What's Your Love Language?

Happy Post-Valentine's Day Post!  I hope everyone is feeling adequately loved, or at least adequately comforted by chocolate.  These cupcakes were made by my oh-so-talented sister Juliana and they rest upon an old-school Strawberry Shortcake paper plate.   Remember old-school Strawberry Shortcake?

I so don't get why they made Strawberry Shortcake look all different now.  She had a good look going.

This Valentine's Day was unique because I had  conversations with various friends about  their "love language."

For those unfamiliar with the love language concept, a brief synopsis.  When Daniel and I got married, we received two copies of this book called THE FIVE LOVE LANGUAGES.  According to the author, everyone speaks one of five love languages.  So, to truly show love for someone, you must determine what says LOVE to them, and then act accordingly.  I have to admit I did not read this book, but I think the languages are: gifts, acts of service, quality time, words of affirmation and something else.  I don't know, look it up--supposedly this is a very popular book.

Because I am obviously anti-love, this book, and the concept never spoke to me.  I think Chomsky would say I lacked the "love language acquisition device" early in life. Case in point:


1.  THE WAY HE LIVED got great reviews from the fine bloggers at Fire and IceWriters Butt Does Not Apply to Me, and Reading List of A Book Pusher.  Every time a reader connects with my book, it feels like the first time ("It feels like the very first time").  Someone gets it.  I've been able to touch someone as an author, which has been my dream for as long as I can remember.

Not to mention the AMAZING review I got this week at  The Internet Review of Books. In her essay, fiction editor Julie McGuire lists THE WAY HE LIVED as one of her top 10 favorite YA books.  Ever.  Like, on the same list as John Green and Laurie Halse Anderson and Neil Gaiman and Suzanne Collins and even--wait for it--Sherman Alexie.  (I was going to link to one of my other posts about my obsession with Sherman Alexie, but which to choose?).

Me, sharing space with Sherman Alexie?  Feel the love.

2.  When he learned I was having trouble finding the sock drawer organizer I wanted, Daniel made me one!  While  I was online, trying to decide whether or not to pony up the $9.99 (plus shipping), he constructed a similar organizer from a cardboard box.  He knows how much I hate to spend money and thus hate traditional "gifts."  So this was like an act of service/gift/quality time hybrid.  As love languages go, I guess this was like speaking Esperanto to me.

3.  I get nightmares.  Every night.  And I wake up screaming, and Dan has learned that, much like a three-month-old, it is rare indeed for me to sleep through the night.  I remember my nightmares.  Vividly.  I also remember that some people have happy dreams, because why else would we call "dream come true" a "dream come true?"

I wanted a happy dream.  And this week, I had one!

If you haven't read about my awesome encounter with Sabrina, the current girlfriend of my high school crush Adam,  you must check it out, because in addition to it being the best story ever, it provides background for this dream.  So, for some reason I was back in high school, but this time it was chill, because for some reason I was happy to be there, and I was just walking along and I saw Adam and Sabrina (in real life, I don't know what Sabrina looks like, as we've never met).  And they were like, "hey!  Do you want to organize the prom?"  and I was like, "Heck yes!"

So for the prom the high school held a dinner, which was a traditional Sedar, because, you know, there's a big Jewish population in suburban Utah.   Afterward we had a dance, DJed by a rabbi who taught us a bunch of traditional Jewish dances.  In the dream, I was an excellent dancer, and I also knew the difference between left and right.

This is my love language, right or wrong.


December is busy for everyone.  It's a lame excuse for not posting, so I'm not even gonna try it.  I mention the insanity of December only to highlight the most insane part of it: My Trip to Spokane,Washington For the Marriage of This Guy:

Just so you know, I went to a lot of trouble to rotate and re-save that photo, and it still didn't work.  Small wonder that blogging makes me  so defeated. Anyway, This Guy is my brother Ethan, in a picture taken just hours before his wedding to the beautiful and delightful Cami.

You can't see her face very well in this shot, but perhaps she doesn't want her face associated with this blog anyway.

On our way to Spokane, my brother Andy and sister Hannah were making very poor Spokane puns.  When we landed at the airport, Andy wondered if the local newspaper was called the "Spo-kane Word," which is just bad on so many levels it's embarrassing.  I did not have the pleasure of driving to the hotel with them, but by the time we arrived the puns had disintegrated into Andy commenting that it was "Spo-chilly."

Between the Spo-chilliness and the ceaseless Spo-jokes, the trip was shaping up to, more or less, blow.  Until I discovered we were less than a mile from designated Native American lands.  Noting that my hero, Sherman Alexie, refers to himself as Spokane Indian, I insisted Dan and I go on an impromptu trip to The Rez.

DAN:  What are we supposed to do when we get there?

ME: We see the sights, then ask somebody if this is indeed Sherman Alexie's birth-rez.

DAN:  Um, are we supposed to call it that?

This was my first time on a rez, and I have to admit to finding it baffling.  I had expected some sort of mobile-home community with people standing outside selling bracelets.  I expected this not because I believe stereotypes, but because my friend Nancy (who is not Native American but lives on a rez to provide health care) has told me it's actually the case. All I saw on this rez was a casino/restaurant, a soon-to-open luxury hotel, and a gigantic parking structure.  Upon entering the casino restaurant,  I noticed the people running the place looked as Native American as I did.  Which is to say they did not look Native American at all.

If you can't tell what I'm standing next to in this picture, no worries, because I can't either.  It was some sort of display case with dolls and stuffed animals, but neither looked very Native American.   Still, I couldn't very well pose next to the sorry-looking restaurant.  And I don't think I would have been allowed to take a picture of the vending machine selling both cigarettes and Grandma's Cookies (it was located in the casino). Finally, I asked a cashier with bleached hair and acrylic nails if she happened to know if a  famous writer named Sherman Alexie had ever lived on this rez.

WHITE LADY WORKING AT THE CASINO:  Do you know what tribe he's from?

ME: ...Spokane?...

Turns out there are like 14 reservations in Spokane.  I'm still not sure any people actually live on this one.

Spo-tastic entrance to what is probably not Sherman Alexie's rez.