Here is where my schoolhouse-living fixation began: about five minutes down the road from my parents. I have driven by this place a thousand times in my life and never thought too much of it until someone started renovating over a year ago. They have gone really really slowly, little things here and there. The light fixtures are new since the last time I drove by. I don’t even know who these people are or where they live. The other side of the building has amazing rows upon rows of windows, but I didn’t want to walk around through the snakey, tickey weeds to photograph it while my mom sat in the car with the sleeping kidlet.

Dear people,

Please do not get rid of that old ceramic doorknob. I love it. The new light fixtures are perfect. Also, I think the glass bricks are weird. The rest is awesome – keep it up.

love,
emily

I have this recent obsession with living in an old schoolhouse – I *love* this one.

My mom has a list of trees around home she wishes she could transplant to their yard. This knotty, holey dude is on it.

Out of commission.

Random aqua paint seemingly applied after the house started falling down – win.

It was their fourth try to find the four miners missing since Monday’s explosion killed 25 others in the nation’s worst underground disaster since at least 1984. During the previous rescue attempt, searchers were forced to withdraw by dangerous gases and the risk of fire or explosion.

Before that, apparently over Easter weekend, he wrote a letter to his mother, his fiancee and his 19-month-old daughter, telling them that he would be looking down from heaven if anything happened to him.

Story here.

If I had the money to do more than just feed them
I’d give them good learning, the best could be found
So when they growed up they’d be checkers and weighers
And not spend their whole life in the dark underground

This morning my mom told me that she would get me a puppy for Christmas. When I shared the news with Mikey, he replied – with a pout – “I thought I was getting you a puppy for Christmas.” the votes are in – I’ve clearly won this one. New campaign: Iafrate baby ’09!!

They might have to collaborate on the beag-let. Mikey doesn’t know how to get a dog or accessories. Either way, I will have a furry little bundle of joy SOON! And our apartment is going to be REALLY full.

Last night I was talking to Maggie, who, immediately after getting married this past summer, moved to Vegas “for the experience”. A quote from our conversation… Living here is an adventure, but so is a two-week vacation. I’ve had enough.

I also talked to my friend JK last night. Another mountain-mama who recently moved to Frederick, Maryland. A whole two inches from WV, but nonetheless she said I felt like I lost my spine and my identity and everything when I had to change the plates on my car.

I think there should be some compilation of leaving-WV-stories. I have several in my inbox from strangers who’ve seen photos of my tattoo and feel the need to share their story with me. Project! I can at least compile all of them and get actual books bound and printed from that Lulu company that will make you a book of any pdf that you send. Any suggestions for a title?

Tonight Michael and I ate a jar of my grandma’s green beans with our dinner, and it didn’t upset me. A month ago it would have. Maybe it’s only because I already cried about grandma food once today when I got an email from her which mentioned that she was getting ready to start making things for tomorrow’s dinner. I remember the first thanksgiving that Jess was away from home, we called her in the middle of the afternoon and I gloated to her about how I’d gotten the middle roll. I had no idea how traumatic it would be to be the one far away, who’d kill for even a scrap of an edge roll.

I will survive, as long as I keep getting cute emails like this:

Anytime ya’ll are ready to start our hippe commune and live off the land somewhere in middle america, I’m ready.  I’m sure Clint is too.  We can have puppies and babies and drive corn fueled cars.  Let’s go.

This is why – post Canada – I need to live near Jenn & Mario forever.

How is it possible that I am sitting here, and season two of Lost is sitting on my diningroom table, unopened. Just sitting there? I have such restraint! I wasn’t expecting it until the fifteenth, and when I heard a knock on the door and spied a human with a pile of boxes through my peephole my heart leapt into my throat. I opened the box and shed a few tears (I swear), and then set it down on the table, still in the shrinkwrap. I have a few things I HAVE to do before the insanity begins, and I’m not even letting myself examine the packaging. I’ve had five Etsy orders since I moved here and I’ve mailed out none of them. I’ve been in touch with the buyers so they’re expecting late delivery, but I already feel like a jerk and can’t put them off any longer. I have to package up those things to mail out, which Mikey will have to do for me tomorrow morning because I will obviously be occupied. I was also going to apply for a bunch of jobs this evening, but that can wait. I probably won’t even sleep tonight. Locke-problem first, jobs later. Mikey and I watched the first half of the 9/11 movie on ABC (is that right?) at John’s last night, and the last two hours are on tonight. We were going to go over, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to miss it. I know what happens, anyway.

Yesterday we went to the grocery store and bought tons of food. For two weeks we’ve just gotten a few things as we needed them (two decent grocery stores within thirty seconds of us), but yesterday was The Grocery Shopping Trip. This particular store had vertical poles spaced evenly around their entrance so you can’t take your shopping cart to your car. The spots right by the entrance are designated for parking and loading up your purchases. Strange. So anyway, this elderly woman and myself were waiting for the husbands to get the cars, and she eyed my cart and chuckled and said, “well you certainly did a good job.” I mentioned that we’d just moved here and had to stock up. She asked where from, and I said the states.

“Oh really! My mother was born in West Virginia. Do you know where that is? In a little coal mining town outside of Morgantown. My grandfather owned the company store. She was married there… had to wait for the circuit rabbi to come through town. Then she relocated to Pittsburgh. I was born in Detroit.”

Of course I was on the verge of tears and could barely get the words “I’m from West Virginia” out of my mouth. Then I tried to breathe and told her that my mom was born in Detroit, and she clapped her hands and said, “well we might find that we’re related before these men get back!!” I want this to happen a lot.

Also….

My baby started school today. Don’t you just want to pinch his cheeks?

Our phone is hooked up now. I sent out a mass email that Mikey will forward on to his contacts, and if that doesn’t cover you let me know if you’d like our number.

I can’t believe season two of Lost is right… over… there….

Iwant a baby, and other events of the weekend:

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Hand painted wooden sign by the side of Rt. 2, at the end of a gravel drive, messy white paint, no arrow:

water
6:30

Who wants to go? I don’t know what this means, but I want to find out.

My job is fabulous. I spent the whole day xeroxing, sorting, and filing pieces of paper. The whole day. With people that I know, and some that I don’t but already like anyway. Everyone felt very sorry for me, but they don’t know the hell that I have endured over the past three years at Panera Bread. Compared to those demanding, horrid, demonic coffee addicts that I had to deal with on a daily basis, one hundred and forty two papercuts are heaven.

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