holy manure

You know that exchange when someone says, "God! this smells awful — smell it!" And then you feel compelled to smell it, not because you'll enjoy it but just because you have to know for yourself, just how bad is it?

Well, I imagine that's what everyone in Winchester, Indiana is thinking:

Giant Gas Bubbles in Indiana Dairy Farm's Waste Pond Frighten Neighbors

a poem a day

The best five minutes of my morning commute: the Writer's Almanac on NPR. It usually airs between 9:05 and 9:10, when I'm usually driving into work (late, because I have an abusive relationship with my snooze button).

Garrison Keillor has a voice so regal, I'm convinced he could read the ingredients off the side of a Cheez-It box aloud and they'd sound like priceless verse.

I love this poem from last week, as Ryan and I have spent countless hours pouring through glossy magazines and window shopping since we moved into our house in September. It's good to pause and remember that "we already have everything."

the red room

Our breakfast nook, more commonly called "the red room," has finally been furnished. I found the table online for $130. The chairs were donated from my parents (they were a light pine color, and I painted them black). Ryan put my old TV up in the corner. And the Varsity photo was a gift from my brother Trey.