What Russell and Justin had for dinner. Gives a new meaning to “Hot Doughnuts Now.”
7 comments on Fried Chicken Doughnut Sandwich
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We stopped by Andy’s house. To our delight, he has chickens and roosters!
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We almost ran over a turtle in the road. Rose gallantly escorted it to the riverside.
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I’ve always been a proponent of visiting new places, seeing new sights. This past week I was in Iceland for work. A year and a half ago I was in Iceland for vacation. I choose Iceland for vacation because I wanted to go somewhere that was cold and dark and would aid great sleep. I also wanted to see the Northern Lights. To my delightful surprise, I discovered that Iceland has the most comfortable beds of anywhere I’ve slept in the world. To my dismay, I never saw the Northern Lights.
When I learned that the team had chosen Iceland for the team meetup, I booked my ticket. There wasn’t the excitement I feel when traveling somewhere new. There was the excitement of the opportunity to spend several days with the team.
Once I landed, there was something comforting about being in a city I had been in before. Reykjavik is an easy city to know (not such an easy city to spell). I knew the streets, where the main shopping street was, where the cute pond with the ducks were. I knew where the post office was and where to buy stamps. I remembered the grocery store. I remembered the church and the amazing views you could see from the top of the tower. And with all that knowing, there was still much to discover. We ate at new restaurants. We visited new pubs. We stayed in a new neighborhood.
Some of my favorite moments were:
Drinking a polar beer (not bear!) and sharing stories with Krista 
Observing the beautiful graffiti on the sides of buildings 
Approaching the formidable Hallgrímskirkja and watching a group of theater students pretend to sword fight and behead each other in the snow 
Climbing the tower at Hallgrímskirkja and taking in the expansive views of Reykjavik 
Observing quirky sites around Reykjavik, like this sweater covered tree 
Viewing the swans and ducks on the pond by City Hall Enjoying a few hours at the Blue Lagoon before returning to the US, eating Skyr, watching giant snowflakes fall from the sky, and most of all, spending time with colleagues that I respect and admire and don’t get to see nearly often enough.
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Enjoying afternon tea with Rachel and her mom.
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There’s been a lot in the news lately about how the Susan G Komen for the Cure charity has cut off funding to Planned Parenthood. Maybe I’m naive, but I marvel that we allow politics to interfere with funding women’s health initiatives. Spoiler alert – this isn’t a post about abortions.
When I was in college, I started going to Planned Parenthood. I couldn’t get an appointment at our college student health center for months and I knew that annual exams were important. At Planned Parenthood, I was made to feel welcome, the clinicians answered my questions without judgment, and I could afford the services provided.
My first job out of college was as an elementary school teacher in rural North Carolina. My take home pay was less than $1,000/month. For nine months out of the year. Health insurance must have been offered as a benefit, but I remember not being able to figure out how to navigate the system or how to get an appointment. It was easier and more convenient to continue to go to Planned Parenthood for my annual exams. So I did.
One day after school I received a call at the elementary school where I taught. I remember the secretary buzzing me over the intercom, telling me there was a call for me in the office. It was a crisp fall day and the afternoon sun was shining brightly, highlighting the blazing red, yellow, and orange leaves on the trees. I walked down the puce green hallway and picked up the phone which was sitting on a weathered old wooden desk. The call was from a clinician from Planned Parenthood. “Lori, your pap smear has come back abnormal. We need you to come back in for more testing.”
Those are scary words for anyone to hear, but they felt especially frightening to a young twenty-something who had just started her first real job and who was struggling with just about every area of her life. The follow-up tests confirmed that I had cancerous cervical cells.
At that point, I gave up on trying to be independent and called my parents, crying and scared. They went to church with a woman who had recently remarried. Her new husband was a respected oncologist. He scheduled me for surgery and follow-up treatment back in my home town. We all lived happily ever after.
If there were no Planned Parenthood, would I have discovered that I needed treatment? Probably, eventually. Would I have discovered it in time to prevent the cancer from spreading? Maybe. Maybe not.
I’m thankful that Planned Parenthood supports women’s health. I’m thankful they encourage women to get annual exams and engage in preventive healthcare measures. I’m thankful that they provide an affordable service to those women and men who don’t have health insurance. And that’s why I continue to support them.
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I’m in the very lucky position of being in New Zealand with a group of my work colleagues. Before we arrived, one of them sent out a survey of potential activities we could do for fun. This included a list of various extreme sports: zip lining, river boarding, canyon swinging, bungee jumping, canyoning, street luging, and rally carts. When I visited the web pages for each of these activities, my first reaction was “Wow! That looks like so much fun!” And then I thought through the logistics. Jumping off a platform into an abyss, dangling from a single thread? Hmmm.
The first of the fun activities was upon us: bungee jumping. Not everyone wanted to participate in bungee jumping; I could have very easily chosen to be in the group that watched. The thought of bungee jumping scares me. The last time I had a chance to bungee jump, I didn’t. I was in Zambia, and I had the chance to jump over the Zambezi River, with Victoria Falls in the background. I chickened out. (Yes, that was the same place where this happened recently, so maybe it was a good thing I didn’t do it.) I’ve always wondered, though, “What would it have felt like, to plunge through the air?”
So now the opportunity presented itself again, and this time I took it. As we approached the booking office, I had a similar feeling as when I’m going to the dentist. Just don’t think about it. Just don’t think about what’s going to happen next. It’ll be fine.
We filled out the requisite forms. We were weighed, asked if we had any health problems, then given forms to sign to the effect of “I realize this is the most dangerous thing I’ve done in my life and release you from all responsibility when I get killed, maimed, or otherwise physically altered…” I signed and we went down to the platform.
The butterflies in my stomach increased with each step, culminating as I crossed a narrow bridge to reach the platform off of which we would jump. I watched two of my colleagues jump before me. It looked fun. They came back. No problem, right? I couldn’t look at the edge of the platform. The guys that worked there harnessed me into straps. I told them it didn’t feel tight enough. They said it was. One brought me to the edge of the platform and told me to look at the camera. I looked up at the camera, pointedly refusing to look down off the platform. I had a sudden fear he was going to push me off. I took a step back.
He said that he would count down, and then I would run and jump. I likened this to diving off of a diving board. Just without the water. He started the countdown. “Wait, wait, wait! I’m not quite ready.” “Better to just do it,” he said, “Don’t wait too long.” I took a few deep breaths. He began the count down again.
“Three!”
“Two!”
“One!”
I ran. I jumped. And then…
I sailed into the air. Falling, falling, falling down towards the earth, with majestic evergreens surrounding me. In my mind, I pictured myself doing a swan dive, gracefully meeting the earth (on the video I watched afterwards I realized it wasn’t as graceful as I imagined).
It wasn’t until the bungee tugged on me that I let out a scream of joy. What fun! What freedom! To be suspended in the air, twirling, with beautiful Queenstown below me. I laughed as they pulled me back up to the platform. “That was so much fun! Oh, my goodness, that was so much fun!”
“Aye, want to give it another go?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I said, “No, thank you!” As fun as it was, once was enough.
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I woke up before my alarm went off; my reward was to watch a blinding sun rise over the mountains. This is a view I could never tire of.
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Published authors are magical people to me. I am so in awe of people who gather their thoughts, write them down, solicit a publisher, go through the process of drafts, edits, and then, finally, publishing. This year I’ve been incredibly fortunate to meet three authors in person, of three books that I love.
Act I
In May I was visiting a friend from college who I hadn’t seen in more than a decade. I was on a business trip to Seattle; she lives not far from there so I spent the weekend with her. I glanced on her coffee table and saw a book called, “The Happiness Project.” I had heard of the book, and it was on my list of “to read.” I picked it up and asked her how it was. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. You should take it.” I did. And loved it. Loved the idea of making small, sustainable changes in your life to increase your overall happiness. Who knew that making my bed every day would bring me so much joy?In September I attended the Mighty Summit, a weekend gathering organized by Maggie Mason and Laura Mayes, which was simply amazing. Maggie and Laura gave the gift of a relaxing weekend in Guerneville to 22 women. We ate delicious meals together, bonded over stories shared, and supported each other in our life list goals. The first evening, many women were relaxing in the hot tub and I decided to join them. As I eased down into the steaming water, I introduced myself to the woman next to me. She introduced herself. Gretchen Rubin. Gretchen Rubin? How many Gretchen Rubin’s could there be? The author of The Happiness Project Gretchen Rubin? As has happened previously when around people I admire and respect, I became completely tongue tied. We made small talk for a few minutes before I blurted out, “I really liked your book.” My inner voice immediately spoke up. “Really? You meet an author you respect in a somewhat intimate setting, and that’s what you come up with? You sound like you’re in second grade.” Gretchen, however, was incredibly gracious. For the rest of the weekend, the conversation flowed smoothly. We talked about finding the perfect apartment in big cities, children’s antics, and the value of keeping a fully stocked costume box (replete with wigs). I left the weekend not only feeling like I knew the author, but had connected with an incredibly witty and charming woman.
Act II
In November, a dear friend gave me tickets to hear Joan Didion speak in San Francisco. I discovered Joan Didion’s work about 5 years ago, and have devoured it since. I love her straightforward, no-nonsense style. How she weaves together words in unusual ways. How she writes, describing a scene so vividly, that I’m transported there, forgetting where and when I’m really living.We listened, rapt, throughout the discussion. Afterwards Emily suggested we wait in line to get our books signed. The line moved quickly and before we knew it, we were standing in front of Ms. Didion. Once again, I stammered, completely tongue-tied in front of a woman who I admire more than any other author.
Act III
The day before I left to return to North Carolina for the holidays, my dad sent me an email. “I met this woman. She’s been to 67 countries. She wants to meet you. Download her book and that can be part of your Christmas present.”I downloaded the book, An Unreasonable Woman, In Search of Meaning Around the Globe. I started reading it before bed on my first night in North Carolina. And couldn’t put it down. My eyes were droopy, but I wanted to read just one more chapter. And then another one. And another. Until I looked at the clock and realized it was 3 am. Oh, goodness.
I was beyond enthralled. Here was a woman who had perfect pitch, was an accomplished accordion player, and had decided to travel the world on her own in the 1950s, earning money as she traveled. What chutzpah!
Dad arranged for her to come to lunch one afternoon. Oh, goodness. Another opportunity to meet an author that I admired. I envisioned sitting there in silence, tongue-tied, as I’ve been with other favorite authors. Should I list topics in advance that I wanted to talk about? Should I have some questions prepared? What if she was nothing like her writing?
I shouldn’t have worried. She arrived and greeted me with the most incredibly warm, sparkling blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Her peaceful manner invited conversation and soon we were both chatting animatedly about favorite places we’d been, where we still want to go, and the importance of writing everyday. After lunch, we continued chatting until we realized the sun was setting. As I hugged her good-bye, I had connected with a kindred soul. I have no doubt our paths will cross again. I’m looking forward to that day.
LoriLoo 