on running and hope and collars.

Hi my name is Jessica. You could take out a piece of paper and pen right now and write down a list. No wait, since you're obviously on your computer, you could just type a quick one out--one that entails all of the things I do. Like, on a regular basis. And sure, it would probably be kind of long. And you might even find some more obscure activities on it like

• swimming with manatees

or even

• losing my marriage license

But I can assure you that even if this list were comprehensive and exhaustive (which I assume just means that it is so thorough that you are totally exhausted by the time you finish it. right?okay, maybe not), it would not ever say

• running

Which is why I thought it was a great idea to just up and do a 5k today. Sure, most people train for these kinds of things, but me? Hey, well just a few months ago I wasn't feeling so hot so I ran right to the trash can in time to throw up a vitamin I had taken--that went pretty well--why not try for a 5k?

Sounds about right.

So here is me and my sister Jenna,
after having successfully completing it and actually running about half of it, I'd say, though that may be a generous estimation.

I strive to be generous at all times, you know?

And right when I felt like it was really the pits, my sister sort of saved the day by offering me half her ipod earbuds (which would be one of them, for those of you not quite so adept in math or the basic knowledge of how many ears a human has), and we both listened to some N'SYNC. Old school. Dirty Pop.

It helped us pick up the pace and reminisce about the time we saw N'SYNC at the Vet in Philly. It was Jenna's first concert ever and I have to admit, watching Joey Fatone get stuck in the air, just suspended and trying to pretend that's what was supposed to happen was entertainment, folks. Maybe not at it's best, but still, it was pretty good. The jig was up, though, because all of his boy band mates were already dancing on their respective mechanical bulls (yes, that's what I said), and there was poor Joey, doing those hand motions with his feet dangling helplessly while his riderless mechanical bull bucked and jumped underneath him.

Yep, we knew, we were no dummies. And neither were the crew, since they were working their darnedest at getting Joey down and onto that bull where he belonged.

Oh, but the 5k.

We did it, that was the point, I believe.

I will probably be sore tomorrow, and by probably I mean definitely, but it was a good time and for a good cause (westside family health care).

Maybe I'll do it again someday. And maybe I'll, I don't know, train.

Oh. And even though I don't love Christmas shops all year round, I do love feeling like it's Christmas in August. Which is why it was so nice that while I was going through my things, I was completely surprised by this wall hanging

that I had bought at Ten Thousand Villages last December and then promptly forgotten. First of all I love that store. Their ethics are great since they practice fair trade and this particular piece is from a group of wood crafters in El Salvador (yay El Salvador, land of my sister's ancestors!!!).

But isn't it lovely?

I love everything about it--the yellow, the sentiment, the flowers crawling along the letters on a meandering vine. Which is why I put it up. By myself. Even though Drew usually tells me to wait for him...And if I were to tell the whole story, the exhaustive story, I would say something like it took me a while and at one point I almost fell off the chair I was standing on but lucky for me the wall hanging fell instead. And there I was, hands and mouth full of nails and hooks and a hammer, helplessly watching the HOPE that was handcrafted by good honest El Salvadorans fall to the floor and promptly break so that it looked more like a really weird, half breed H followed, at least, by a good strong OPE.

But that wasn't gonna cut it.

So I found some carpenter's glue and put it right back together again and now all you can really see is a faint line, just a crack in the otherwise perfect veneer. But really, it makes the whole thing have more character as well as being that much more real since our HOPE isn't born out of perfection, no, it's a resilient sonofagun that persists in some mighty deep cracks and then keeps on going.

Sort of like our little Percy-girl's dogged resistance to her adorable pink collar, though really, can you say dogged when referring to a cat? Probably not if you ask a cat. But see, tonight I discovered that she had not only taken the thing off,
she also tried to bury the evidence!

humor me as I share about my nephew and my cats. Oh, and a skin disorder. not mine.

My three-year-old nephew Judah recently tried to order some chicken hands at a restaurant. It took some time before people realized that what he wanted was actually chicken fingers and if you think about it, that's really no stranger than chicken hands.

Considering chickens have neither hands nor fingers.

As requested, here is our poor cat's shaven back, documented for all the world to see.
It kind of looks like a). we tried to get crafty with the clippers and turn him into a real cool punk, b). he was caught in some kind of act of harlotry and must now suffer this branding, not unlike the scarlet letter, or c). he has a horrible skin disorder that reminds me of the same skin disorder that I ran into head-first and full-tilt as a kid at the beach.

How does one run into a skin disorder?

Well my brother and I had seen this woman earlier in the day; she stood out because her poor skin looked like it was sloughing off of her body in a very painful and embarrassing way. We hadn't said anything, but we both tried not to look but probably couldn't help looking a little. Or a lot. We were kids. The point is we both noticed. A little later, we were wandering along the boardwalk and I was trying to catch up with Jonathan when all of the sudden I rammed into a wall. But it wasn't a wall. It was her. And I had unfortunately rubbed up against what Jonathan assured me was a horrible skin disease that I had now most definitely contracted and it'd only be a few days until it showed up on me too, leaving me raw and the person who people look at but try not to; a person who's left with chunks of hair falling off her head.

Kind of like Tally, my cat.

Surprisingly enough, Jonathan's prediction didn't come true and well, I really hope that woman is doing much better and has her skin intact. And I've been careful to look where I am going ever since.

And as you can see, we threw away our cat Percy. Right into the trash.

Apparently she's a smart one, though, because she climbed right out.

Go figure.

monday afternoon

I am sitting next to Drew, listening to the slow and rhythmic hum of a guitar being tuned. We are recording, but a lot of recording is hurry up and wait--for me, anyway. Well, for this particular song, anyway. Because see, this is a song that I wrote on a bus a while ago and though it could be played just fine on the piano it lends itself to a guitar, begs to be played on a guitar, really. Thus, Drew is playing it.

And I wait.

To sing.

Which is kind of my favorite part anyway.

And there are all sorts of cables that need to be plugged in and right clicks to be made on the laptop in order for everything to be just so, and while I've offered to help, there's not really much I can do other than sing, which is what I am waiting to do.

And other than go make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which is what I just did.

And in case you were wondering what it was that was happening right now, Drew is repeatedly playing the low E and it's sounding just like a low E should, good job, Drew.

Yes, I know I should totally be a sportscaster, what with my fascinating ability to give a rousing play-by-play. If the whole performing thing hadn't worked out, that was absolutely my Plan B. With, ah, tour guide being a close Plan C, given my penchant for knowing exactly where I am at all times and if you've never met sarcasm before, consider yourself good and acquainted now.

You know what else is happening right now?

Well, after taking our cat Taliesin, who has been sporting 5 dreadlocks on his back for a while, to the vet, we had the audacity to buy him a really cute black and silver collar along with a name plate that has our number on it and yeah, the whole idea of it was for him to wear it around his striped and furry neck. We decided to do this because our other cat, Percy, did a heck of a disappearing act about two weeks ago which involved us scouring the whole house without a hint of her little self and then organizing a search party of two outside for about a half hour.

In the pitch black of night. Looking for a cat who happens to be the same color as the pitch black of night. Cute, right? They match. How adorable.

I was praying and crying while Drew was chasing down stray cats, calling them Percy-girl and beckoning them to come back to our house when it turned out that they had never even been to our house in the first place. Oops. Finally, we were sure that she was gone gone gone and the whole time we were kicking ourselves because even if a kind soul did find her, they'd have no idea who to contact because she had no collar.

It was a happily-ever-after kind of story because Drew eventually stopped back in our house and found Percy-girl sitting contentedly on the couch, paws crossed, lazily yawning as if to say why ever would anyone be out at this hour? Why ever, indeed, Percy; why ever indeed. But all this to say, we went to the pet store and got each of our dear pets collars and some ID. Just in case.

But well, maybe the timing was bad, because after taking Tally to the vet where he had his dreadlocks shaved off so that he now has a bald patch in his normally glorious fur and suffered through two shots, we put a collar around him.

And he's mad at us. Really really mad. Hiding mad. We can't find him anywhere and 18 lbs of orange and white fur is a lot to hide, I think. We are trusting that he will come out from his hiding when he is good and ready to face his adversaries beloved masters.

So that's what's up with me. I'm recording. My cat's mad at me. Oh yeah, and I recently threw out a spider. No, he wasn't dead, but he was in the litter box and had all those legs that spiders tend to have and so I scooped him up along with the clumps and out he went into the garbage behind our house.

And I don't regret it one bit.

sandy handed boys, owls who are not owls, and my own silly self

Summer time sand.

In your hair.

On your skin.

Under your fingernails as you keep digging in.

Might as well admit right now that Drew isn't the only young man in my life.

Might as well give you photographic proof.

Cause here they are, Ollie, Eli, and Judah,
managing to look cool despite holding their hands in that I-really-need-to-rinse-them kind of way. You know, the beach kind of way.

And in the background you can see my sister Jenna, my sister-in-law Darby, and my brother Jonathan, doing their part to get sandy too.

Oh, and Drew and I adopted an owl.

A black one.
Okay, not really, but doesn't Percy look like one? She's not, though; she's totally feline, she's just really good at looking like an owl sometimes.
And looking like a cat most other times. What can I say, she's got game.

And one more thing.

This is what happens when you are me.

When you really don't get technology all that easily.

Or don't really have the patience for it.

Not when all you're trying to do is take a picture.

One silly picture.

And you end up taking...well, this.