What to Write About First?

I know. That title is an example of improper English grammar. But it’s deliciously the style of the grammar I heard during my growing-up days in south Louisiana. And I’m still basking in the memories of shrimp po-boys from last week’s visit down south. So bear with me, fellow grammar police-people.

I have much to write about. I’m afraid this post it going to be even more scattered than usual.

Old Friends

I have several “old friends” stories today. In Louisiana last week, I got to have lunch with Jan and Janie. I’ve known Jan since kindergarten, and Janie and I became friends in seventh grade (or was it sixth grade?). Later that day, I visited with my friend Kris. Kris and my friendship began in fourth grade, with our mutual love for John Schneider, a.k.a. “Bo Duke.” We’ve stayed good friends ever since, and had a wonderful 3-hour conversation that afternoon.

Then yesterday I went to camp to visit the Hubster and just happened to run into my friend Rusty. I hadn’t seen Rusty since 1991, when we were in college together. He was one of three students from my college who studied at Oxford in 1991 as part of the Virginia Program at Oxford. I wrote a little bit about that, and included some pictures, here.

So Rusty was at the camp for Parents’ Night, as his son’s troop is attending camp this week. Amazing that, even though there were hundreds of people at the camp, and even though both Rusty and I were only at the camp for a few hours, we should run into each other and have a very happy and unexpected reunion of old friends. His wife, RachelAnne, was there, too. She was beautiful when we were in college and has amazingly grown more beautiful with age. It was so good to see them both again, and to meet their three children.

Pregnancy and My Looks

OK, I’m getting a little tired of being told I don’t “look” pregnant. I do look pregnant, if you compare my body today with the body I had five months ago.

And some not-very-bright person told me last week that they “can’t believe” I’m actually wearing maternity clothes, because “you sure don’t look like you need them yet.”

Well, let’s see. I was in size-4 jeans before. If I were to try to put those on, they might still fit in the legs, but the zipper definitely wouldn’t zip, and the button would probably be several inches from the buttonhole. My size-6 maternity jeans are perfectly comfortable, thank you.

And my boobs burgeoning milk factory has grown exponentially. OK, not literally exponentially. (Sorry, Hubster.) My shirts don't quite fit anymore. I suppose I could set aside all my S/P t-shirts and go buy a bunch of M/M or even L/G t-shirts, but the S/P maternity t-shirts are just perfect. There’s plenty of room up top for the growing girls, and there’s plenty of room in the bottom to grow into. An added benefit is that the shirts are long, so I never have to worry about my underwear peeking out of my waistband in back. (I hate when that happens, particularly when I see it happen to a person my age or older.)

So, yes, I look pregnant. For me. I’ve gone from having a concave stomach to having a poochy little belly. I can’t help it if half the women (and a good many of the men) in the U.S. already have poochy little bellies, and that I merely look like everyone else now. Maybe they’re the ones who look pregnant. And since I look like them now (the women, at least), I guess I look pregnant, too.

(Am I being snarky? I’m not trying to be. I promise.)

More on Pregnancy and My Looks

Though I could never have imagined it during those nauseated and exhausted first 14 weeks of pregnancy, I think I’ve actually begun to glow. Rarely do I look at myself in the mirror and think, “Self, you are beautiful.” But I do it every morning now. I’m not trying to be vain. I just think I’m glowing, and happy, and that it’s all right there in my face.

Here’s the scientific explanation, from the American Pregnancy web site:

When you are pregnant your body produces 50% more blood, resulting in more blood circulation through your body. This increase in blood circulation causes your face to be brighter. Your body is also producing a fair amount of hormones that cause your oil glands to work in over drive, leaving your face shiny. Both of these things can result in the "pregnancy glow" you have heard of.
A big part of my happiness is Scout’s daddy. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful man in my life.

(Am I being mushy and sentimental? I’m not trying to be. I promise.)


My, but I’m taking a lot of classes. Most of them are imaginary, but they’re classes nonetheless. The one non-imaginary class I’m taking is an H&R Block class on taxes, which I’m taking as part of my job. Definitely not a class I would ever sign up for on my own, but … it’s still fun to learn new things. I just need to try not to get too mad. It’s difficult; just thinking about how the government takes away my hard-earned income can have me spitting nails.

The other classes I’m taking give me no cause to be angry at the government. They are:

- A great books course offered by The Teaching Company
- A course on argumentation offered by The Teaching Company
- A course on the Old Testament, offered by the Reformed Theological Seminary

And then there’s piano. Does that count as a class? Whatever it is, it’s certainly not imaginary.

So I’m getting the H&R Block Class and the OT class for free. The others I’ve paid for.


I’m reading several books right now. As usual, I’m working my way through the entire Bible. I try to do this every year. I practically have Genesis memorized. Last year I made it all the way through the Old Testament. This year I’m following the “Bible in One Year” plan outlined in The Literary Study Bible. I’m currently about a month behind because I was too depressed to read anything in May.

I’m also re-reading Anne of Green Gables. I remember reading it when I was a child, and I remember liking the story but feeling ambivalent about the character of Anne, whom I found entirely too girly. At the same time, I definitely identified with her on many levels.

There’s one expression that she uses that I’d forgotten about (I probably didn’t totally understand what it meant when I was ten), and I now wish I’d remembered it all these years: “scope for the imagination.” The reason I fell in love with the old farmhouse was that it had so much scope for the imagination. Our current house, nice and modern and comfortable as it is, has absolutely no scope for the imagination, which is why I doubt I'll ever love it the way I loved the old farmhouse, or the way I loved living in my grandmother's house several years ago.

I couldn’t explain it to the Hubster then, and I probably couldn’t explain it now. But you, dear readers, understand what I mean … don’t you?

I’m also reading I’d Rather Be Practicing, a memoir by classical pianist Gary Graffman. I enjoy reading memoirs by pianists, for some reason. My favorite so far has been the two-volume memoir by Arthur Rubinstein.

And, of course, I'm reading about five books on pregnancy.

The End

And this brings me to the end of this long and rambling post. I have a long day ahead of me, one that includes much productivity at work (hopefully) and an ultrasound. Later, y’all!


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