Open your Nose

There is a pillow on my bed, and printed on the tag are the words "Shell made in China." Twice now I have misread it as "Smell made in China."

Cupid: Stupid?

Well, a less-than-favorite holiday for many is quickly approaching us, and that would be Valentine's Day. I've just gotta say, I rather enjoy Valentine's Day. And I have never had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day, so before you roll your eyes at me and think that I like the mid-February celebration just because I'm so happily in love, think again.

Here is my list of reasons for enjoying V-Day:

1. I love wearing red and pink together. I have absolutely no hesitations in mixing these hues on any other day of the year, but on Feb. 14th I make sure to capitalize on the opportunity. Particularly a bright pink and a dark red, preferably touching each other, i.e. a pink tee under an unzipped red sweater, versus a red headband with some pink socks. If you're gonna clash, do it right.

2. Free. Candy. Everywhere. Who cares if it's a box of chocolates specifically for you, there are candy conversation hearts and Luv Pops (the heart-shaped, cherry flavored suckers with Mickey and Minnie on the wrapper) just about everywhere for the taking.

3. Unfortunately the days of exchanging these are over for most of us, but the handing out of perforated cardboard valentines with popular cartoon characters on them is not against the law. I usually still receive about one valentine a year with Sponge Bob, Nemo, or a "Homie" on it, tucked in a tiny envelope with little hearts printed on it, or sealed with a sticker, and it certainly brings a large smile to my face.

4. Valentines from the parental units. While I have never had a BF on V-Day, I did receive a rose in eighth grade, and in recent years I have received a few e-cards from a wonderful man in my life, so I can't say I've never had any attention on that day. However. I can always count on a Valentine from my parents. When I was a senior in high school, Dad got individual valentine gifts for me, Mom, and Riley, and for dinner we went to Sonic and ate burgers in our minivan while it rained outside. And I remember thinking, "No I don't have a boyfriend, I didn't receive a bouquet of daisies today, but I have my whole life for that, and right now I am with my best friends, eating a burger, listening to the rain that I love so much with the people who love me the most. That's irreplaceable, and pretty awesome."

My dad gave me a valentine with Mr. Rogers on the front when I was about six years old, and wrote "To the prettiest little girl in Kansas!" inside. I still have it.

5. The opportunity to give flowers. My wallet doesn't allow for a lot of this, but I truly love to surprise and delight another with a fistful of bright color bursts. Especially when it's unexpected, be it on any given day or to someone who would never see a bouquet coming her (or his) way. Don't worry if someone says she don't like flowers, ten bucks says she'll be happy if you give her some. Even if she doesn't let loose a smile in your presence, when you leave she'll smirk. Or squeal.

So I urge you next Sunday to sit back and enjoy the day that might otherwise trigger your gag reflex. If cynical old me can do it, so can you. If the girl who grits her teeth to get through Christmas festivities can enjoy Ga-ga Google-eyes Day, then I know you can too. The reason I have a hard time at Christmas is that there is so much pressure to be happy, with yourself, your life, your surroundings, when maybe you are not. But contrary to popular belief, Valentine's Day is not, in my opinion anyway, a time to pressure you to be in love. Rather, just to love and be loved.

Because, hopefully, God willing, we all have one person whom we love, and one person who loves us. Obviously I hope we all have more than just one. And hopefully at least one of those people is within your everyday reach. Hug that coworker that makes you giggle on Mondays, taking away the sting of exiting the weekend. Kiss that dog that worships (and pees on) the ground you walk on. Call your g'ma, the so oft forgotten sage who loves you to pieces. Eat candy, create ridiculous sentences with the candy hearts (i.e. "My Hero, So Fine: Email Me. Get Real, LOL."). Watch a sappy movie and lust over the lead actor/actress. You can even attend an anti-Valentine's Day party, as I am actually in full support of such an activity, just as long as you are having fun with other people in the process and acknowledging that you are lucky to love and be loved, even if it is not in a way that makes you particularly google-eyed.

And finally, wear your most impressive mix of red and pink!! Make me proud! Hint for the gents: wear a collared pink shirt or tie, the ladies will love you for it. Soooo hot!

Terry

Tonight Mom and I got facials. Every once in a while we go to a local cosmetology school for pedicures or facials. If you have never had a facial, go get one for goodness' sake. Male or female, do it. Basically: massage for your face. Now I know what you're thinking, who needs a massage on their face? Because your face doesn't feel particularly tense, or stretched, etc. But believe you me, the power of human touch is a phenomenon we will never fully grasp.

My favorite part of the facial occurs at various times during the hour of bliss. Between the massaging of various scrubs and lotions into the folds and crevices of your face, pressing down on the sinuses worn out from excessive nose-blowing (oh wait, that is an affliction that only I have), the light tapping on the forehead...between these pieces of gloriousness, something even more glorious occurs. They pull these hot, wet towels from some mysterious cave (my eyes are always closed, so I don't know where these magic towels appear from, and I rather like the mystery) and place them on your face. They leave your nose exposed so you can, you know, breathe, but oh my goodness, the feeling underneath that towel. My eyes are involuntarily closing right now just at the thought of it; it is a good thing I know my home-row keys and can type without looking at the keyboard--life skill, kids, listen to those computer teachers of yours.

When that towel is on your face, you are in your own personal cave. I am not being silly when I say that I feel like no harm can come to me when I am enveloped underneath that terry cloth compress; that is honestly the emotion that rises within me. The cloth is gently pressed on, offering pressure to your cheeks and forehead, and giving your pores a bit of the sweet drink. That gentle pressure offers the same feeling of escaping into a closed off room when you are at a loud social gathering and you just want to be with yourself. You close the door and the people are still there, but they are muffled. Ideally, no one sees you slip beyond the door, so they won't come shuffling in after you, cocktail in hand, ready to gossip about that cutie across the way.

Each time the towel is removed, they don't just move on to the next step in the facial. They gently wipe the lotion, or scrub, or mask from your face, with the towel. Slowly, across and under the draw line of your chin, around your hairline, the bridge of your nose. No rush. Cleaning you up, not neglecting you for something more important, to pick up the kids from school, dishes in the sink, a phone call, the crossword.

Tonight as I lay underneath one of the towels, my imagination cruised to motherhood. I usually think more selfishly of the newlywed stage of my future, receiving all the attention from the one I love. But occasionally I think of the people who will help me depart from my arrogance, my pride, from me me me. I think of caregiving, of little arms that will bring math books to me, with moist eyes and sniffly noses, coming in desperation to their mother for help with the long division that just doesn't make sense, the long division that can instill the type of dread in a child that makes them imagine unforgiving teachers tomorrow, fear that if they can't overcome math then what will they be able to accomplish? I imagine being the mother who has overcome the math, who remembers the dread, who can tell my sullen offspring that they too will overcome the math, and so much more. I imagine bringing them into my lap, or pulling my chair to theirs so the arms touch, first calming the irrational fears, then scribbling arrows on the loose leaf page, explaining, "the remainder is what's left over, and you write it here, 'R3.'"

Tonight as I was served by a servant heart, I pictured my future child, I thought of the day when I will (please, God, hopefully) have a servant heart, and will bring a warm compress to a cheek, a forehead, a nose, after a rousing day of fun at recess, now smudged with dirt. I want to offer security, love, the knowing that he is taken care of and accounted for, each and every day, to that child. With a terry cloth soaked in hot water, not too hot, wrung out over the sink. Look into her eyes, smile back when she lets loose a shy grin, all the while reinforcing the presence of her caretaker with the stroke of a washcloth across her cheek. Start at the edge of the nose, move horizontally toward the ear. Then across the chin, across the forehead, the nose, then the other cheek.

A hot towel placed on my face by a complete stranger can create all of that in my heart. And that should prove to you how powerful is the human touch, and how awakening is a facial.

Ahhh

I thought for a long time that I hated mint tea.

Perhaps I truly did hate mint tea.

Now.

I love mint tea.

I also love its decaffeinated qualities, permitting me to quaff such refreshment moments before refreshing, rejuvenating rest.

Dear J-Schools, Please Accept Me (and give me lots of scholarship $$)

I would say my journey began sometime around July.

I read every last word on Columbia's website, including pieces of the really boring student handbook, because I was so excited to apply there.

In October I made a bulletin board with calendars, application due dates, and placed push pins in a map on the cities where I might live next year.

I took the GRE twice. And forked over the testing fee twice.

Riley and Caitlin wrote and illustrated one of the best books I have ever read, entitled "The Adventures of Super Bailey," in which Bailey dominates the GRE, then goes on to dominate graduate school with her dissertation about her concert with Celine Dion. Dibbs the cat stars in this story as well, playing his guitar at the dissertation-inspiring concert.

My first applications were due December 15th. Today is February 2nd. A month and a half of my life devoted to essay writing, resume tweaking, more essay writing, and even more essay writing. If you would like my academic and professional goals in a written format, I can provide that for you, no problem.

Just now I was making the final payment on my last application and realized that I have my credit card number memorized. Considering I rarely set foot in shopping malls, that is downright depressing. But you too will know your credit card digits by heart if you pay six application fees, register twice for the GRE, pay to have your GRE scores sent to schools, pay to have a test proctored, pay to mail documents overnight, blah da bee blah da bee blah. I don't even want to do the full calculations on how much this entire endeavor has cost me.

I just hope it's worth it.

I just got off the phone with Nick, who offered his congratulations, and before that I had a water toast with my parents, and before that I left a message on Nick's phone telling him to pray "ten prayers" because my computer had frozen for the fifth time in two hours. He made a snide remark about PCs just now when he called, but I am letting it slide because

I am done applying to graduate school!!!! Finally!!!!

:) :) :)

Celebrate with me. Happy Groundhog Day, y'all.