every night I iron a dress shirt for the next day.
At any moment I expect the world to go black and white, the door to open with a "Honey, I'm home," and I will answer with, "How was your day dear?" The tea will change to a stiff drink over time, and I will spend part of my day at the beauty parlor. Our youngest child will be called The Beav.
There is no use fighting it.

I Would Have Thought it Would be Langston Hughes

I realized today that our blog is the first and second result on a google search for Two Somewhat Different Epigrams. I feel like I have accomplished something with my life.