After we left, I dropped Cody off at the house and went to Rite Aid. As soon as I walked in, a friendly voice said, “May I help you find something?”

I nervously said, “No, I’m just looking.” I’m just looking? Who says “I’m just looking” in a drugstore? I meandered around the aisles and ducked my head in hopes of not being detected by any of the other employees. When I got to the end of the toothpaste aisle, another employee rounded the corner and said, “Finding everything okay?”

“Yes, ma’am!” I shouted awkwardly. Up and down, up and down the aisles I went, looking for my item while attempting to remain inconspicuous.

“Hi. How are you doing today, ma’am?” a guy behind a counter asked cheerfully.

“Fine,” I answered quickly as I darted out of his vision down a nearby aisle. Any other day, I wouldn’t be able to find any help, I thought to myself. Where do they keep that stuff?

I found myself at the back of the store, and eureka! There it was. I made a quick decision, grabbed the box, and made my way to the checkout. Of course, the guy in front of me in line wanted to discuss his whole life story with the cashier. After waiting on him to finish, for what seemed like 5 minutes, I placed the box on the counter and attempted to avoid eye-contact with the cashier. I wanted this transaction to occur as quickly as possible. “Do you have a Wellness Rewards card?” the cashier politely inquired.

“No, I don’t,” I said as I pulled out my debit card, eager to pay and get out of that place.

“Would you like to get one today?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’ll get 10% off today’s purchase if you do.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, hoping that would shut her up.

“For best results, take it in the morning.”

“What?” She then pointed at my bag. “Oh, right.” I sprinted to the car and drove home.

When I pulled into the driveway, Cody was outside on the phone, walking up and down the driveway (as he always does when he’s on the phone). I went inside, but Cody stayed outside for  a few minutes.

When he came inside, I was pacing around the living room, looking at my watch every few seconds. When two minutes had passed, I walked to the bathroom, turned around, and looked at Cody. “Oh my gosh. I’m pregnant!” I said loudly.

A grin came across his face. “Really?”

We wallowed in the shock and excitement of it all for a few minutes and then started calling our family. After the dust settled and it was just the two of us and we had no one else left to call, I started thinking about this kid that was now growing inside of me.

Even though it’s now been exactly 4 weeks since I found out that I was pregnant, the reality has still failed to sink in. Yeah, every now and then I’ll have these feelings rush over me like “Yikes…I’m gonna have a baby,” but for the most part, I can’t quite wrap my brain around it. I can’t imagine what the little tike is going to look like. I don’t know whether it’s going to be a boy or a girl. Heck, I don’t even know if it’s going to like me! After all, I’ve never been very good with kids. I’ve always WANTED to be good with kids, but they always look at me like I’m some scary goblin that wants to eat them. It’s like they don’t understand that I’m a real person. I have dreams of having a little girl one day that will ride in the passenger’s seat of my car as we listen to a CD of our favorite musical and sing along to the top of our lungs. So when I’m around kids, I try to get in a little practice, so I start pulling out all the stops from my repertoire of classic musicals. It never fails, though; that poor victim of a kid is simply left dumbfounded in my wake and, as a result, refuses to sing along. What’s with kids these days? Do they not watch musicals?

Another thing that baffles me about kids is that I have to talk to them like they’re  kids. I don’t get this. I see shows like Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader and naturally assume that kids should be smart enough to hold intelligent conversations. But I’m always wrong. Granted, it’s not like I try to discuss Shakespeare with them–well, I did actually try do that once when I was forced to teach a Sunday school class against my will, but that was an exceptional moment in my shameful past. But I try to talk to them about regular stuff–not stuff like “Did you pull Susie Johnson’s pigtail today?” but real stuff.

But the thing that scares me more than anything is diaper changing. I’ve changed a grand total of 3 diapers in my life:

1. When Shay Swillie was working at the church daycare, I went in to visit her one day and said, “I’ve never changed a diaper before. Isn’t that crazy?” She and her mom replied in unison, “Well, you’re gonna change one today.” They MADE me change a diaper!! I was too young for that. I was only 22 years old at the time. Gees.
2. When my dear friend Vonnie Hale had her baby, I said, “Can you believe that I’ve only changed one diaper in my entire life?” She said, “Well, do you want to change Brett’s?” Me an my BIG MOUTH!! So…I changed his diaper. It was not a pretty situation. I was almost 27 years old at the time, and the poopy diaper was a new concept for me.
3. Earlier this year, my friend Justina had me watch her little guy. She instructed, “Now if  you have to change his diaper…” WAIT!! Oh no, I have only changed 2 diapers before in my entire life, and both times I had someone looking over my shoulder, giving me the guided tour of the kid’s toxic wasteland. But this time, I would be completely alone (well, if you don’t count Cody).

I know what you’re thinking: Nichole, it’s all right. Motherhood is a very natural thing, and you’ll just automatically know what to do.

As cute as your little assumption is–and as much as I appreciate your confidence in my matronly ways–I think I disagree with you. There’s nothing natural about changing a diaper. All three times that I’ve done it, I was fearful of wiping too hard. Other people that I’ve watched just wipe away–as though it’s the last wiping that kid will ever receive.

So do I think my maternal instincts will kick in? Probably not immediately like everyone says, but I can say that I feel pretty confident that I will be okay with learning as I go.

Might I be wrong? Of course. I surely hope so. I hope that I’ll win the Mommy of the Year award on the first day I bring the little lass home from the hospital.

Although I have all of these mixed emotions about how prepared I’m going to be for motherhood, I can definitely say that nothing in the world has ever made me want to rise to the occasion any more than the news of our soon-to-arrive little one.

Before people should criticize the movement–or naively listen to others who criticize it–they should educate themselves on the issues first. I’m not here to educate anyone on the issues because the blog would no longer be a blog; it would be an entire book. But what I can do is encourage you to read up on different issues, watch all of the free documentaries available on Netflix about the different issues, and don’t believe everything you see on the news. Remember: They are controlled by corporations who have a specific agenda in mind.

You might be asking yourself, “So what exactly ARE the different issues?”

That’s actually a difficult question to answer since the Occupy Wall Street Movement has no leader with no set list of demands, thus making negotiations quite complex. So that’s why I’ve compiled a list of my own demands. I think it would be safe to say that many of the people that are a part of the movement would subscribe to many of my demands, but I’m not enough of a simpleton to believe that I’m the voice of this generation.

“End Corporate Greed” is what I see on the signs of many of the protestors. But how are we going to accomplish this?

And now (deep breath) my list of demands:

1. Stop bailing out major corporations when they’re going under.
2. Make lobbying a felony. (If it is already, start paying attention to it.)
3. Keep public schools public.
4. Abolish Obama Care and adopt a TRULY universal healthcare system.
5. Allow for free public childcare.
6. Allow for free government-paid nannies.
7. Allow for free public universities.
8. Forgive all student loan debt.
9. Forgive all healthcare debt.
10. Close down all privately owned prisons.

Before you label me a commie or a socialist, read up on the issues first. Then, we’ll talk. The demands that I have outlined here are only foreign ideas in our country, not elsewhere. When things like education, healthcare, and incarceration are placed in the hands of for-profit organizations, greed will inevitably will rule out over our education, health, and justice, respectively, every single time.

This has been proven time and time again with his huge educational budget cuts, including but not limited to the eradication of entire departments, the massive layoffs of many excellent professors/instructors, the combining of educational programs of sister schools (which saves the state money but forces students to have to take courses via compressed video instead of face-to-face), the cutting of travel funds for professors, the increase of class sizes, and the overall cutting of other departmental funds. I could go on for days about his belligerent, bloody homicide of education (and his desire to beef up community colleges at the expense of the overall health of our universities), but I won’t because I want to focus on a different issue: the fact that we have no choice.

Maybe I’m a little ignorant to Louisiana’s weird jungle primary system, but shouldn’t there be a more–I don’t know–PRESENT, NOTEWORTHY challenger to the incumbent? And if there is no choice in the matter, do we still have a democracy?

For whatever reason, the incumbent has an off-the-charts approval rating, probably because he’s good at politicking and raising money; therefore, no one has the cajones to run against him–no one except for Tara Hollis and a few other unknown figures. Although Tara Hollis lacks experience and the financial support, I do think that she would make education her top priority, which is exactly where education should be. Also, she’s not afraid to admit that she doesn’t know everything and that she’s willing to let more experienced people help her with those decisions, which–if you ask me–is so much better than kissing babies, campaigning at churches, promoting a bad book, firing a lot of people while smiling, lying in commercials about the number of jobs created, etc.

The last time I checked, “Tara Hollis for Governor” had about 14 “likes” on Facebook, 13 if you don’t include me. It’s going to take a much larger number than 14 to dethrone the guy who wants our state to be stupid, the guy who flies in his helicopter to campaign at churches. (Yes, folks, that’s what he’s doing. I’m sorry, but he isn’t simply wanting you to hear his testimony. He’s wanting your vote. He’s a very smart man who knows how to manipulate a crowd. Some would call that a sociopath.)

I don’t like to turn my blog into a campaign spot, but enough is enough. Make an educated decision when you go to vote on Saturday, despite the crumbling of our democratic society. It doesn’t matter who your family’s voting for. It doesn’t matter if Uncle Marty refuses to pass the bread to you at Thanksgiving because you didn’t vote for Bobby Jindal. If you like your kids, you should do everything possible to help.

On Thursday, same routine–another pound. I was down to 140. I went to zumba and yoga and behaved myself all day long.

Friday, same thing–yet another pound. I hit 139, which was a victory for me because it’s so nice for the second number to be a lower digit. But Friday night sent my success into a downward spiral. I went out that night to Chile Verde with some friends and ate and drank enormous amounts of calories.

Saturday, we found out that we sold our house! Yay! After four years of trying to sell it, we finally succeeded. This news further got my diet routine out of whack, and I ate a cheeseburger that night. Did I mention that I didn’t exercise at all on Saturday?

On Sunday, Cody and I ate at Chile Verde for lunch. It’s insane that I would allow Chile Verde to attack my success because I’ve never even really liked the place. I ate flour tortillas with honey and butter and ate a burrito that was loaded down with fajita chicken and soaked in queso. Arriving home that night, I felt terrible about all of the bad food that I had eaten that weekend–so bad that I ate 2 ginger snaps, which had been the last of the remaining junk food in the house.

I got off the love seat of my misery and went for a bike ride, hoping that I had not already returned to my beginning weight of 142. I went to bed without eating, and I woke up this morning at 7:00 a.m., only to find that I had gained 2 pounds over the weekend. I am currently at 141.

Even though I lost 3 pounds, I still gained 2, which–in my book–isn’t a success story at all. So I suppose my weakness is fun-filled weekends with friends. So leave me alone, friends. Haha! I don’t have the discipline or the power to resist you. No more fun weekends!! Just kidding. I suppose I’ll just have to actually find healthy things on menus, which is so hard for me to do. It’s easy at home because I have only healthy groceries right now.

Maybe next week I’ll have more than one measly little pound of success!

When I was a kid and teenager, I was painfully thin. I remember being jealous of my slightly pudgy friends because slightly pudgy was normal. I tried so hard to gain weight, so I got my mom to buy those Ensure drinks for me–you know, those drinks that old people drink when they’re on an all-liquid diet. One can contained 250 calories. So naturally, I would drink a couple of these a day, consume a Blue Bell Ice Cream milkshake every single day, and eat everything in sight. I would eat millions of slices of Johnny’s Pizza; I even came close to eating a 14-inch pizza all by myself one time. Unfortunately, though, I had been cursed with freakishly high metabolism; therefore, all of my weight-gaining efforts were in vain.

When I was in elementary school, a girl on the bus wrapped her fingers around my ankle and said, “You look like an Ethiopian.” And in junior high school, people told me I looked like a mockingbird running across the basketball court. I hated being skinny. I would often complain about my weight to friends and family, and they would say insensitive things like “You’ll be grateful for your high metabolism one day” or “One day your metabolism will slow down and you won’t be that skinny anymore.”

I longed for the day for my metabolism to slow down. I daydreamed about having a curvacious, full figure. Instead, though, I had to settle for looking like Olive Oil in a wedding dress at my senior prom, weighing in at a hundred pounds.

I started college at what was then known as Northeast Louisiana University the following fall and perused through all of the pamphlets in my PREP packet. One of the sheets inside was called “Tips for College Success.” It contained warnings such as arriving to class on time, studying 2 hours a day for every 1 hour in class, calling teachers profs instead of teachers (which turned out to be false), sitting near the front, etc. But one of the tips stood out among the others: Beware of the Freshman 15. I had never heard of this amazing Freshman 15. Could it be possible for me to put on 15 pounds now and finally look normal? I thought to myself. This was fantastic news! Simply being a college student was going to help me gain weight.

Of course, I continued to eat everything in sight and avoided vegetables like The Plague. My aversion to vegetables had nothing to do with my wanting to gain weight, though. I honestly hated them, and I never ever wanted to eat them for as long as I lived.

To my dismay, I did not gain 15 pounds my freshman year. In fact, I think I lost some weight. But I finally quit obsessing over it and quit thinking about it. By the time I graduated with my Bachelor’s Degree and my Master’s Degree, I weighed-in at a comfortable 120 or so. I was for the first time in my life happy with my weight. But I didn’t do anything to maintain it, and I was still eating about as healthy as Fat Albert.

I honestly quit thinking about my weight at all; it was fabulous. But eventually, my weight started getting out of control. I went to the doctor and received some very bad news: The doctor diagnosed me with hypothyroidism (under-active thyroid disorder, which is hereditary and had nothing to do with my eating habits) and said that I had high cholesterol (which has EVERYTHING to do with my eating habits). I cried for a solid day when she told me this. I felt like I was dying. I felt panicky. She put me on medication for my thyroid, which I have to take every day for the rest of my life, and told me that I need to start watching what I eat in order to lower my cholesterol. What? Me? Olive Oil Bride? Ethiopian Girl? IIIIIIII have to start watching what I eat? No way!! No one in my life had every called me fat before.

I was then 140 pounds and knew I needed to get things under control. I lost about 15 pounds in just a couple of months, but I never really changed my eating habits; I was simply biking. A LOT!! Weighing a comfortable 125, I got lazy again.

It’s been 2 years since that visit to the doctor, and the pounds have continued to pack on. I stepped on the scales this morning and weighed a whopping 142 pounds.

Enough is enough!

Why I’m Freaking out over 142 Pounds

Okay, I know that 142 pounds isn’t that much. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that there are many people who weigh a lot more than that and are probably rolling their eyes at me right now, but that is exactly 15-28 pounds overweight for a person of my height and frame size. Yes, overweight. I’m 5’4″ tall, and I have a small frame:

My Goal

I will be blogging about my weight once a week until I reach my goal of 115 pounds. I will be walking you through my journey of cultivating a taste for vegetables (I do at least eat SOME vegetables now, but not all), and I will be briefing you of my daily eating habits. I might even post some pictures of my fat rolls if I’m feeling brave. “Why am I blogging about my weight?” you ask. Because I want to keep myself accountable to someone, to a lot of someones. If I fail publicly, it will be much more humiliating than failing privately, which is why I think this just might work. 

What I Want from You

• What I don’t want from you is a bunch of “Oh my gosh, Nichole, you don’t need to lose weight.” (I may even be at the point where people have stopped saying that; I don’t really know. I sort of lack self-awareness. When I look in the mirror now, I actually still see a skinny girl, so I don’t need you to tell me that I look good. That’s just going to make me think that I really don’t need to lose weight, which is not what I need right now. I would believe you.)
• I want you to encourage me and leave comments about how amazed you are at my progress.  
• Don’t get offended if you weigh more than 142. Hopefully, if you’re overweight, too, you will find a little bit of encouragement here.

When I was a kid, my brother and I LOVED these movies, and if you’ve been reading my blog for very long, you have read about some of our own wilderness adventures, such as fort building and clearing trails with a machete. I always felt at home in the woods, for they’ve offered me some of my highest moments of serenity that I can recall. I never grew out of it. This wasn’t a childhood phase; it was a part of who I was. So you can imagine how happy I was on Christmas Day to be opening up this splendid DVD collection that I would one day be able to share with my own currently-non-existent children.

Any time I go camping or do something as simple as walking on the trails at Kiroli or Restoration Park, that childhood giddiness that I associate with my love affair with nature comes back to me. And on those days, I often spend the rest of the night sitting on my couch and dreaming about how amazing it would be to live in a tent for the rest of my life or get an RV and hit the road and see all that the U.S. has to offer. The woods make me want to write poetry and sit around all day and just breathe a lot.

When I was a kid, the daydreams were just that: dreams. They were never anything that I put a whole lot of stock in. But in recent years, the “call of the wild” (sorry, I couldn’t resist the Jack London allusion) has manifest itself in a completely different way. It started out a couple of years ago when I bought a big red bicycle. I was off work for the summer. Well, I was actually considered to be unemployed since I had no promise of a contract renewal in the fall. But among all that uncertainty that I felt that summer, I’ve never felt so alive. As I rode around my neighborhood and allowed the sun to scorch my face and shoulders, none of my financial problems seemed to matter. There’s just something about nature that helps put things into perspective. When looking at a little blade of grass alongside the bike trail, I become strangely conscious of my small role in the world and for the first time in my life understand that my money matters don’t matter and that my job (or the lack thereof) was just a hamster cage.

There’s something very scary about having that much clarity. When you arrive at a place like that in your thinking, it’s very easy to convince yourself that you want to sell your house, buy an RV, and just hit the road and head to the farthest KOA that you can find.

When this happened, I put my house on the market and was ready to do it. I attempted to sell my house 3 different times without one single bite. This scenario depressingly became my reality, so I was forced to take a job at West Monroe High School when the fall semester arrived, even though I knew that it wasn’t going to be the job for me. And, as you know, I was right. It wasn’t the job for me, mainly because it was a job: a clock-in/clock-out job that sucked away every drop of passion that I had left in my spirit. Fortunately, after quitting, I was able to regain that passion. But then the next summer would place me back into the doldrums of my career where I would return to that scary place called clarity. My husband and I took a road trip to upstate New York. I would once again became convinced that I was better off without a job because being on the road, breathing in the mountain air, and having a dangerous amount of freedom just made sense.

But at the end of my summer, reality reared its ugly head once again and reminded me that I have bills to pay and that if I ever wanted to have well-adjusted kids, I was going to have to have a steadier career and stabler life. I accepted an adjunct teaching position at ULM and had a fantastic year, something that I was LONG overdue for. But my spirit grew increasingly restless. Even though things are great at ULM, I can’t help but imaging myself hiking that Appalachian Trail or camping out at the foot of a mountain.

I know that more than likely I will not be able to live a life like this because I’ll have to keep a regular job. But will the craving ever go away? You might be thinking, Well, at least you get to do things like that in the summertime, Nichole. But the summertime is never enough. The summertime only makes my cravings worse. It makes me realize how blissfully happy I am without a job, and it makes me realize how simple and beautiful life can be. It makes me wonder why we spend so much time and energy chasing things and status and wealth.

Here are a few in alphabetical order:

• Believe in the Muse, a blog by an ex-coworker/fellow grad student named Angela Pinckard. (I like to think of her as still being my coworker/fellow grad student, though. Miss you, Ang.) Her blog is always an interesting read.
• Coffee. Cardigans. Vinyls. Love, a blog by my husband. I may be a bit biased, but he is an excellent, passionate writer. He makes me want to be a better person, which is why I married him, I suppose. He just moved his WordPress blog over to a Tumblr platform, so if you already are a subscriber to his WordPress blog, you’ll need to be sure to subscribe to his Tumblr if you want to read what he updates currently.
• Donald Miller, the self-titled blog of my favorite writer, Donald Miller. He is on a bit of a hiatus right now while he’s finishing up his latest book, but he still updates regularly enough.
• The Happy Janssens, a blog by someone named Sara that Cheyenne turned me onto. She used to talk about her adventures on the road with her nomadic family. They have since settled down and bought a house, but the blogs are still interesting.
• Jonathan Foster, the self-titled blog of a friend. He writes a lot of inspirational blogs that make me want to go out and do good things.
• No Such Thing As Normal, a blog by one of my church acquaintances named Taryn Davidson. She’s an excellent, funny writer whose wit is penetrating and shocking. I would say Chelsea Handler meets someone-not-quite-so-crude…at least most of the time.
• Our Lovely Mess, a blog by one of my dear, far-away friends named Cheyenne Johnson who writes about her family, motherhood, natural things, etc. But don’t let that scare you. Most people who write about their children all the time are annoying, but her writing is definitely not annoying. If anything, it’s self-sacrificially honest. I admire her realistic outlook and the charm of her writing.
• Rachel Held Evans is a self-titled blog, obviously. I haven’t read her blogs very much, but I have read a few. She’s smart, and she smartly handles her material. If you have an open mind about God, faith, religion, etc. and if you like somewhat deep theological discussions that make you think and force you out of your comfort zone, then you might enjoy her blog.
• Soppin’ Biscuits, a blog by one of my coworkers named Megan Martin. It’s funny, punchy, and charming, much like her real-life personality if you know her. I wouldn’t dare categorize her blog because each entry is equally random.
• Thoughts on a Page, a blog by Tim Hatten. I went to church with Tim and his adorable family many moons ago. I just started reading his blog, and I am enjoying it thoroughly. However, I can’t quite categorize it since I haven’t been reading it long enough. But based on what I’ve read so far, he seems to write about life, God, his family, etc.

I want to thank all of the bloggers that I have mentioned for your wit, your charm, your brilliance, and your insight. Keep the blogs coming, and when you get discouraged because you think that nobody is reading your stuff or that nobody cares, remember that you will always have at least an audience of one (and I don’t mean yourself).

For the non-bloggers who are reading this blog, you need to follow these people because they are adding so much flavor to the gumbo of the writing world. For all the bloggers who are reading this blog, follow each other if you’re not already. Also, if I didn’t mention you here, it’s not that you suck as a writer and a person; it’s just that I might not be reading your blog. But if you’d like for me to read your blog, just leave a comment with a link to it, and I’ll be sure to check it out.

Also, I’d like to know whose blogs you’re reading. Feel free to share.

Happy blogging!

Kansas was the first hint that we were nearing the Mason-Dixon line. First of all, it was hotter than our Wyoming gas stop (35 degrees). Second of all, the people were beginning to seem more and more “Southern.” We saw a Baptist tour bus parked outside of Arby’s. The only thing remotely similar to that in Portland was a Chinese Baptist Church. (I’m not even sure if that qualifies as being similar.)

After making our way through the boring state of Kansans, which was just as boring as Texas, with the exception of the occasional buffalo that we saw–or was that in Oklahoma–we arrived in the anticlimactic state of Oklahoma. Our GPS’s route had us driving through Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Texarkana, Shreveport, and then home. However, once we got to Tulsa, we happened upon a road closure of the interstate that went from Tulsa to Oklahoma City. We aimlessly drove around Tulsa, trying to allow the GPS to reroute us, but it insisted on rerouting us to the closed road every time. Holly took out her iPhone, pulled up Google Maps, which found a route that was cognizant of the road closure, and got us back on track. This route would take us through Muscogee, OK; Fort Smith, AR; Little Rock; Eldorado; Farmerville; and then home. This doesn’t sound like a bad route, but it caused us to get home at midnight instead of 9:00. Eek! I then began thinking about the nature of decision-making and how one decision can have such an impact on your life.

We sat in a place called Backyard Burgers and pondered over our recent adventures, especially the Utopian land of Portland. By this time, it was already a hundred or so degrees outside. We learned that it got up to about 103 in Louisiana that day.

As hot as it was when we got out of the car and into our driveway, it felt so good to be back home. My mother had been staying at our house during that time to watch our basset hound, but she had left a few hours before to go home. I opened the door, and Abigail approached the baby gate between the living room and kitchen. She simply stared at me. No barking, no howling, just silence. I walked closer to her confused face and said, “Abigail?” A light bulb clicked on in her head, and she started moaning and whaling like I had never heard before. The dramatics lasted for about 10 minutes as she spun around in circles and barked maniacally, which caused her to hurt her own ears, thus giving her the need to shake her head violently in order to make her big ears flop around carelessly so that they would stop hurting. There was a constant train of howl, bark, shake…howl, bark, shake. We were home at last!!

We then walked down to SE Hawthorne Blvd. and stumbled on a fantastic used furniture store filled with cool retro furniture. We looked around for a while and then walked down to the bus stop. On the way there, Cody screamed, “Hey, I think that guy on the motorcycle was Donald Miller.” (He still swears to it.)

While at the bus stop, we talked to a man who guessed that we must be from Tennessee because of our accents. Even the most deliberate accent masking still isn’t enough to disguise my thick Southern draw. Oh well…I guess I’ll just always sound like Ellie May Clampit no matter where I go.

When we got on the bus, I shouted, “It’s Terrible Tim!!!”

“NICHOLE!!!!!!” the bus driver loudly responded.

“You remembered my name! That’s crazy!!”

“Of course I remembered your name,” laughed Terrible Tim. I was so happy. Cody was so happy. We were all so happy. Portland was simply a giant love den.

We got off the bus, walked to another stop, and caught the next bus to Mt. Calvary Catholic Cemetery, which was located just a short ride outside of the downtown area. The road leading to the cemetery had enchanted, mystical rainforests on either side. We got off the bus and went to the main office of the cemetery. “Hi, my aunt called you a few days ago about the grave of Harold James,” I told the attendant. Harold James was my great-grandfather, a man whom I had never met before in my life. During Aunt Gloria’s genealogy research, she found out that he is buried in Portland, OR, and then she sent me on a mission to find his grave and take a picture of it.

“Oh, yes,” replied the attendant. “Here is a map for you. Just walk up those stairs in the center of the cemetery until you get to the trees that are about halfway up, and his grave will be the the second grave on the third row.” I took the map, thanked her for her trouble, and then led everyone up the hill. We went straight to it. There it was. The grave of Harold James, my great-grandfather who had left my Nanny Williams before I was ever even born and went to Portland. I stood there mesmerized by the idea that I was standing over the grave of the man who started the entire side of my mother’s family as I knew it, a man whom I had never known nor had ever even really heard about, a man with whom I might even share various facial features or personality flaws, 6 (or more) feet below me, a man who had moved over 2,500 miles away from his family, my family. I sat there somberly over his grave, wanting to stick around much longer, wanting to take a piece of him with me somehow, but the bus would be arriving in a couple of minutes, so I had to say my goodbyes to him.

The bus arrived as soon as we made it back to the street, and it took us to the Max station where we rode the green line all the way back to the hotel where Holly’s car was parked. We said our goodbyes to Portland, stopped at Wendy’s for burgers, and headed east on I-84, about 300 miles from the Oregon/Idaho border. We stopped for gas just outside of Portland, and the attendant who was pumping our gas looked exactly like Harry Dunne (Jeff Daniels) from Dumber and Dumber, we joked later.

We had plans to make a 26-hour, nonstop drive to Selena, Kansas. The GPS said that we would make it there around 8:00 p.m. the next night. As daunting as it was, we figured we would do anyway so we would save money on a hotel or tent lodging.

The eastern Oregon countryside was as stunning as the southern countryside, complete with its rolling hills, crystal clear creeks, and vibrant green grass and underbrush. I dozed off to sleep a couple of hours later and woke up to the sound of Josh panicking over the terrible road conditions in Idaho. There were huge rocky mountains on either side of our car, and they were covered in snow! Yes, snow! The narrow, two-lane road was his warranted reason for panicking. The mountains were almost spooky as their ambiance penetrated the dark atmosphere of the night.

Our next state would be Wyoming, which was filled with rolling hills and cattle ranches. When we approached Cheyenne, Wyoming, Cody surprised us with George Strait’s “Leaving Cheyenne” on his iPod.

When we entered Colorado, we could see the snow capped peaks of the Rockies in the distance. We even saw the occasional gazelle prancing around while we were there. We stopped for gas, and I gave the lady inside 30 dollars. We were so wrapped up in our conversation when we left that no one actually remembered to pump the gas. We realized it about an hour down the road. I took the receipt and called the phone number that was on it. I spoke to the manager who informed me that they would mail us the money if their drawer showed that they had an extra 30 dollars in it, but he wouldn’t know until the next morning until it would be time for the assistant manager to count the drawer. So we agreed to call back the next day to check up on it. Bummer.

We finally made it to the boring state of Kansas, drove for what seemed to be another 50 years, and finally made it to Selena. We got a room at the Super 8 Motel. Josh and Holly went for a dip in the pool, and then we took showers and went to bed.

Favorite quotes of the day:

“I Googled ‘how to start a dairy farm.’” –Cody

“My grandmother just ruined this picture of my macchiato by commenting, ‘It looks like mashed potatoes and gravy.’” –Holly

After running over a tire in the road, Holly said, “I once did that to a dead dog.”

After eating one bite of  Josh’s vegan cake, Cody screamed, “I’m so Vegan!!”

“Now that we’re on the road again and are just sitting here doing nothing, I can write down people’s quotes more frequently.” –Nichole
“Crap. I’ve already used all my good material.” –Cody

When we left there, we decided to go back to Powell’s Bookstore. (We’re so one-dimensional.) I didn’t buy any books, though, because I kept comparing the price of the new/used book to its Kindle counterpart, and the Kindle always won. I feel almost wrong for letting the Kindle win, but one day when I’m rich, I won’t worry about such things.

I stopped in the stationary section and bought a few postcards. I climbed the stairs to the coffee shop and plopped down at a table to write them out. There’s something so right and pure about physically writing your friends and family. I think I might take up letter writing one day. Maybe I’ll get a French pen pal like the one I had in the sixth grade.

Holly and Josh left Powell’s to go to Whole Foods, then to H&M, and then to the hotel; and then they took a sky car to Oregon Health Sciences University while Cody and I remained at Powell’s for a little while. As I was completely engulfed in my post card project, pretending to be Jane Austen while gazing longingly toward the misty streets outside the window, Cody approached the table and revealed his recent findings. One was a book entitled Confessions by Tolstoy, which was about his disenfranchisement with the direction of religion and how he sought to seek spirituality on a more personal level. Cody said, “Donald Miller is the modern day Tolstoy.” The second book that Cody had chosen (the one that he actually bought) was a book entitled Fires by Raymond Carver, which is a collection of his essays, poems, and short stories. The book had been recommended by one of the employees as being a “must read” for anyone who wants to learn about cultivating his/her writing voice. The story of his that I’ve always enjoyed is “Cathedral,” mainly because of the dry, snarky main character. If you ever get a chance to read it one day, do it.

We made our purchases, walked down the street and dropped the postcards into the mailbox, and then proceeded to find a place to eat. We found a little Chinese place on Urban Spoon called Sunshine Café. We didn’t realize that it was going to be another Asian place, but by the time we got there, we were already tired of walking and were extremely hungry, so we decided to stay. Cody ordered terryaki, and I ordered something American: a turkey, cranberry, and cream cheese sandwich on sourdough bread. It was quite tasty.

Afterward, we went back to the hotel to change clothes. I had been wearing a sun dress and was a little chilly, so I wanted to bundle up a bit. When we left the hotel, we got on the bus to go to Palio’s Dessert and Espresso. Our bus driver introduced himself as Terrible Tim. He was such a mystical, fantastical, wonderful hippie who was quite chatty. He got off the bus at the same time as we did because the next driver’s shift was starting, and he gave us directions to our next stop since we had actually missed it a few miles back. We sat there and talked to Terrible Tim for about 10 minutes or so while we waited on the next bus. He told us about how 20 years ago he had ridden his bicycle all the way from Rhode Island to Portland and then wound up staying in Portland because he didn’t want to bike that far again. He gave us his phone number and told us to call him if we needed some ideas for good eating places. As he was writing down his number, he told us, “I promise I won’t try to sell you Amway or religion.” We got on the next bus, and Terrible Tim told our driver, “They’re going to Palio’s. Be sure to tell them where to get off.”

We got off the bus and found ourselves in a neighborhood called Ladd’s Addition. The houses there were so charming, but what was better than the houses were the billions of rose gardens that lined the streets and filled up the centers of various roundabouts. It was still drizzling a bit, and the moisture brought in the sweet smell of the roses as our eyes were almost unable to contain the lush green grass and wild ferns. We got lost, but a young mother carrying her baby in a baby backpack (unsure of the technical term) and another woman said, “Just follow us. We’re walking right by the coffee shop.” We learned that locals refer to this area as the vortex since it is nearly impossible to find your way around the neighborhood because of its oddly-shaped layout. Each intersection in the neighborhood is a roundabout that is centered around a proud rose garden display, which is why the intersections are so unusual. Also, there would be roundabouts instead of regular intersections in order to avoid the cutting down of a tree.

Eventually, we got to the coffee shop where we said goodbye to baby backpack lady. We walked inside and ordered white mochas. I don’t know if you remember me talking about how FANTASTIC the coffee was at Old City Java in Knoxville, TN, when we went there last year, but this is the first coffee shop to ever compare with the taste of the coffee there. We sat at a table and people watched outside our window for a while. Hardly any cars passed by at all, but mostly everyone seemed to be on bicycles. The place was absolute heaven.

Cody sat there reading Raymond Carver as I updated my blog. I couldn’t help but get distracted by the group of 10-year-old boys sitting at a table next to ours. They were playing some type of smart, nerdy card game as they sipped on their coffee and made Seinfeld references. A man and a woman approached their table and began discussing the card game, among other things. They were talking to these boys like the boys were grown adults. These kids were smart, so smart that I stared longingly toward their table, resisting the urge to ask, “Can I have you?” I want to have smart kids. How does that level of intelligence even happen?

We left the shop and walked down the street toward what we would eventually learn to be the wrong bus stop. But we were okay with it since we got to observe the locals in their natural habitat. We finally found the right stop, got on the bus, tried to make our way toward Mississippi Pizza; but naturally, we got lost again. But we eventually made it there about an hour after Josh and Holly did. We watched a local band (not sure of their name) perform their little hearts out. I think I remember seeing a guitar, a trumpet, an accordion, a stand-up bass, and maybe some other instruments. Cody bought what he thought was their CD, but it turned out to be the CD of the band that followed them.

We didn’t have enough time for the main attraction, so we caught the last bus of the night, made our way back to the hotel, and called it a night.

Favorite quote of the day:

“Earlier today when I was sitting in the hotel and the housekeeper came in to make up the beds, I had to resist the urge to have the ‘don’t-tuck-the-sheets’ talk.” –Cody (Seinfeld fans will understand this one.)

I woke up on Tuesday to find that Cody was almost dressed and ready to take Portland “head on.” I looked over at Josh and Holly who were still sound asleep. I then took a shower, and when I got out, I saw where Cody had sent me a text message that said, “I decided to go on down. Let me know when you get out of the shower, and I’ll tell you where to meet me.”

I sent him a text and then met up with him on the street below. We walked to a coffee shop called Temptations Café where we had coffee and muffins, Cody a lemon poppy seed and I a blueberry. We sat at one of those tables that is attached to the window, making it perfect for us to people watch.

All the rumors were true. Almost EVERYONE either rides a bike or rides public transit in Portland. There aren’t a whole lot of people who simply walk on the sidewalks, unlike New York City where the sidewalks have traffic jams that I liken to the traffic jams in the West Monroe High School hallways.

After we left the coffee shop, we walked through one of the city parks on our way to meet up with Josh and Holly back at the hotel. We were amazed at how the fresh air wafted the sweet smell of Portland’s flowers into our nostrils right there in the middle of town. Everything was so lush. After we met up with Josh and Holly, we rode the train to Powell’s Books, which is the biggest used bookstore in the United States. As we walked into the door, the smell of used books nearly knocked us down, and we just stood there and breathed with our eyes closed in the entryway. It was just as amazing as the Grand Canyon. We walked around for a little while, and then Cody realized that he had forgotten to brush his teeth and put on deodorant, so we decided to separate from Josh and Holly and go back to the hotel. But we promised ourselves that we would go back the next day, at least. All of our phones died, so we couldn’t meet back up with them afterwards, but we decided to make the most of our time. We went back to the Pearl District and then eventually made our way to the Portland State University campus.

Portlandians are very passionate people. Just before getting off the MAX light rail to go to the university, a few gamers (people who are obsessed with video games) hopped onto the train and loudly talked about video games the entire time they were on there. Cody was laughing on the inside at how intense they were and how they were acting out the characters in the games. We love Portland.

We decided to tour the bookstore on campus and the campus itself. For a campus that is downtown, it is definitely beautiful. We walked around the campus for a while and then decided to go get some grub. We were kind of lost at this point in the ballgame, so we simply went to the first restaurant that we saw. We stopped at some sort of Asian restaurant–can’t remember the name–and it was absolutely delicious. I have no idea what I ate, but it was spectacular!

Afterwards, Cody and I decided to go check out an apartment that we had seen earlier that was for rent , but the place was an absolute dump, and it was smaller than a small hotel room. We walked around aimlessly for about 15 minutes or so and then made our way toward Washington Park. Again, what gorgeous scenery we saw, and the hiking was fantastic, especially considering that we were still very close to the city.

We left there, went back to the hotel, and tried to locate StumpTown Coffee on the computer. We found the location and then rode the long ride over there. It was well worth it since we got to see a coffee shop that roasts its own beans and had a barista that had a really killer mustache who had awkwardly loud heavy metal music playing in the background, which added to its coolness factor.  I ordered a chai latte, and Cody ordered a mocha latte, on which the barista practiced his latte art. Most baristas in Portland–if not all–have to basically go to a barista training school before they can be hired in a coffee shop, which makes for consistently delicious cups of coffee everywhere you go.

Afterwards, we met up with Josh and Holly at Bridgeport for supper. Fun times were had.

We took a bus back to the hotel. A girl across from me had piercings all the way up her ear, but instead of earrings, her holes were filled with probably 20 different paperclips. Nice! Beside her was a woman who was talking about her daughter. “My daughter just got a Kindle,” she boasted. “When she’s having a stressful day, she goes into her room and reads.” The lady then wadded up her fist and said, “Yes, that’s what I used to do. I’m so proud of her.” I smiled softly and thought about how much I loved Portlandians. When we made it back to the hotel, everyone crashed for the night in hopes of waking up earlier the next day.

We made our way toward Interstate 5 and were left speechless by the Northern California countryside. Filled with rolling hills, Holly and I had no other choice but to sing songs from The Sound of Music once again. We crossed the Oregon border and were so happy to finally arrive at the state of our destination; however, we couldn’t go to Portland just yet. We decided to drive to the coast and take the scenic Highway 101. It’s almost as though we were afraid to go to Portland. We had built up the place so much in our minds that we were almost scared of it.

Before we turned off of Interstate 5, we stopped to get gas and were quickly reminded of the fact that people aren’t allowed to pump their own gas in the state of Oregon, which thrilled me since pumping gas is one of my least favorite activities in the entire world. I went inside to pay, and Cody stayed outside to to talk to the attendant.

“Are you enjoying your stay in Argon?” the attendant asked with a thick Oregon accent.

“This is actually our first stop,” Cody responded, just before telling him about our long adventure from Louisiana.

The man said how amazing it was that we were doing that and that he wanted to do something like that himself one day. Then, Cody asked him if Highway 101 was worth the extra time that it takes to get there, and the man said, “I don’t know. I’ve never been.”

We would soon learn that that it would definitely be worth the extra time. But in order to get to 101, we had to cut through at Highways 138 and 38, which were so beautiful. A clear blue river flowed beside us on one side, and on the other side were rolling hills and pastures that were the happy home to various elk and sheep. As I gazed out the window, I pretended to be Heidi frolicking around the hills, just before the scenery evolved into an enchanted rainforest with trees, moss, and wild ferns on either side of the road that created a canopy over our pathway. It felt as though we were in Fern Gully.

After we turned onto Highway 101, it was a while before we actually arrived to the coast. It was nothing like anything that I had ever seen before. We parked the car at one of the access points and made our way toward this beach of wonder. The violent waves crashed into the rocks, which served as the perfect backdrop for the boulders, caves, pelicans, seagulls, and starfish. It was chilly, and not long after we were there, a melancholy mist politely started to come down, revealing to us why the Oregon ground is so lush and green.

We didn’t want to leave. Ever. But we needed to head to Portland before it got too late. We stopped at a gas station so I could use the restroom, and I saw that it was located outside. I decided to see if it was unlocked before going through the trouble to get a key from inside. It was unlocked. Perfect. While inside, the lumberjack-looking gas attendant opened the door while I was on the toilet.

“Hey,” I screamed.

“That’s why you’re supposed to ask for a key,” he barked at me as though trying to teach me a lesson.

“It was unlocked. Why would I get a key if it’s unlocked?” I responded.

I heard nothing after that. Apparently, he either felt like an idiot or decided to stop being a pervert. I walked back to the car, and when we drove off, I scowled angrily at him as he eyeballed me through his angry beard.

I don’t know if I won the argument or not. I suppose that if I had, he would have felt bad or something.

We then went across the street to eat at a Fish ‘n Chips restaurant. I suppose I could’ve just used the bathroom here, I thought to myself. But it was too late, of course. But after we left the restaurant, I rolled down the window and yelled out a few insults. I guess you could say that I won at that point.

We started making our way to Portland, only a few short hours away, and Holly read Donald Miller’s Through Painted Deserts to us aloud.

When we finally arrived in Portland, we almost couldn’t contain our excitement. One of the first stores that we saw from the road was a store that sold unicycles. This place couldn’t get any more perfect. We checked into the hotel and then proceeded to go out to find a coffee shop. The streets were clean and quiet–so quiet that they were already closed…ha–so we came back to the hotel and turned in for the night.

Favorite quotes of the day, as recorded by Holly:

“I want to write a letter to those lights.” –Cody

“So Burt and his bees are healing my lips.” –Cody
“…and his ear wax.” –Holly

“Look. More Joshua trees, Joshua.” –Holly

“I don’t even remember what it’s like to work anymore.” –Josh
“You’ve only missed one day so far.” –Cody

“It would be weird if they were something other than the Elkton Elks–like the Elkton Rebels.” –Josh
“Ugghhh!!!” –All

“It’s gorgeous. It’s Josh Copeland.” –Cody (on Pacific Ocean)

“Ponytail time! Pull it out. Pull it out.” –Josh

Check back to this blog  in a couple of days. I’ll be posting a few videos of our time at the beach when I have a faster Internet connection.

When we finished nibbling on our food, we packed up our camp in record timing and then took the scenic drive back to Yosemite. We found a trail that led to Bridalveil Falls, which was spectacular. We climbed on the rocks, took a few pictures, and then decided to hike on the 2.1-mile trail toward El Capitan, another large waterfall. But this waterfall was dry because of the season, but we could see rock climbers who had been up there for days. I’m still pretty amazed at the situation. They’re probably still up there, peeing happily into a can.

We then hiked back to our car and then decided to say goodbye to Yosemite and begin making our way toward Portland. We stopped at a pizzeria along the way and a little coffee shop called Dutch Bros out in the middle of nowhere that had a top-notch barista. We thought, “Welcome to the Pacific Northwest where fine coffee shops are a dime a dozen. “ Happy were we.

We finally stopped in a town called Yreka to sleep in a hotel since some of us had not bathed since day one. The hotel was pretty shabby and was reminiscent of the movie Vacancy, according to Cody who was continually trying to make us frightened of the place, but that didn’t keep us from sleeping soundly while visions of Portland danced in our heads.

Favorite quotes of the day:

In response to the hardcore factor of the rock climbers….“And I thought WE were hardcore for riding in a car for 40 hours –Holly

“Are there any suspicious DVDs in this room?” –Cody

Waiting for us at the California border was a checkpoint. We wondered (with a small degree of worry) what they could possibly be checking for. I pulled up to the booth attendant and rolled down my window, and the attendant said, “Do you have any oranges?”

“Oranges?” I managed to ask through my spontaneous laughter. “No!”

“All right. Have a great day!”

When I wheeled away, we burst into laughter in unison. We had several theories about why they would want to know this, but we weren’t satisfied with our answers, so Josh began Googling for potential answers. Then Cody laughed and said, “Did you realize, Nichole, that you laughed at him when he asked you that? You were laughing at what he does for a living…all day…every day.”

“That poor guy,” we mused.

Josh was able to find a couple of conflicting answers on the Internet. One answer was that they ask random questions just so they can quickly decide if you’re an okay person entering their fine state. Another answer was that they’re afraid that you’re going to smuggle fruit into their state and threaten the value of the fruit from their fruit farms. The latter answer sounded more logical, but we’re still not sure about that one.

We eventually came up on the Mojave Desert, which was quite a sight. Holly was obsessed with the idea of getting the chance to see a large cactus–like what you see in those desert movies. But to her dismay, we didn’t see any quite like that. We did, however, see millions of Joshua trees, which was almost as exciting for her since her husband’s name is Joshua.

At our next stop, the gas station attendant asked us where we were from. When I told her Louisiana, she said, “Oh okay. I thought you guys were European. You’re so polite. Everyone else that comes in here just slaps their money on the counter.” I noticed that Cody was grinning from ear to ear when she said this. He was thrilled that he could add one more thing to his long list of other nationalities that people mistake him for.  We then ate ham sandwiches standing outside the trunk of the car and then forged on.

Just before we exited the desert area in Barstow, we stopped and took a picture of Josh standing next to a Joshua tree, which served as a happy farewell to the Mojave Desert. The desert terrain gradually morphed into perfect rolling hills that I likened to a fat man who was lying down with beige velvet draped over him. It made us so happy to be a part of this beautiful scenery, so happy that Holly and I couldn’t resist the urge to sing “The Sound of Music,” “The Lonely Goatherd,” and “Edelweiss” over and over again.

Once we made it past the rolling hills, we began seeing every type of farm imaginable: orange trees, vineyards, and…okay maybe that was it.

When we finally arrived to Yosemite, we found a place to park and started hiking one of the trails. We were in the area that is famous for its giant Sequoia trees. There was one that was so big that a car (at one time) was able to drive through it.

After we left the park, we had to find a place to pitch a tent. To our misfortune, every campsite inside the park was already booked, so we had to find a place elsewhere. We were able to find a campsite at Bass Lake at a place called Forks. Unfortunately, this campsite did not have electrical hookups, so we nearly froze to death and had to pitch the tent in the dark. Afterwards, we drove to a store where we bought a few items that were absolutely essential for us to survive the night: stuff for s’mores, stuff for hot dogs, and some bear decorated pajamas (Holly).

Back at the camp, we roasted wieners and made s’mores. I put the wieners back in the bag when we were finished with them, unwittingly spilling wiener juice all over Holly’s bear pajamas. It nearly ruined the night. Bears are so cool.

We spent the rest of the night bear proofing our campsite, and then we went to bed, which was difficult to do since the people in the tent next to us had a propane lamp burning all night, but it was okay because the owner of the lamp was so cool. I’ll tell you more about him tomorrow.

Favorite quotes of day:

“There will be no talk of bears while we’re on this trail.” –Cody

“Those orange trees are the reason for that guy at the checkpoint’s job.” –Holly

After being back on the road for a while, we stopped at Painted Desert to search for tumbleweeds. We found one, kicked it around awhile, and then got back in the car.

Fun times were had, but this didn’t hold a candle to the utter bliss that we experienced at the Geronimo gift shop. The anticipation for this place intensified with every billboard that we saw before arriving when Holly and I would scream, “GERONIMOOOOOOOO!!!!” Outside the gift shop, we played in the teepees and petrified wood.

Before we reached Flagstaff, Arizona, Holly mentioned that she wanted to go see “The World’s Largest Meteor Crater.” So we took our exit, made a few jokes about Wolf Creek and being tortured to death like the kids in Australia, along with a few other jokes about the hills having eyes, and then we finally arrived at the place that was located 6 miles off the interstate. It was going to cost us 60 bucks total to look at the thing, so we decided to turn around and fegettaboutit. We didn’t feel that it was a waste of time because we got to see large, pretty boulders everywhere that Josh insisted were strategically engineered to keep people from running off the road.

After finally arriving at the Grand Canyon, we got out of our car and viewed those majestic canyons. It looked more like a painting than real life—so gorgeous. We then left the canyon and pitched our tent nearby.  Our assembly of the tent left a lot to be desired, but it was home. We lay down for a while as the cooler-than-Louisiana breeze afforded us the opportunity to finally relax.

We then went back to hike one of the canyon trails. It was a lot of fun watching Josh pretend to jump into the canyon time and time again, which is what one of the guides said was the number one cause of fatalities in the canyon, and it was also fun watching Holly pretend to be Mufasa from The Lion King as she gazed at her “kingdom” below.

On our trek back to the car, we happened upon an amphitheater where I couldn’t resist getting on the stage and quoting Shakespeare and Robert Frost to the top of my lungs. The other tourists were definitely thrilled by my loudness.

We got back to the camp and immediately went to sleep in the 35-degree weather. But we stayed cozy under our electric blankets.

Favorite quotes of the day, recorded by Holly:

“The Pringles got hammered.” –Josh

“He probably thinks we’re time travelers.” –Holly

“Our tent leans a little to the left…” –Nichole

“…kind of like us.” Holly and Nichole in unison.