28

Mimicking Eireann, on her own birthday post, I will tell you twenty eight things about me:

I grew up in Tennessee, but you can only hear Minnesoooota now. I was a full day of labor, twenty four proud hours of trouble from the start, and was born at 7:12pm on my own mother's 28th birthday. My favorite colors are mossy green and shades of lighter blue; I also am enamored with the colors of the seaside. I wish I lived in New England--Massachusetts or New Hampshire or Vermont or Maine--I think I romanticize that area of the country, though, since we have to live in the Midwest, I am glad it is Minnesota. I was the high school graduation speaker and I teach high school, but I am petrified speaking in front of a group of people for the first time. I have never had a cavity in my life, nor have I had braces. I don't keep a purse, but instead use a bag from The Strand; I always have to have a bag that can carry at least one book (and I always have a book with me) and generally my clunky camera. The Husband took me to The Strand just after he asked me to marry him; we bought a copy of Fitzgerald's short stories and a GIS manual. We also had dinner after with my sister, who was living in New York City at the time, and her ex-boyfriend and a friend and bought pitchers of beer--there's something about having beer in New York City with your little sister that is somehow exciting. We also played Guitar Hero for the first time that night; there's a picture of me playing against my sister, my new ring on my finger. Outwardly, I try as hard as I can to be a glass half full kind of person, but inside, I feel I have to be glass half empty in order to prepare myself for the worst. A year ago today, my old school district voted on a levy that essentially lost me my job; on my twenty first birthday Bush was elected for his first term. I haven't had a lot of luck with birthdays and elections. If I have a daughter, I want to name her Beatrice, after the feisty character in Much Ado About Nothing. I never wanted to be a high school teacher; in fact, I vowed not to be one when I was a high school student and everyone asked if I wanted to follow in my mother's footsteps. I now have a love-hate relationship with the job, and when I am done with the MFA and Ph.D I hope to acquire, I might not mind returning, especially if it's part time and I can devote the rest to writing and my family. Most of my frustration with teaching has little to do with the act of teaching itself; most of my frustration comes from the politics, both internally and externally, surrounding education. My favorite kind of cake is carrot. I would travel constantly if I could afford it. I anticipate every season equally, fall in love with all the benefits of the season (autumn: sweaters, color, fresh notebooks, a new start, though I have to say, I love it so much more as a student than a teacher), but halfway through the season I have been worn down by all the negatives (autumn: the cold, getting up so early, everything browning and graying, overextension). I was a vegetarian for eight years, but I love wool, I love leather (on shoes and books), and now that I eat meat again, I cook with it all the time. I have a preference in how a book feels and looks: trade paperback size, ragged page edges (what is that called?)--as opposed to hardcover, or mass market, or slick paperbacks. Even more, I've begun to fall in love with artist's books, letterpress, and hand binding. I love all aspects of English studies, from grammar to poetry, from literary theory to canonical literature, from hunting allusions to creating sonnets. This is why higher studies in the realm of English is hard for me--the idea of specialization is complex. I feel eerily blessed in regards to the people in my life. I never learned how to turn a cartwheel, but I could do a round off. I was on swim team in high school (but I wasn't very good). Sometimes I think about taking violin lessons again. I love making things, but I tend to overwhelm myself, creating a kind of exhaustion every few months, the idea of knitting or cooking becoming repulsive. I love that our house is so old, built in 1890, and I've always wanted to live in a two story house with history. I think twenty eight will be a good year, and I am terribly curious to see where I will be three hundred and sixty five days from now. Until then, let's enjoy the ride.

PS: Happy birthday, Mom!