"That is Beardy"

Am I this guy?

This year, as a winter break activity, I've decided to grow a beard. In the past I've managed to make it about one week before shaving it off due to general discomfort (both physical and emotional) and itchiness. This time, however, I'm going to power through and just do it. I'm a grown-ass man and I've never actually grown facial hair for any length of time in my life. Perhaps it's because I look so painfully awkward in the initial stages. For instance, I like to refer to four days growth as my "axe murderer" look. Check out my mug shot in your local paper!

Or am I this guy?

Luckily for us novices there are plenty of resources like beards.org or this website that give plenty of tips on growing and caring for your beard. However, I've found that spending too much time researching this can be troubling. For instance, the photos section on beards.org tends to make me rethink my decision about growing facial hair entirely. Check out "Tony" or "J.J." for example. Why are they not wearing a shirt in their photos? Another favorite is this image found in the "sideburn styles" section of the second website:

Friendly indeed. Yes, I will have another beer - thanks for offering friend!

It's been about a week so far and I've reached the interminably itchy phase. I'm told that this will pass once it grows out - this is where I typically say "to hell with this"and shave - but my resolve is steadfast. It's coming in rather light but it's beginning to fill out somewhat. As additional support for my cause I've decided to consult our in house expert on beards: Chomsky our Gnome.

Now, I know it's hard to tell, but if you zoom in on this photo you can actually see my facial hair.

Who knows, maybe someday people might call me "beardy."

Cookie Time

It's 53 degrees and raining (thunderstorms actually) right now in Champaign. According to our local paper, last year on this day it was 19 degrees for a high and 1 degree for a low - and we had snow on the ground. What a difference a year makes, I guess. It's not exactly the type of weather that inspires thoughts of Chestnuts Roasting, or Sleigh Rides through a Winter Wonderland (despite what I hear on the PA systems in each store I enter this time of year), but what can a guy do?

So today, in an attempt to at least salvage some of our forlorn Christmas traditions that I mentioned in my last post, and being the baker in our family (see Kaia's attempt at zucchini bread here), I've resolved to bake some Christmas cookies. It's a truncated list compared to past years but there is a limited time frame before we leave town for Wisconsin:

Sugar cookies - from Grandma Sperry's recipe
Bourbon balls - with real bourbon (one for me, one for the cookies)
Ginger snaps
Wisconsin whopper cookies

We got started with the ginger snaps and the bourbon balls right away today:

We ended up with 6 dozen ginger snaps and 3 dozen bourbon balls in the end. Interestingly enough, all of the cookies we're making this year start out in ball format. Who knew there was a theme?

Tomorrow its on to the rest of the list. I'm almost feeling a twinge of Christmas spirit.

Epic. Christmas. Fail.

For my entire adult life, even when I was living by myself, I've always managed to do some decorating for Christmas. When I lived in a shabby one bedroom apartment in the shadow of "Plank Hill" in Eau Claire, next to a run down house and a pile of couches, I was not allowed to have a Christmas tree because my landlord did not want to invite the fire hazard. Even in this situation I still managed to put up some lights, a tiny fake tree, and a few other decorations. My second Christmas after I college I lived by myself in a house Spring Grove, Minnesota yet still managed to buy a tree at the local Kwik Trip, throw it in the back seat of my Subaru, and get it home only to spend over two hours attempting to put a "fresh cut" on the bottom with a pocket knife (my saw broke instantly during this endeavor), all before cramming it into a broken down 1980s era tree stand that I inherited from my parents. My lowest ebb was swearing at the tree and tossing it across the living room, landing it on the couch with a great crash. I may have kicked it. I don't recall. Either way I took a few minutes to "cool off" before finishing the job.

In light of my past experiences (most of which have been completely positive since Kaia and I have been living together) it is shocking to admit that we didn't do any Christmas decorating this year. Perhaps it was the 50 and 60 degree temperatures after Thanksgiving here in central Illinois, maybe it was the busyness of the end of the semester, or perhaps we just simply didn't notice the calendar - it's mid-December already. Whatever the case, there isn't a single indication of holiday cheer around our house this year. Our boxes of lights, ornaments, and decorations are still piled in the closet with no tree on which to hang them. The only real indication of the holidays at all are the Christmas cards hanging in our kitchen and the quart of eggnog on the door of the refrigerator.

It kind of makes me feel a bit like this.

He Sees You When You're Peeing

Santa knows when you've been bad or good... he even watches you when you're in the bathroom. The above photo was taken in the restroom of the Lakeside Legacy Arts Park in Crystal Lake, IL where my youth orchestra rehearses each weekend. The entire place is decked out for Christmas, including the restroom on the main floor next to our rehearsal space. There's no door on the stall so Santa gets a good view of everything. It's kind of creepy. Or whimsical. I guess it all depends on your perspective.

180 Miles

I've been on the road a lot this week. Between last Friday and today I've logged roughly 21 hours in the car. That's three trips up and back to the northern side of the greater Chicago area and two trips into and out of downtown. I'm exhausted. However, the long drive has provided me with some excellent self reflection time. Driving across the long, straight stretches on I-57 I can let my mind wander.

As my mind wandered through my past this week I was reminded of another time in my life when I spent a lot of time in the car: my second year of teaching (Fall of 2003-Spring of 2004). That was the year that I lived in Spring Grove (the first Norwegian community in Minnesota!) and commuted two hours every other weekend to Eau Claire to visit Kaia. I also drove twice a week to  La Crosse so I could donate plasma (I did this because I had nothing better to do and I could make some cash at the same time - back when gas was $1.50 per gallon) and played several gigs per month with dance band that traversed a large swath of Western Wisconsin. Lots of car time.

I have a distinct memory from this time, stumbling out of Biolife Plasma Services on a deep, dark Wisconsin winter night sometime in January of that year, my body pumped full of room temperature saline after spending an hour in the donation chair, shivering before I even left the building. I remember the cold bite of single digit air temperature as I walked across the parking lot to my forest green Subaru Outback and the dark stillness of the atmosphere. It took an eternity for my car to warm up as I drove out of the city limits into the vast expanse of a driftless winter night. I crossed over the Mississippi River into Minnesota and impenetrable darkness as the soft blue lights from my dashboard struggled against the arctic chill of the evening. Greg Brown was on my stereo keeping me company, singing "Lipstick on a thermos cup, lust and whiskey fill it up, and smoke blows from the chimney to the moon..." as I made my way through the night towards my little house in Spring Grove.

I don't miss living alone in a small town in southern Minnesota. Sometimes, however, I think back and remember how cozy it all felt. To be all by myself careening down those winding southern Minnesota roads in my Subaru, going up and down over the hills and bluffs of the Mississippi river, the moonlight shimmering on the snow covered fields. I felt like I was the only person on earth. Then I would arrive at home, greeted at the door by two cats, and crank up my ancient furnace as I settled in for a late supper of fish sticks and rice.

There's something nostalgic about it.