How Humans are Like Lichens

It occurs to me that it is not at all inappropriate to liken humans to lichen.

(See what I did there?)

Lichens are composite organisms living in a symbiotic relationship. Fungus and either bacteria or algae.

Like so much in life, the whole is different than the sum of its parts.

It occurred to me that humans are like this. We are made up of two parts: a body and a mind.

The body is made of muscle, bone, tendons, ligaments, vital organs, and brain.

The mind is the part of you that carries the youness that make you you.

The body needs the mind for animation, like the captain of a ship.

The mind needs a body to live out its purpose.

Much as lichens are different than the composite of their parts, and much as different parts will get you different varieties of lichens, so too a person would be vastly different than they are if their mind resided in a different body. For the body is the vehicle through which the mind engages the world. Just as the mind drives the body, so our bodily experience of the world shapes our minds.

For the longest time, I believed that I was not my body. I separated my me-ness completely from my body. As I lost weight and regained weight, there was never a sense that I was different. Just that my vehicle had changed.

Yet during that time, I came to appreciate my body and how it existed in the world. I came to experience my me-ness within the particular body I have. I began to identify myself as not just a mind which happened to reside in this body; rather I began to think of myself as a whole person who was body and mind and different than the sum of those parts.

Losing weight again has left me feeling confused at times, as I feel like my body is a stranger, as though it does not belong to me, and I do not know myself because I do not know this body.

I cannot separate the two, however. So, I look to the whole and I acknowledge the ways my new body engages the world and all of the wonderful things I can experience differently now because I experience them in a different body.

And perhaps I will become more adaptable as a person because I must adapt to my new and different body. Maybe this will be a wonderful growth opportunity.

Or maybe not. Who knows.

Maybe I just like being likened to lichen.

Crazy Ideas & Spontaneity

I think in addition to locking my keys in my car 300 miles from home yesterday and having to give the absolute whole of my budget to a locksmith to spend 8 seconds getting my car open, I lost my fucking mind.  I don't know if Kansas City was very, very good to me as I lost my mind in the comedy of errors, or if it was very, very bad to me.  All I know for sure is I did, indeed, lose my mind at some point yesterday, and as a result....

The drive home took an interesting turn just outside of Bethany, Missouri.

A motorcycle passed me, and then took the exit for the businesses, and since I always fill my tank in Bethany to get home, I took the exit right behind it.  We ended up on opposite sides of the same pump, and the motorcycle rider chatted with me.  And he flirted with me.  And it was nice.

Then, I headed in to use the ladies' room and grab a soda and pay for the gas.  When I left, he had moved his bike away from the pumps and was drinking a soda.  I looked at him and he looked at me, and he smiled at me.  When I got in my car and pulled out, he made eye contact and smiled again.

I was almost to the exit of the gas station parking lot when I hesitated.  "What would it be like to just pull a u-turn, park next to him, get out, and ask if I can kiss him?" I wondered.  "That would be a terrible idea," I thought, glancing in my rear view mirror, and noting that he was watching my car.

I pulled through the exit, onto the roadway, and thought again about turning right and pulling back in, rather than left and out onto the highway again.  In the end, I turned left, and drove away, on my way back to Iowa.

But, I couldn't get him out of my mind.  I can't really explain it.  He just kind of stayed there.  And all I could think for the next couple of exits was going back to see if he was still there.  Foolishness! I told myself.

And then, I did the unthinkable.  I made a promise to myself.  "If I see his headlamp in my rear view mirror on this highway again, I'm going to pray that he recognizes my car, pulls over, and I'm going to kiss that man."  45 minutes and 50 miles later, I gave up.  So much for crazy ideas and spontaneity.

Then, improbably, a few miles behind me and coming up fast, I saw that headlamp.  "It can't be," I told myself.  He had to be doing 90-100 mph to have caught up.  "It has to be someone else."  And then he passed me, and it was the same man, on the same bike.  And he looked intently at the car, but being 10:45 at night, he couldn't see in.

He pulled in front of me, slowed to 80.  I kept pace.  He changed lanes to get around a truck or car, and I changed lanes to keep him in sight.  He'd start to pull ahead, going faster than 80, and I'd drop back.  Then, he'd slow down to let me keep pace.

As we entered Des Moines, I thought surely our paths would diverge.  "Please, just pull over and into a gas station!" I prayed out loud.

He took the Merle Hay exit.  "If he pulls into the first gas station," I thought, "I'll follow and use the ladies' room.  If he skips the gas station and heads to a more residential area, I'll pull into the gas station, use the ladies' room, and head home."

He pulled into the first gas station, and we ended up talking for an hour.  He told me that after I left, he saw me hesitate and hoped I'd turn around.  He told me that when he left, he hoped he'd see my car on the road, but eventually gave up.  He told me that as he passed exit after exit, getting farther and farther from Bethany, he was sure I had pulled off on one of them.  He told that when he saw my Mustang, he thought just maybe it was me, but he couldn't see into the car.

Then, he told me that when I kept pace with him, he knew it couldn't be a cop because it was a Mustang, but he also wasn't sure it was me, but he hoped it might be, and that when he saw me lagging behind, he'd slow down so I could keep pace.

He's 31 and single, though he goes on dates.  He's an electrician.  He lives an hour west of where I work.  He was nervous standing there talking to me on a rather cold July night.

Then, he asked to exchange numbers.  I gave him my number and he sent a text so I'd have his.  Then he told me that he hated to end our time together, but (it was 12:00 am at this point), he had been traveling all day, and he did need to get home.

And I stood there looking at him as he packed up his bike.  He gave me a hug, and as the hug ended, I did not move to step back.

Instead, I very slowly and carefully shifted my head just so, leaned closer, and let him close the gap.  Both my hands were on his chest at this point, I think gripping his jacket.  I ended the kiss, and pulled back slightly, but stopped just at the point where our noses were clear, tilted my head in the other direction and continued the kiss.  Soft and slightly open-mouthed.  I told myself that all I had planned was one kiss and this was clearly morphing into two kisses, and I should stop.  My mouth completely closed, I opened my eyes, and started to pull away; then I closed my eyes and kissed him again.  This time, I know for sure I was clenching his jacket with my left hand, wanting to keep him pulled in and prolong the kiss, my right palm flat against his chest, willing myself to end the kiss -- using my hands as a barrier to any further contact -- and end the night.

The kiss ended.  The whole of it couldn't have taken more than ten seconds.  It was the best kiss I've ever had.  It was phenomenal.  And erotic, and so freaking hot.

I wonder if I've lost my mind to kiss a total stranger in the parking lot of a gas station at midnight in Des Moines.

But he texted me this afternoon, and who knows what, if anything, might happen.  All I know for sure is, it was one seriously amazing kiss.

Power Shopping, Slightly Thinner Fat Girl Style

I needed to update my wardrobe.

Mostly because everything I own is quickly becoming too large to be wearable. Some things I want to keep and I know I will have to find someone to do alterations. Others can just be thrown out because they are worn, stained, or have holes.

In the past couple of months I've picked up a variety of items as I've slowly begun to shrink. I have taken my mother shopping for wardrobe updates as well. In doing so, I have received a number of coupons. And, I earned a rebate check in the form of a merchandise voucher.

So, knowing that the coupons would expire in a week and the rebate check would expire at the end of the end of the month, I took my slightly thinner fat girl self to the plus size women's boutique and shopped.

And shopped.

And shopped.

And shopped.

I shopped for three hours straight.

Because I positively HATE the idea of purchasing anything full price, I started with their clearance rack, where everything was previously marked down AND would have an additional 40% taken off the lowest ticket price at the counter.

Then, I moved on to their sales racks -- $10 off this dress, $20 off these dresses, $10 off shorts.

The sales lady rang up my purchases and I read my total.

Not even close to using all of my coupons.

Off to the panties bins -- normally $16 a pair marked down to 5 for $25.

And the bra racks, normally $42 marked down to $20.

And that amazing dress I love, and, hey just in case something happens, why not have a second hanging in my closet. It'll save on wear and tear, too, since I'm likely to wear it whenever I get the chance.

And jewelry at buy 1 get 1 50% off, even though I rarely wear it. But I know this piece will go with the amazing dresses.

And their non-sale panties -- normally $16 a pair bundled at 3 for $30.

And socks.

FINALLY, some three hours later, I had used all of my coupons. I had used my merchandise voucher.

4 dresses
4 pairs of shorts (summer is here tomorrow)
1 skort
7 camis/knit shirts
13 pairs of panties
3 bras
1 pajama set
1 spanx
1 pair earrings
1 necklace
3 pairs socks

Then the saleswoman applied the coupons and applied the rebate check. In the end, I paid less than 1/4 of the list price on each item.

I believe I can safely cross "clothes shopping" off my list for at least the next year.

A Feast for the Animals

I just want to know that when I die someone will be there to find my body before the dogs and cats start feasting.

I worry that my cats will eat my undiscovered body.  To be disposed of with so little dignity.  *sigh*  I suppose, however, it is a very environmentally friendly was to go, so perhaps it wouldn't be so awful after all.

As I understand it, they go for the soft tissue first.  This, to me, means the eyes.   The thought is terrifying.  Not necessarily because I find the loss of my eyeballs particularly undignified, but rather, because, after waking up repeatedly in the past few months to cats licking and biting my elbow, my feet, my hands, I fear these horrible beasts will not wait until I expire.

As this point, I fear they will go for my eyes directly, as I slumber, using their razor sharp claws to slice off my eye lids before devouring the tender globes within.

To be perfectly clear, I anticipate that I would, in fact, awaken at first swipe.  However, if they strike in tandem, in my sleepy stupor, I just may not survive with my sight intact.

This is what really terrifies me - the notion of being blinded.  I won't even go swimming with my contacts in for fear I'll lose one in the pool/lake/ocean and be visually impaired until I arrive at home where more lenses await me.

This is neither here nor there.  I fear I am growing old.  And I am growing old very much alone.  Certainly I have friends and loved ones.  But how often, honestly, do I see them?  Hell, forget see.  How often do I even get to talk to them?

If I died on a Sunday night, it might be 2, even 3, weeks before my church called after me.  And would anyone think to come looking or call the police to perform a welfare check?  My boss would likely fire me as a "No call, no show."  But again, I doubt he'd be bothered to call or send in a search party.

Would anyone think to inform my best friend?  And what of my seminary friends?  Would they inquire if they hadn't heard from me in a month?  A season?  A year?  Might my picked-clean-by-fine-feline-teeth skeleton remain in my bed, on the couch, in the shower (though in that case, I imagine the cats would not eat me - cats and water and all), at the desk collecting dust and cobwebs until the walls fell down around me?

Perhaps I am getting neurotic in my old age.  Or maybe I simply have a very clear vision of my future.  Regardless, I just want to know that when I die someone will be there to find my body before the dogs and cats start feasting.

An Ode to Mom Jeans

Every once in awhile, one might find a snarky gossip column abusing women for their decision to wear high-waisted mom jeans.  They refer to it as a fashion faux-pas.  They write that it's not fashionable.  They tell us that women need to wear lower waisted jeans for a more flattering appearance.  Jessica Simpson is oft on the receiving end of such critiques.

Well, I'm here to disabuse you of the notion that high-waisted mom jeans serve no real function in the world of fashion.

High-waisted mom jeans are not now, nor have they ever been, nor will they ever be a fashion statement, positive, negative, or neutral.

High-waisted mom jeans are a vital containment devise for fat girls, a necessary vessel for keeping our fat rolls in check.

I know this because I am a fat girl.

I am once again a slightly thinner fat girl.  And I once again fit into my slightly thinner fat girl jeans.

As a fat girl, and not just an average fat girl, but at 5'10" a really tall, really fat fat girl, I know the importance of these jeans.

Having lost a pant size, I have been presented with two options:  purchase a belt or rifle through my wardrobe for smaller pants.

I went with the second.

I found three pair of wearable pants.  After a week, two pair were in the laundry, and I was left with one option:  bright red, low(er) waisted jeans with gold thread embroidery on the back (zippered) pockets.  These pants make a fashion statement.

That statement is this:  The last time I was a slightly thinner fat girl and unemployed, I desperately needed a pair of pants and these were on sale for $5.00.

That these pants sit lower on my hips than my traditional jeans is what sparked this blog.  Because as a tall girl with a long torso, it's difficult to find shirts that cover the gap betwixt the hem and waistband.  Let's be honest, people neither need nor want to see my jiggly fat rolls!

The single best method for keeping these jiggly rolls in line:  high-waisted mom jeans.  Every fat roll that falls below my waist is safely ensconced within my jeans.  Thus, they are neither jiggly nor visible to the rest of the world.  High-waisted mom jeans are worn as a favor to the world!

So, the next time you see a woman wearing this article of clothing, consider not whether it is trendy and fashionable.  Rather, be grateful that she has chosen to contain the jiggle, to keep the rolls in check, and to hide that extra wide expanse of flesh betwixt hem and waistband that no one needs to see anyway.

A Few Random, Not-at-all-Connected Thoughts

1.  I cannot be the only person in the world who thinks a Peanut Butter Bacon sandwich sounds AMAZING!  Toast up some gluten-free bread, slap on the peanut butter, add some bacon--extra crispy, maybe a slice or two of tomato.  I'm thinking I'll have to try this come summer.  You know, when tomatoes taste like tomatoes.

2.  I have knack, when it come to cooking, for finding a recipe and fixing it.

Case in point:  Dinner last night.  Mushroom Risotto.  The recipe called for 4 ounces of shiitake mushrooms, and 3 ounces of cremini.  Since I cannot purchase mushrooms in bulk around here, I had 5 ounces of shiitake and 8 ounces of cremini.  I used them all!

And while the recipe called for 10 ounces of a dry white wine, I started out with 14 ounces.  Because it tastes good!

Now, by the end of the recipe, if you find yourself in need of additional liquid, it indicates you should add hot water.  And give up the chance for more flavor!?  Heck no!  I added another 6 ounces of wine.

The last step was to add 2 ounces of Parmesan--I used 4.8 ounces of aged, imported, Italian Parmesan.  And instead of the 2 Tablespoons of butter that was called for, I drizzled white truffle oil over the top.

Yes, I am a goddess in the kitchen.

3.  I've been thinking about some things lately.  Specifically, knowing someone has led me to think of old ideas in a new way.

I like it when this happens.

As a theologian, I'm pretty used to intellectualizing the god-topic.  And though there is occasionally overlap, my personal theology isn't necessarily the same as my public theology, and neither has anything at all to do with my faith.  If you're confused, you're not alone.  Everyone who knows me starts scratching their head at this point.

However, as a theologian, I've thought, read, written about divine love.  My public theology, affirms that divine love is the root of all love.  It is the starting and ending point of life.  All of reality is linked to divine love.  As such, I believe that we are called to make tangible the divine love in our world, recognizing that all comes from and all returns to the divine.  We are to care for, tend, and love everything.  And divine love is transcendent.

My personal theology also affirms divine love.  I believe it is divine love at work when I choose to be patient, kind, and generous with others, even when I'd rather not be.  Divine love is where I am rooted and to where I will return.  And divine love is transcendent.

My faith, on the other hand, has some questions.  Nay, doubts.  About the reality of divine love.  In particular about the transcendent nature of divine love.  And specifically our ability as humans to tap into the transcendent nature of divine love and love beyond all bounds.

Now, I have been in relationships in which I have experienced the transcendent nature of divine love.  My best friend.  My mentor.  My nieces.

But when it comes to the question of romantic relationships, I've never believed that the transcendent love of the divine was actually possible.   I had never even considered it.  I want to know someone, in their absolute core, and be known in return.  And if, at my core, I identify myself as rooted in God, how could I possibly know and be known by anyone who did not also identify as being similarly rooted.

And then I met a man who doesn't go to church.  Who hasn't prayed in years.  Who's attitude toward God is apathetic and disinterested at best.

And I chose to love this person.  I chose to invest.

Everything I believed about myself and my abilities and my needs ran counter to who this man was.  And I chose to engage.  I chose to act in ways that defied rationality.  I chose to actively love this man.  I chose to do whatever I could, no matter how small, to bless him, to honor him, to treat him with respect and dignity.  I chose to love him.

And suddenly I began to think that the transcendent love of God could be a lived reality in any relationship.

But I also believe that loving others begins with loving and honoring the image of God within ourselves.  And if we do not honor our own needs, we can never fully love another.

I tried.  In the end, I came to realize that loving another should never put my heart in a position of being battered and bruised.  When I love, I want to love from wholeness.

And so, I walked away.

The Story of MB & Willy Wonka the Wonder Dog

 This was written about me and my faithful 3-legged wonderdog by two very dear friends.  It was written on April 9, 2010.  This is the first time it has been made available to the public.

 

Success! A Hat That Fits!

I have a huge head.

It's true.  And it's okay because my huge head matches my gigantic man hands and my huge feet.

I have to buy men's athletic shoes, because I cannot often find women's shoes in my size.  I have to buy really cheap, crappy women's dress shoes, because higher end shoe makers don't make women's dress shoes in my size.

On the rare occasion that I find myself thinking, "Gee, I'd like a warm pair of gloves," I have to buy them in the men's department as well.

But hats?  Warm, winter hats?  Forget it.  There is simply no manufacturer out there who makes a hat big enough for my huge head.

Oh, I've tried.  Lots of time.  And it always ends the same:  with a red pressure mark across my forehead from the band of the hat, which, inevitably has squeezed my head until it's bunched up, slid up my head, and fallen off.

This experience, repeated many times over the years, had, I thought, permanently put me off the hat-buying habit.  Really, who wants a red stripe across their forehead, mussed up hair, and no hat to show for it?

Then, Friday night.

My parents and I were on our way to dinner to celebrate my mother's birthday.  In a recent dish-washing accident, the crock-pot had been broken, and so we stopped at a local department store to pick up a new one.

Now, my father decided this was the perfect time to find himself a new stocking cap.  I tagged along to the men's department to see what they had, knowing it would be a fruitless and disappointing trip.  After all, it's not like winter hat manufacturers have changed all that much over the course of time.

Oh, was I ever wrong.

Turning the corner, what should I see but this:

That's right!  A hat, in the image of a cow's head with attached mittens!

I decided to try it on just for fun.  And can you imagine my delight when I realized for the first time in my life I was wearing a warm winter hat that actually fit!  Sadly, the flaps are not long enough to reach the ends of my arms, so in order to wear the mittens, I have to keep my elbows bent at 45 degrees or greater.  But who cares!?

This is the  coolest winter hat EVER!  (In my not so humble opinion.)  And at $14.20, tax included, how could I possibly pass it up?

Yep.  I bought the hat.  The first winter hat that has ever fit my ginormous head.  And what a sweet hat it is.  I can't wait to wear it to the office on Monday.

Warm ears.  Stylin' good looks.  And it doesn't muss up my hair.  What a fantastic Friday buy.

Greetings from The Shire

I'm a senior technical adviser and product specialist for a window and door company.  It can be a pretty entertaining job, let me tell you.  I spend most of my day bending over backwards to assist people, and I do everything I can to bend the rules or work around the rules or occasionally throw the rules out the window to make sure the homeowner with whom I am speaking is satisfied.

Some homeowners don't get this.  Twice in my tenure I ended a call and cried.  The first time, it was my second day on the job and the person I spoke with was hostile and resistant to giving me any information from the get go.

Homeowner:  I need to order some replacement parts.

Me:  Great.  Can I get your address, please?

Homeowner:  Why do you need that?

Me:  So we know where to ship the parts once you've ordered.

Homeowner:  Fine.

Me:  What kind of window are you calling about?

Homeowner:  Why do you need to know that?

Me:  So I know which parts catalog to open, so I can find you the correct line and vintage.

Homeowner:  Fine.  They are X.

Me:  What year were your windows manufactured?

Homeowner:  Why should I tell you that?  You said the information I gave you previously would help, and ca-LEAR-ly it didn't.

This, is a greatly abridged transcript.  The actual conversation went on for over 40 minutes with this guy refusing to give me any additional information without explanation and talking to me like I was wasting his time.

Then, there was the guy who purchased a new screen.  He purchased it from his local home improvement big box store.  The box had some damage to it, and when he got home, the screen was bent.  He wanted me to send him a new one, and get it to him the next day.

For starters, door screens have a 6 day lead time.  This means they don't actually leave our factory until 6 day after the order has been processed.  Secondly, because the company needs to know, for insurance and other business purposes, at what point in the production/packing/shipping process the damage occurred, if a product arrives broken, homeowners need to go back to their place of purchase for the replacement.  We are more than happy to replace the screen.  At no cost.  But it has to be done through the proper channels.

I explained this to the homeowner.  This was his response:  Fuck you, bitch.  Fuck you, bitch, you fucking cunt.

I spent 10 minutes crying in the ladies room after that.

So, finally, I decided rather than taking it personally, I'm going to assume that the homeowner has the problem.  And I'm going to be amused by them.

So, I get this guy a few week ago who insisted we had sent him the wrong product and wanted to be connected to someone who could rectify this.  He didn't want to give me any information about who he was or what the product was or what was wrong with it.  I persisted and cajoled and finally got him to allow me to open his file so that I could send him to my supervisor for correction.

Except, when I opened his file, it turned out we didn't the send the wrong part after all.

As I tried to explain this to the man, he just kept interrupting and yelling at me, and telling me I was wrong.  And every time he would interrupt, I would stop, let him rant and continue when he had finished.  And I honestly had a difficult time not laughing out loud at him.  He calls me, asking for assistance, and then refuses to allow me to help him.  This is ridiculous and bordering on crazy, in my opinion.

I had a new trainee sitting with me that day.  When the homeowner ended the call, we bust into a fit of giggles.  When the trainee asked me for my number one piece of advice, I told her, "Don't let homeowners get to you.  Just find their antics amusing instead.  Never take it personally.  If you're trying to help, and they're being rude, that's their problem."

Occasionally, however, I come across situations that are just plain funny.  Or, at least they're funny to me.

I am one of the few agents who has been trained to participate in online chats with homeowners.

The chat tool was billed to me as "A way to interact with homeowners who cannot find the part they are looking for on our online parts store.  It'll be pretty simple.  Just direct them to the part they need."

Oh, how foolish to think this is what I would actually end up doing.

I spend more time explaining to homeowners that for warranty issues, they need to call in; that for diagnostic issues, they need to call in; that if the part isn't in the online part store, they need to call in; that giving me all of their window information isn't going to help because I can't order a new window for them through chat, and we don't sell new sashes for most window in our online parts store, so they need to call in.

Of the chats I work, about 10% of them actually have to do with the online parts store.  Some days I spend an hour or two with one homeowner who wants to know all of the part numbers for the parts he needs because he doesn't want to call in and he's planning to take his information to the box store.  This is not what the chat tool was envisioned to be, but it's what it is, nonetheless.



Well, I thought, this homeowner must have made a mistake.  So I tried to verify the information she had provided:  I just want to verify what you've told me.  You have a door that is 64 inches tall, and you want to know if a lock mechanism that is 68 inches long will work.  Is that correct?

Homeowner:  Yes.

Me:  Is the door itself 64 inches tall or is that just the glass you can see and touch.

Homeowner:  It's just the door.  The glass itself is several inches shorter.

Me:  Well, I'm sorry ma'am, but we do not manufacture products for hobbit houses.  And shipping parts to Middle Earth is a logistics nightmare.

I'm kidding.  I didn't respond with hobbit jokes.  In the chat.  I did read the chat to my desk mates and told them how I wanted to respond.  Everyone laughed.  A lot.

What I actually wrote was:  So, just to be clear, your door is 5 feet 4 inches tall.  Is that correct?

Homeowner:  No.  My door is 6 feet 4 inches tall.

Me:  Fantastic!  Would you mind measuring the height of the visible glass in your door?

Homeowner:  Sure.  Just one minute.

8 minutes later:  It's 63 inches tall.

Me:  Excellent.  That tells my your door unit is 6 feet 8 inches tall and unit size 68 lock mechanism the correct part for your door.  This part can be found in our online parts catalog at....

Still, for a moment there, one glorious moment, I really thought I might be having a chat with a hobbit, from Middle Earth, who just really loves our products.

Maybe next week.

Twenty Questions for J.K. Rowling

These are all questions based on the premise that the world J.K. Rowling created is one of logic and reason, and demonstrate my freakish insistence on continuity as well as my slight obsession with Harry Potter. And really, there are twenty-eight question groups.

1. How is that the end of book 1, Sir Nicholas hasn't eaten in nearly 400 years, but in book 2 he's celebrating his 500th death day?

2. How is that in book 4, the false Mad-Eye Moody (Barty Crouch, Jr.) takes Harry's Maurader's Map, which is never returned, and yet Harry is once again in possession of it at the beginning of book 5?

3. When Hagrid returns in book 5, he uses dragon steaks on his face and green blood dripped no his beard, but in book 6, Slughorn uses dragon's blood convincingly as human blood on the walls. How is this possible?

4. Book 1, 4, and 5 tell us that the quality prized above all others by Godric Gryffindor is courage. Yet, in book 3 we learn what a coward Peter Pettigrew is. How did the sorting hat manage to miss this?

5. If people can see thestrals only after seeing death, why didn't Harry see them at the end of book 4 as the carriages returned the students to the train home?

6. Furthermore, Harry remembers the flash of green light and his mother's screams when Lord Voldemort murdered her (and we know he recollected these facts prior to the dementors in book 3, as in book 1 2we were introduced to Harry awakening from a nightmare of these events). Why then couldn't Harry see the thestrals from the end of book 1 when he headed home the first time?

7. In book 5, we're told that prefects can't dock point, but in book 2, Percy Wesley docks 5 points from Ron for hanging around the scene of Mrs. Norris's petrification. Did the rules change?

8. If there are only 2 prefects from each house, picked in their 5th year, are there no 6th year prefects, or does ever other class miss the chance at having prefects? We know Percy was still a prefect in his sixth year...

9. In book 4, having perfected it for his first task, why didn't Harry use the summoning charm to collect the Maurader's Map and egg he dropped when his foot fell through the trick step?

10. If a house-elf's enslavement requires they follow their master's command, why didn't Kreacher show up at Christmas in book 5 when Sirius called him? This is especially curious as we see him show up immediately in book 6 when Harry calls him...

11. In book 7, Harry has a rather strong reaction to the necklace (locket horcrux) when he has it in his possession. Why does he not have a similar reaction to the diary in book 2 or the tiara (diadem) in book 6?

12. If it took Fawkes to get Harry, Ron, Ginny and Professor Lockhart out of the Chamber of Secrets in book 2, as the entrance was an enormous slide, how did Ron and Hermione get out in book 7? While it is possible that Ron took brooms with him, or summoned them, we also know that Hermione is not an adept rider.

13. At the beginning of book 5, Harry summons a patronus to save Dudley from the Demoentor's Kiss, but doesn't think to feed him chocolate after. What's up with that?

14. In book 1, Dumbledore comments to McGonagall how foolish it is not to use the Dark Lord's proper name--Voldemort. Yet his proper name is Tom Riddle, which is how Dumbledore addresses him in person in book 5. Why does Dumbledore insist in book 1 that his proper name is Voldemore, when he already knows Voldemort is Tom Riddle?

15. How can Harry be surprised at the distance from Hogsmeade Station to the school in book 6 when he's been walking to and from Hogsmeade for three years?

16. How can Hogwarts be off the connection from the floo network (HBP, 349) when Sirius has been using it for the previous 2 years? Unless Hogwarts being taken off the floo network was part of the security measures? But then this would mean security was pretty lax for the first five years...

17. If felix felicis is so rare that Professor Slughorn has only taken it twice, and if he is hesitant to take up the post of potions master at Hogwarts that he didn't accept the appointment until six weeks before the start of term, and if it takes six months to brew felix felicis because it has to stew, what was Slughorn doing with a ready cauldronful on the first day of classes in book 6?

18. If the ban on speaking Voldemort's name is how Harry, Hermione, and Ron were found in Tottenham Court Road, why could they speak Voldemort's name freely at number 12 Grimmauld Place? Is that part of the fidelis charm? Or is that how the Death Eater's showed up outside number 12 Grimmauld Place (DH, 201)?

19. Harry believes Voldemort put a charm not hes tone basin to prevent the magical summoning of the horcrux (DH, 188), but his logic is mistaken. While we know the inferi leapt from the lake, it was to prevent the taking of the horcrux, Harry was "unable to summon the fake locket" (DH, 188). This, however, is due to the fact that Harry said, "Accio horcrux" when there was no horcrux to summon, as he and Dumbledore did not know which horcrux was supposed to have been in the cave. Is there any chance he would have gotten a different result if he had said, "Accio locket"?

20. Regardin the ban on Voldemort's name, number 12 Grimmauld Place, and the Fidelis Charm, how can it be the case that the Death Eaters know they're in the area, as Lupin says they're staking out everywhere Harry has a connection? So then, it must be the case that the fidelis charm or other enchantments action on the house keep them from knowing wizarding law was broken.

21. Speaking of enchantments at number 12 Grimmauld Place, if the freezing charm broke when the caster, Dumbledore, died, why did all the charms in and on the Black house not die with their casters?

22. Harry insists that "Bathilda" didn't want to talk to him in front of Hermione because it was all Parseltongue. But how can that be? When they got to the house, "Bathilda" said, "Come!" from the second room, cause both Harry and Hermione to jump. As Hermione heard this and did not recognize it as Parseltongue, it must have been spoken in English. re we then to assume that the snake had some control of Bathilda's vocal folds, tongue, mouth, and lungs? Is this a new way to animate a corpse?

23. If speaking Voldemort's name breaks magical enchantments, why didn't it break the enchantments at number 12 Grimmauld Place? (DH, 173)

24. If, as someone once explained, the Ministry of Magic can only track where magic is done and not by whom, trusting parents in magical families to keep their children from using magic during the holidays, and this is the reason Harry was blamed for Dobby's hover charm in book 2, why in book 5, and subsequent books, are members of the Order of the Phoenix able to apparate, disapparate, and perform other spells in and near Harry's house without Harry getting into trouble for it? Particularly if their movements are secret...

25. If Bill is secret keep to Shell Cottage, and we know from book 5 that only a secret keeper can betray its whereabouts to another, how was Ron able to tell Harry about Shell Cottage? How was Harry able to tell Dobby? (DH, 397 and 468, respectively)

26. If Harry's parents died on October 31, 1991 and book 1 opens the day after their death, how can it possibly be a Tuesday morning, when October 31, 1991 fell on a Thursday?

27. If Quirrell could not touch Harry because of love in book 1 (and it was that love which gave Harry his protection), and if by using Harry's blood to regenerate his body, now sharing that protection and able to touch Harry, why could Voldemort not possess Harry at the end of book 5?

27. As to the destruction of a horcrux, shouldn't a piece of Voldemort's soul not be able to reside in something so full of "a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature" (OP, 843)? Or is it the case that love is not "something so destructive that the horcrux cannot fix itself" (DH, 104)? And as Harry is a horcrux, then nothing short of basilisk venom or the Elder Wand could have killed him, could it?
(Even Nagini was killed with the sword of Gryffindor). Why then the concern, at the end of book 1, that his fight with Quirrell would have done him in?

28. The biggest question of all: If the protection of his mother's love makes it impossible for Voldemort to possess Harry, even if he can touch him after sharing that blood, and Dumbledore himself says, "Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's" (DH, 685), how is it that Harry is able to be a horcrux?

29. When writing HP&HBP, was Professor Slughorn's mistake in calling Ron "Rupert" a nod to Rupert Grint who plays Ron in the movies?

How I Entertain Myself, Take II

This is a thought I had almost two years ago, but seem like a fun bit to share to day:

If we assign a value (we'll call it the J-value) to a particular junk food in order to quantify its "junkiness," does the use of artificial ingredients [sweeteners--S, preservatives--P, colors--C, hydrogenated fats--F (all of which are another type of junk "food")] cause an increase in the J-value of the particular junk food in question?

For example, is sugar-free Jell-O, which contains Aspartame, "junkier" than regular Jell-O, which is sweetened with sugar? If so, is the increase in the J-value direct (JxS) or exponential (J^S)?

How I Entertain Myself

A totally disturbing look into what my brain comes up with in moments of boredom:

If the prefix "re" means "again" and veal is baby cow, do you suppose that the origin of the word "reveal" has something to do with Evangelical cows? You know, cows that have been born again?