Coffe, Vacation, and N'awlins

I didn't have any coffee this morning, so now I am battling a mid-morning headache.  I am not one of those people who can drink coffee all day long, but in the morning it's definitely the first thing on my mind.  So my plan is to get in a good workout at lunch and then if I'm still feeling sleepy I will swing by Starbucks on the way back to work with an iced latte in my hands.  Just thinking about it brings a smile to my face.

That was totally NOT the overall subject of this post, but I felt the need to start off on an unrelated tangent.  Truth be told I don't really have a subject for this particular post.  I just felt the need to start typing.  Dean and I are leaving Saturday morning for New Orleans.  Bring on the catfish, the beignets, and the Hurricanes (most notably the ones at Pat O'Briens).  I love New Orleans.  I'm sure that statement has been uttered by a lot of people, but one more time can't hurt.  I have never been to a city like New Orleans before, and each time I go back I fall a little bit more in love with it.  Granted, since Dean's parents don't live directly in the city, but across the Causeway Bridge in Mandeville, I don't spend every waking moment of our time there wandering the streets of the Crescent City, but everything I've experienced thus far has been fabulous.

If you know me, you know I have a passion for history.  And you probably also know that I am a ghost story addict.  Well, when it comes to history and hauntings, New Orleans covers both areas to the extreme.  You know it's the most haunted city in America, right?  But ghosts aside, just the history of New Orleans alone is a remarkable tale.  While I canot recite every detail for you in chronological order, I have purchased several books on the topic and am utterly amazed at what has transpired through the years.  Of course, that isn't to say crazy things aren't still happening in the present day (just walk down Bourbon Street if you don't believe me), but the things people used to get away with are amazing.  

So for a week I will head south.  Chances are there won't be any blog posts in my absence, but I'm sure my three readers will be able to hold out a bit for my next riveting composition.  I'm looking forward to the time away.  While I will miss my dogs, I will not miss sitting at my desk at work for 8 hours a day, forever answering emails and phone calls, and thinking about how the weekend is so near yet so far away.  Vacations are such a blessing, if only for those few things. 
         

  

Charlie Brown and Snoopy for the Soul

December 14, 1999 was a sad day in the history of American cartoons.  It was on this day that Charles M. Schulz announced his retirement from producing the comic strip, "Peanuts," which ran for nearly 50 years without interruption.  If there is anyone out there who does not know about "Peanuts" please get in touch with me immediately and I will educate you on what is, in my opinion, one of the most influential comic strips in history.

I make it a point to read a "Peanuts" comic strip every single day.  For me, it's akin to taking an affirmation.  No mater how many times you see a panel showing Charlie Brown running to kick that football, or Linus trying to wrangle his blanket away from Snoopy, you just can't help but smile.  One thing that has always drawn me to the comic strip is the way the characters talk to each other.  I mean, here we have elementary school-aged characters talking to each other, for the most part, like adults, with one even posing as a psychiatrist.  I can remember reading the comic strip as a kid and being somewhat confused by some of the dialogue, then going back and re-reading the same panels years later and finally understanding what was going on. 

Schulz drew much of the inspiration for the main character, Charlie Brown, from his own life.  Both were shy and withdrawn, both had dogs as pets, both had a father that was a barber and a mother that was a housewife.  Even some of Charlie Brown's friends were based off of real people in Schulz's life.  However, I also like to think that Schulz created this character with the knowledge that each of us, at some point in our lives, have found ourselves feeling a bit like Charlie Brown, that loveable, balding child who never could seem to catch a break. 

The one thing that would bring Charlie Brown the most satisfaction in all the world would be to kick that football.  In the course of almost 50 years Charlie Brown must have tried to kick that football a million times, but never could quite reach his goal.  No matter what sweet promises Lucy made, she would always yank the ball away at the last minute, leaving poor Charlie Brown sprawled out flat on his back.  Some might see this as the true essence of Charlie Brown's gullible nature, but I think it is a prime example of his dedication and determination.  Nothing is going to sway this kid from kicking that football.  It doesn't matter how many times he might have failed in his past, each time Lucy lines up the ball a new opportunity presents itself, and Charlie Brown does not shy away from the challenge.  Even though (to my recollection) he never "kicked that football clear to the moon," he also never gave up.  We all have certain things in our life that we can't help wanting, or wanting to do, even though they might be terribly out of reach.  I think we could all take a lesson from Charlie Brown and keep going for those things....even if the majority of the time we end up flat on our backs. 

Frequent readers of the comic will attest that Charlie Brown is one of the most genuine, heartfelt characters around.  When asked to be the director of the Christmas play, Charlie Brown does not fall under the influence of his friends when they encourage him to fall into the commercial trap of Christmastime.  Instead, he wants to find out for himself the true meaning of the holiday, and make their Christmas play a true representation of the holiday.  Peer pressure is never an easy thing to endure, but time and again Charlie Brown stands as the lone man out, determined to do the right thing.  We could probably all stand to be more like that. 

Like the typical shy child, Charlie Brown constantly dreams of being the hero in any given situation, especially on the baseball field.  Whether it's trying to steal home, or strike out a batter, Charlie Brown definitely has delusions of grandeur in a lot of situations.  While we might not readily admit it, this is a common trait in all of us.  Don't we secretly always envision ourselves saving the day somehow?  Don't we sometimes crave for people to look at us with admiration because of something wonderful we did?  The slippery slope with these desires is that sometimes they might persuade us to compromise our standards or personal ethics.  You have to admire Charlie Brown's willingness to try and attain that hero status, but all on his own terms.  And probably one of the most endearing qualities about Charlie Brown?  He is a responsible pet owner.  Snoopy sure is a lucky beagle.  

I think a lot could be said about the entire Peanuts cast and the situations they have found themselves in over the years.  Schulz has given the American public a plethora of timeless characters that are relatable to children and adults of all ages, and the relevancy of his creations will never wane.  Charlie Brown will always be bald, always be the kid picked on by his friends, and will always be yearning for his chance with the Little Redhead Girl.  He may never get to be the hero he so desperately wants to be, but perhaps that is one of the reasons he is so appealing to us.  This is what makes him so much like you and me.  However, I can't help but wonder....what would life have been like if Charlie Brown finally got to kick that football clear to the moon?   

Rediscovering Grisham

Don't you ever get in the mood to read a really good book of fiction?  You know the kind, the mass market paperbacks that are sold in virtually every store from Barnes and Noble to Safeway.  Some people like to consider themselves literary snobs and shy away from "popular" fiction, but I for one get a healthy craving for it every now and then.  Which is why, a couple weeks ago, I finally picked up the worn paperback of John Grisham's "The Firm" my mom had given me years ago.

Oh my gosh....why did I wait so long to read this book?  I've ready Grisham before and found his work enjoyable, but I'm kicking myself for waiting so long to pick up "The Firm."  It was the perfect fast paced, action-packed story with plenty of mystery and thrilling narrative worked into the plot.  It's the kind of book that gets you excited to be reading, which was exactly what I needed considering the last book I tried to read was going nowhere and I had to give it up about halfway through.  Sad, right?  And trust me....I NEVER give up on books, but I had reached the point where enough was enough.

So here's the story at a glance.  Young lawyer Mitch is straight out of Harvard Law, and entertaining offers from various firms.  He is approached by a rather obscure firm and basically offered a ton of money, a new house, a new BMW, and to have all his student loans paid off.  He is guaranteed to become a millionaire in a matter of months.  So of course Mitch jumps at the opportunity, but quickly discovers that the firm he works for is a major coverup for one of the most notorious Mob families in existence.  When the FBI gets involved, things go from bad to worse and Mitch gets caught in a very dangerous game where almost everyone involved wants him eliminated.

Really addicting story, and really well written.  The pacing is superb and overall the entire prose is highly entertaining.  I was so impressed by the quality of "The Firm" that I am embarking on another Grisham novel, "Runaway Jury."  I'm kind of addicted now, two books in a row.  After Grisham I might move on to Tess Gerritsen, who has written some very good medical mystery novels.  I think I caught the mystery bug, so I plan to keep riding that wave until I become fixated on something else.  Next up:  I will share with you all my prospective summer reading list.  I'm sure you're on the edge of your seats.  Happy reading!

Breaking Mental Roadblocks

Last month I started a new short story.  I went down to my office, glass of wine in hand, (because what great storytellers ever managed to create without the assistance of alcohol?) prepared to write about who knows what, and the whole idea just kind of developed itself in a matter of minutes.  I was so thrilled because this seldom ever happens to me and I pumped out close to eight pages before deciding to call it a night.  Like I said, this was last month.

The story has been living in my mind ever since, and each day when I get home I remind myself that it's waiting for me down on my computer, but because I am a master procrastinator I manage to find other activities to distract me in the waning hours of my day.  I think it's typical for most of us to do things like this.  To make excuses for ourselves and ultimately convince ourselves that we're too busy to partake in certain activities that make us happy and might not ultimately be seen as being "productive."

I think that trying to place writing into either the category of "productive" or "waste of time" is kind of difficult.  Forced writing, such as the papers one has to write for class, are unavoidable and definitely a necessity.  But for a person like me who doesn't HAVE to write in order to pass a class or because someone is paying me to do so, it's not so easy to classify the type of writing I'm doing.  Sure, it's for pleasure and because one day I'm ultimately hoping someone likes what I write enough to want to pay me for it.....but for many people that day never comes and it very well could never happen to me.  I don't feel writing is a waste of time, but I do find that I put it smack dab at the bottom of my priorities list.

I'm big on lists.  To-do lists, shopping lists, movie lists, I could take anything and make a list out of it and be completely satisfied.  I even keep lists in my head of things that I need to take care of before I can move onto another activity.  For example, I might tell myself that I have to wash dishes before I sit down and watch a movie, stuff like that.  So before I let myself sit down at my desk to focus on writing I create this ridiculous laundry list of tasks I have to get through before I can do that.  It's ridiculous, really, because there is always going to be something to take care of, and all I am really doing is creating roadblocks to keep me from my computer and my story. 

I guess one could look at this as a form of self sabatoge.  And I don't even think it has to do with intentional sabatoge, but more in the way my mind works.  Most of us tend to think that work should come before play, so I guess it becomes a matter of forcing myself to reverse the order of the two.  I don't like to be a person who makes excuses for why something can't be done, and it discourages me that I've been allowing myself to fall into that trap.  Sometimes I think it's harder for us to maneuver around the obstacles we set for ourselves, rather than the ones put up by other people.     

Goodbye, white couch

I'm fascinated by the almost natural tendency of humans to save.  Not save lives or save money per say, but to save "stuff."  We will save items out of supposed necessity (i.e. "I might need this someday...."), or out of sheer likeness (i.e. "I like the color of that shirt so I'll hang onto it a bit longer,") but probably the biggest reason we insist on keeping ourselves surrounded by things of sometimes sheer randomness is because of sentimentality. 

I'm big on sentiment.  I have kept notes from my high school friends for years and years, I have tee-shirts collected from family vacations when I was in elementary school, and it's almost impossible for me to throw away birthday cards no matter who they're from.  All of these items are special to me, and are tied to important people and events in my life.....or so I tell myself.  But when you get right down to it, how many tee-shirts does a person really need in their life?  Are our memories really fused and encompassed in a folded up piece of notebook paper a friend passed to us in Biology class sophomore year, or are those memories instead housed in the individual?

I bring this up because I am at a crossroads with my husband about a room in our house.  We have a den downstairs that right now is being used as just that....a den, with a couple couches, a coffee table, and some lamps.  Dean has big plans for this room, and those plans involve a pool table.  I fought him tooth and nail in the beginning about this, but have slowly started to come around and agree that, yes, we might actually use this room more with a pool table, it would be great for entertaining when friends are over, blah, blah, blah.  Here's where things get tricky.  In order to get the pool table, the furniture must go or at least be rearranged.  One of the pieces of furniture in this room is a white couch, with a subtle floral pattern.  A hand-me-down couch, but still in great condition and fairly easy on the eyes.  This couch belonged to my Nana and Papa, who passed away quite a few years ago.  Dean and I rescued the couch from the storage facility in Prosser a few years ago, and it has been with us ever since. 

My memories of Nana and Papa are in no way directly tied to this piece of furniture.  We didn't share any particularly memorable moments on this couch, in fact we rarely ever sat on it when I went to their house to visit.  But it was still their couch, and when we went to the storage shed to retrieve it almost four years ago I was so excited to see it again....it was akin to reclaiming a small piece of my childhood, and at the time, I thought, to helping me remember Nana and Papa.  It felt nice to have a piece of them back. 

Initially, when faced with the prospect that the couch would have to go in order to have the pool room, I dug in my heels and said no way no how.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that giving away the white couch was in no way synonymous to giving away my memories of my grandparents.  The couch in my den is not the keeper of my memories and my feelings.  While it may have at first acted as a trigger of those memories, I don't NEED that couch in order to remember Nana and Papa.  

It literally took me months to come to this conclusion.  I'm telling you, the sentimentality barrier is a tough one to break, but once you do it can be very clarifying.  I was finally able to see the couch for what it was: a piece of furniture.  I'll probably pass the white couch down to my sister, Dean and I will get a pool table, and life will continue to move forward as it has a way of doing.  Remembering my grandparents won't be any harder to do once the couch is gone, and I'm sure one of these days when I'm flipping through the photo album I might event see a picture of that white couch at its original home in a single-level, three bedroom house on Benson Avenue in Prosser.  I'll see that photo, which will probably be of a couple young girls playing in the living room at Nana and Papa's house.  I'll examine the picture and I'm sure I will smile.  But I don't think it will be because of the couch.    

Where are you going? Where have you been?

Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Carrie Neppel and I am the author of this blog.  I believe we've met before, but recently I fell into what I like to call "the perfect storm," meaning that I was battling a sickness, battling way too much to do at work, and battling an overall lack of enthusiasm and motivation to spend some time on this blog.  The perfect storm = no new blog posts.  But fear not America (or should I say the three people who actually read this from time to time), I am back with a vengance and ready to take on the issues that deserve the most attention in today's world.  This last statement is completely open to interpretation, and I make no guarantees on the pertinence of these blog topics in anybody's life except my own. 

Okay, now that technicalities are out of the way I will address the big question:  What have I been doing?  To sum it up: everything and nothing.  For awhile I was trying desperately to get healthy, as the dreaded cold that has been circulating the town of Pullman finally latched into my system and left me with the worst sore throat I have had in two years.  Once I got that little situation under control it was all work and no play.  The end of the spring semester at WSU is like a total cluster.  There are about five million projects and events to wrap up and there are exactly two weeks in which to get everything finished.  It's a great system.  So to give everyone a brief rundown I was working with the Student Alumni Ambassadors on their end of the year banquet and awards ceremony, plus a new officer retreat, and I was also reviewing the final batch of applications for the Big Ten Senior Awards, which will be presented this Thursday at the Graduate BBQ Bash.  In between those items I was working along with the rest of my colleagues to entertain around 300 Golden and Diamond Graduates for two days during their WSU reunions (Golden Grads were celebrating their 50th reunion, and Diamond Grads their 60th).  Then on the side, just for fun, I was finalizing details on President Floyd's community engagement tour and making sure everything was arranged for the upcoming receptions.  And that was just for work.  On the side Dean and I were attempting to have something of a social life, while also entertaining the beagles, who pretty much rule our lives.

The point of the story is that you no longer have to mourn my absense, or worry that I may have been attacked by a giant grizzley bear while jogging past the research park (okay, that probably never crossed your mind, but they are out of hibernation now and anything is possible).  The truth is I caught the writing bug and have been bursting at the seams to get down some thoughts somewhere.....here, a short story, haiku, you name it.  

So hi, it's nice to see you again.  I just know we're going to be great friends.  On a side note, the title of this blog post is a direct reference to a short story written by Joyce Carol Oates.  The story appears in The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Short Stories, and it is freaking amazing.  A bit creepy, but one that is going to stay with you long after you read it.  Trust me, I read it almost three years ago and just looking at the title stirs up all sorts of remembrances.  Try it out, report back, and let me know what you think.