#stoopgarden: a summer in review.

Dear 29,
This autumn weather has been a bit of a roller coaster. The #stoopgarden and I experienced some real mood swings. I thought I'd have some wise life lesson to share at the end of this growing season, but actually I have a whole lot of pesto instead.

Back in May, these sweet little plants were purchased because, well honestly, I was in need of something that would need my attention. (I'm a nurturer. Or annoyingly attentive. Depends on who you ask.) And it was either buy a little husky red tomoto plant or a husky red puppy and since I'm still not sure I even like dogs that much*, plants won out. With rosemary, thyme, that husky red, some basil, oh and this trifecta of herbs I bought on a whim the #stoopgarden was born.

You read that right. I needed a project. This is a fairly common problem for me, the need for something that consumes me, and these plants became an obsession. Maybe you know this if you follow xolp on the instagram. My apologies to the followers, but #stoopgarden happened, like a lot. I know it seems silly to say aloud, but I felt like I mothered my sweet little plant. Occasionally I worried I wasn't feeding it enough, I felt delighted when it outgrew it's terrible metal planter and once in awhile I feared my first red tomatoes would be snacked on by a hungry can collector. Very motherly.

When those first tomatoes sprouted I snapped like 37 photos to show anyone who was near my iphone. Just like a mom, or at least like a proud mom with an iphone.

The summer of #stoopgarden-ing wasn't without it's challenges. There was this drought happening which seriously effected my great state and my little garden. There was a windy storm that broke that thriving husky red nearly in half. And until "real tomato stakes" were purchased (from a craft store) I used skewers and embroidery floss to keep it standing. The plant fell down the stoop. That was a rough one, especially because I was convinced it was #stoopgarden sabotage.

A week or so ago the first freeze was forecasted so I lugged the plants inside and reverently stripped them of their basil, parsley, greek basil, chives and green tomatoes. (You might notice there was no rosemary and no thyme. That's because metal pots are stupid. And plants go to die in them.) The tomatoes are still ripening in a paper bag, a trick that actually works and seems like magic. The parsley and basil have been frozen into cubes of pesto. And I feel like I accomplished something. I kept it alive, I ate some food I grew myself, and I felt pretty great about it. 

This is the last post about the #stoopgarden. We grew a lot this summer. Both of us.

xo-LP

*PETA: Because you read this, obviously, please consider this my apology for the animal dis. I just haven't taken a super liking to animals. We Palmers had a couple fish, RIP Flora and Fauna, and a Roscoe, the cat my dad once told me offed himself after he realized the fourth kid born into the house was another girl. He's buried beneath the pear tree. That tree was struck by lightening. Or maybe hit by a heavy wind. And it SURVIVED. Coincidence? Just sayin.

A grown up journey to sappytown.

Dear 29,
It occurred to me this past week, on a big kid trip to Muscatine, after a grown up week at work, during an adult type evening of making shredded pork stew and watching the news, I'm 29. I should know, clearly, considering it's you, age 29, that I'm writing this slightly-less-than-world-famous blog to. (I tried rewriting that sentence without ending with a preposition. Another mature decision.) Being a grown up is kind of hard.

This photo was taken so long ago. Like at least 2.5 years. 26 was ages ago.

They don't tell you this when you are 17, practicing your graduation speech in your football-kicker-boyfriend's car, thinking how cool it'll be when he becomes a professional soccer player/cool teacher and you are "doing something art related" in a city bigger than eastern Iowa at age 23, because clearly by then you'll be ready to settle down, have enough money to drive a Honda with a CD player, spend time with fancy people sipping wine spritzers and picking wall colors for that extra room in the single-family home you own that you've been referring to as the "someday for a baby" room.

Here's the face of that fantasy. My mom made me put on mascara that day.

I can say, wholeheartedly, that I am damn happy that little dream didn't come true, other than the Honda (score), but really, why did I think at 23 I'd have it all figured out? Did Mrs. Larry teach that in 8th grade home-ec (do they still teach home-ec) when she showed me not only how to whip up pudding pops and sew a bag I'd use to hold my disc-man, but also to balance my checkbook? Because I firmly believed my life would be rich with well, riches and babies and handholding in the HyVee before this blog was even a twinkle in my eye.

This is really what 23 looks like at Thanksgiving with your cool sisters.

They should really teach you (no offense to you personally Mrs. Larry) that by 23 you'll mostly feel confused about how to style your hair to make you look still 23, but also be taken seriously as a professional. You'll wish your family lived a little closer, drink cheaply during happy hour at West Des Moines bars, work later than you want to at the office and struggle to find friends in a new city without lecture halls and force-fed study groups. You'll feel tired a lot, wish you could afford cable, get pumped when your window unit air conditioner actually cools your living room and live 3 months with lamps that don't have shades on them. 

Oh dude, college was awesome. So few grown up responsibilities, so many nights at the Sports Column
in matching shirts and one-dollar-you-call-its.

But you know what Mrs. Larry* also doesn't teach you? (Come on, make a guess here while scrolling past yet another photo of me. I'm sure you're are sick of those by now, but I'm making a point here.)

Who knew I'd be in Mexico at 24? Bet I couldn't have done that if I was maintaining that single-family home, I mean I probably could (lots of people do it) but believe me, I wouldn't have, I know me by now.

Mrs. Larry doesn't teach you that even if you are prone to worry about everything and enjoy drawing out your monthly calendar on the first of the month (wake up wake up) so that you can memorize your schedule, you really can't plan exactly what will happen after those moments in your high school boyfriend's super sweet Monte Carlo. (I think that's the name of a car) I'm constantly surprised, mostly in the good kind of way, by how great my post-23 life has turned out.

Getting old is kind of hard, true. You have to pay for your contact lenses (an astigmatism- pain in the ass and expensive). There are budgets and difficult work meetings about goals and outcomes and you have to keep in touch with your sisters via gchat and you'll start fishing even though you don't feel outdoorsy. But 29 has been more fun than 23 ever could have been and more fun than my 17 year old self ever, ever had. (I think this blog post just took a turn toward sappytown**.)

Fishing in Muscatine. Lived 20ish years of life there and this was my first time.

As a grown up there are dance parties and dinner parties and nights where you can watch the Voice in oversized tshirts while eating risotto (because you're a grown up who knows how to make risotto) and sipping petite sirah (because you're a grown up who can legally buy booze and knows how to ask for the best tasting, but cheapest bottle of red.) There are scotch clubs as a grown up. Come on. My fluffy headed, nerdy 17 year old wouldn't have known how to even imagine a future with scotch clubs.
I think what I'm trying to say here (I know, you're wondering where this is going) is that while I might not have lived out the visions I had for my adult life, my life is indeed full of riches.
Being a grown up is kind of hard. But being a grown up is also kind of awesome.
xo-LP

*Seriously Mrs. Larry I'm sorry for using your name so much. I don't know what you're up to now but I wish you well. I'm sure you've retired and don't park in front of my parents' house anymore and I can guarantee you don't read this blog, but you are being honored in this post. You taught me to use a sewing machine, what Junior Achievement is and how to make some delicious microwave granola. Thanks for being a teacher, Mrs. Larry.
**Sappytown isn't a place I like to ride into on the blog, but hey, we all have introspective moments. And if you aren't part of that "we all" you probably don't read this blog anyway. So it's ok.

Do you remember September?

Dear 29,
I loved last September. I put out a bunch of good vibes into the universe and was repaid with a month of awesome. This year, I think the universe just swallowed September up or to put it less dramatically, geesh this month went fast.

To summarize 2012's speediest month to date, let's recap:
- I danced at two weddings.
- Visited my grandparents' Dairy Queen at 1:30am.
- I caught my biggest fish yet. Oh and it had a mustache.
- I got acupuncture.
- I gave three speeches, Sara gave more than that, and we celebrated her 30th, and then I solo-semi-crashed a wedding.
- Sipped a dirty martini in a bank vault.
- I drew farm animals with my favorite four year old.
- Then we scotch club-ed.

Tonight Des Moines bids farewell to the infamous Anthony. At one point in time his family believed we'd get married in Thailand, so clearly this is a sad, but celebratory, occasion for me and the city. I'll miss you Tone.
xo-LP

Mar and Wildcat.

Dear 29,
My family is probably more fun than yours.
No offense, but it's probably true. Mar and Wildcat are the coolest and as my dear friends Blake and Joanne get married this weekend, I can't help but think Labor Day weekend weddings must be something special.

This is Blake and Joanne. Handsome couple. Big wedding ahead.

Mar and Den got married September 4, 1976. There were lace sleeves and a family style dining experience was had by all. I wasn't there, but I can assume there was a lot of dancing.

Just to be clear, they are wearing clothes in this photo, which is my favorite of them.

I can say honestly that I didn't always think my family was more fun than yours. In fact I probably thought life was good to go at this point: one kid, first birthday, mom rocking a great hair cut, dad sippin an old style, me looking cute. If a one year old kid can form complete thoughts, I was thinking "man this is awesome."

A few years later there was another girl Palmer, then another, then another, and my dreams of being an only child probably increased (Jen, Kate and Jane: when I was fourteen I probably didn't like you as much as I do now, but when you were 12, 8 and 6, you probably didn't like me much either). We fought over who had to sit in the middle seat all managed to survive in a house with one shower, and grew up with smart, creative parents. Today I can't think of three ladies I like more than my sisters. (They might be more fun than your sisters. No offense.) We make a pretty amazing karaoke team.

They karaoke well too. Take note Jo and Blake. The couple that sings together stays together.

I can't wait to see a whole bunch of Palmers next week (see you soon K3) because my family is probably more fun than your family. No offense.

Wishing Mar and Wildcat a Happy 36th Wedding Anniversary.

And to Blake and Jo-- may your marriage be as much of an adventure as Mar and Wildcat's continues to be. These two taught me how to love fiercely, forgive (even when you don't want to), to fight for it and have a hell of a lot of fun. I wish the same thing for you.
xo-LP

Girl Talk all to myself.

Dear 29,
It wasn't exactly all to myself. But it sure felt like it. Too bad I didn't put "see Girl Talk with approximately 180 other people" on the list. Would have checked that off.

On Monday I saw Girl Talk at the historic Surf Ballroom.

A friend of a friend of a friend (maybe of a friend of a friend) extended an invite to a concert won through a contest or something. There were very few details shared about how this happened, but it did. And poof. We're in Clear Lake on a Monday (despite a packed Tuesday ahead of us all) dancing in the confetti at what Greg Gillis himself called his "most intimate show since 2004."

It was pretty amazing. As you can see from the photos both above and below, I had a super time. And held handfuls of confetti. And stood close enough to the Girl Talk that I could have reached out and pinched his cheek or, something less weird like high five him.

This post is primarily to make me feel really cool. Girl Talk.
xo-LP

Shamelessly self promoting.

Dear 29,
I finally stocked the Etsy site. So here's the shameless plug: POSTCARDS.

Look at that. A note that perfectly describes how you feel about your lovebug (it's annoying how much you are sweet on them? This is the postcard for you) and a cake themed note sending great day wishes.

I can't believe it either, but with September just about ten days away, it's nearly fall. And wouldn't you know it, I have a pun for that.
Stop by and check it out: http://ljpalmer.etsy.com
xo-LP

On a dark and stormy May 23rd.

Dear 29,

Writing about yourself is hard.

What? I write a blog completely about myself. This should be easy. The problem is, I write about the awesome parts of life: holding snakes outside the Iowa State Fair, the time I was in a band (aka played a tambourine in a riot of rhythm) or that post I keep trying to pen about Fifty Shades of Grey. Rarely does one have to write about accomplishments, jobs, board participation, and other things people aren't (normally) anxious to brag about.

How much is too much to say? Am I basically turning my resume into a short story rather than a list? Wouldn’t my bio be better in haiku form?

Laura Palmer is

Lover of art and good puns

And dancing a lot

(Not great. Needs work. Maybe a limerick.)

There once was a girl from Muskie.

Who at times felt a little bit huskie.

She dances while she cooks.

She pitches sales hooks.

And she liked when the night got all dusky.

(Terrible really. But in a funny terrible way.)

I have been asked for a “short bio” for three different purposes in the last month (no. It’s not because I’m cool, clearly, but because I got a new job, and a new board position and because Market Day is awesome.) I’m finally getting pushed to complete it, so I just started writing. I’m fairly certain the new gig doesn’t want to publish this exact version, but I do, obviously.

After 7 years at Drake, LP (age 29, Gemini, extra freckles) joined the new JOB on July 2^nd with over ten years of fundraising experience. As a college sophomore at the University of Iowa, LP started working at the student telefund (primarily for the $9.40/hour and because Becca Aull was a supervisor and gave her the job because of the Muscatine connection). Years later she would graduate with an Art Major and decide to look for a job in fundraising, because that makes sense. LP’s greatest college accomplishment, aside from completing a one credit course called “Jogging," was being named 2005’s Tour Guide of the Year. (She has not gotten much cooler than that.)

Hired at Drake by someone nicknamed “the Rip” in 2005, LP began her career with a garden level office, an affinity for sweater vests and little appreciation for a work/life balance. It was there she became responsible for over 250 college kids. Luckily she dropped the sweater vests, but the work ethic stuck. Many evenings were spent building spreadsheets, analyzing stats and listening to students get hung up on. She also spent a lot of money on popcorn and late night Lambic.

After being offered a new position at Drake in 2008, LP memorized the map of Southern California. It was there she met Pelican Hill Resort, gasped each time she drove that curve on the 101 where you suddenly see the Pacific and discovered just how expensive hotel lobby bourbon can be. She fell in love with GPS and found out just how much fun selling something you believe in can be. Along the way she learned to be patient and to use the camera on her blackberry. She also raised some money, like she was supposed to.

An active volunteer at the Des Moines Art Center, LP served as Art Noir Board President from 2009 to 2011. Once an article stated the Art Center was LP’s first friend in Des Moines. This might have been true at some point in her 7 year Des Moines history, but that’s probably how she got so great at giving a truly subjective tour of Des Moines’ greatest asset. She is a member of the Young Professionals Connection, a secret society and has newly been named to the Des Moines Arts Festival Board (yep. she's psyched). Once she planned a conference where a nametag guy called her out in front of a room full of people. That is one of the least embarrassing things that has happened to her since turing 25. LP is part of the team that puts on Des Moines’ only monthly, handmade, local market: Market Day, where she occasionally sells postcards, hands out free suckers and has many nicknames including "director of making friends."

She is a delinquent blogger who values lists, genuine people and a damn great pun. While LP’s jokes aren’t funny, she continues to find herself hilarious. A lover of Rothko, Sam Cooke and the US Postal Service, Palmer loves adventures, especially those with a great soundtrack and a postcard to send home.

Press release in the making I'd say. Look for it in a blog that makes fun of people somewhere on the interwebs. I’m accepting suggestions. And please submit your haiku bio. Go.

xo-LP

ABC BBD.

Dear 29,

For years I hoped I was singing the right letters, yesterday it was confirmed. "ABC BBD" is correct, so go with it. Last night it should have stood for: A Big Crowd BoyzIIMen Brought Down.*

While this post could be fully devoted to Boyz becoming Men (I just can't let go. It's unnatural), I thought I'd take a chance to reflect on the three (excessive? no) trips I made to this year's Iowa State Fair, to which nothing compares.

I've written about the fair, well, kind of a lot. And this year is no different. The fair did not disappoint, and I saw a couple things I'd never seen in my 6+ years in a row of attendance (I think. I really don't know if that number is correct, but I've been in Des Moines 7 years, so I'd bet it's close.) Look how excited the fair made me this year? (actually that is a photo of me trying to make my hair fly around in front of a fan. I have no future as a model)

I met a rodeo queen. Did you know they have these? Well they do, as shown above. (No, it's that photo on the right with the horse.) So many bedazzled cowboy shirts. We watched as the rodeo queens, some with crowns carefully placed atop their hats, paraded around what I assume is a little practice arena. It is strange to see so many jewels and curled hair and pristine personalized chaps riding around a dirt pit filled with horse poo. Maybe that's why it is so special, because it doesn't quite make sense.

I saw cool man Sam ride a sheep, or "mutton bust." This is a real thing, mutton busting. I'll explain it to you: kids who are smaller than one of my legs are put on a sheep. They wear helmuts (the kids, not the sheep) because they are thrown off it's back within 1.6 seconds of the sheep being let out of it's pen. The event also featured a loud mouthed rodeo clown who was occasionally entertaining but mostly told secretly offensive jokes. And he wore an inflatable suit that made him look like a busty woman in a bikini.

Oh, and I held a snake. Jim, the snake guy, couldn't have been nicer. And while Jake the Snake (that's what he is called) scared the crap out of me, I did it. Snakes are very muscly.

This duo of photos is hilarious. If you aren't me. I am obviously having an awesome time on the crazy mouse. 

Water Runs Dry came out in 1995. What a deep (pun intended) song for me to be singing, all the time, as a 12 year old. Jen, I thought of you and I arguing in front of the bookshelf boombox over who got to sing Shawn Stockman's part in the song while they were working it out on stage.

Just don't be. It's not a nice quality in a person. Also don't wear that shirt. 

So I saw a mini rodeo (ok they were kids riding sheep, but still), held a snake, met a princess (someone who wears a crown and rides a horse: princess) and danced to Motown Philly. The Iowa State Fair was good to me.

xo-LP

Hey you! Check out the NEW blog space for letters to my NEW year (30). http://xo-lp.com/blog

* I'm not sure what I thought ABC BBD stood for if not that. I am accepting additional suggestions. Go.

This is not a trend. (otherwise known as a super long post about July)

Dear 29,
Today a UPS delivery man and I stood in an elevator together. He asked me, with a smirk, "you have many adventures planned for today, Miss?" Best. Question. Ever.

this really amazing photo was taken while dan deacon played at woolys.
we are both sweaty and kate is still pretty.

I know. I know. The blog is losing readers daily. But I promise July was filled with adventures. I'm talking less and less about myself (ok this is just not true. although I have taken to listening to podcasts.* I'm obsessed. And it's giving me so many bizarre topics for my daily conversations. So many topics that have nothing to do with myself.) I'm not really sure why this is relevant, but I'm sure you now think I'm smarter.

this is des moines in the morning. good looking city.

I haven't posted in nearly a month. Back at the start of August I typed out these few sentences and clicked save. It was about 6:30am (or 7:30am, I'm not sure I'm up at 6:30am) and I was preparing for day 23 (ish) of the new J.O.B. Clearly I felt inspired:
"You can always tell when I'm having too much fun. Well I guess I can always tell. It might be hard for you to know considering my blogging has slowed to a stop. It's the morning of August first. (How did we get here? Summer has been swallowed up.) I'm sitting here in my mess of an apartment, pretty sure a teeny fish bone is lodged in my stomach, and my right pinky is numb. That's new, normally it's my left. July 2012 will go down as one of the most jam packed months in Laura Palmer history."

I almost called this post "oh my july." That's how much happened. (I might change the title of this post if there is a lot of excitement building around the rhyming title.) I crossed off 3 list items and added to others. In addition to starting a new job, July held four (FOUR) roadtrips and a drunk professional poker player. So to recap, here are some highlights:

#stoopgarden's first tomatoes. since then we've suffered some real injuries as a family of plants. 

1. Waterparked with Kate, where I learned my extra long torso might make me bad at riding in a tube. You might ask, "what on Earth are you talking about?" That's a good question.
2. Karaoked Total Eclipse of the Heart with Nick in front of the entire East Village. Seriously. All of the East Village could hear us (this I learned later). Residents of the 50309's east side, I apologize for waking you up with the sweet sweet sounds of rock and roll.

3. Lindsay and I saw FIONA APPLE. (Here's a link to someone else's video of Paper Bag)

4. Spam museum, a corn cob water tower, the Surf Ballroom, and my first visit to Clear Lake, all on a roadside attraction tour with my mom.
5. Then there was Grace Potter. Oh Grace Potter rocked the most lovely river venue.
6. Heartless Bastards- The band wasn't as memorable as the Mr. Holland look-a-like who was head banging his glasses off in the front row. Dude was having the best night of his life.

7. You'll be shocked when I tell you that highlights 5-9 all happened within 5 days. (It's ok to gasp here) SDO and I daytripped to West Bend Iowa to see the surreal/incredible Grotto of the Redemption. A testament to Catholics and obsession, that's what that place felt like. It's amazing. Seriously. We also made a stop in Thor, IA. (Take it back Brad) I found out that SDO has never seen Adventures in Babysitting. (It's ok to gasp here too)

8. A short fifteen minutes after arriving back in Des Moines, I hopped in a car to head east. (If you are counting along, this will be oh my july's fourth and final road trip). I fished. I fished in the rain. I fished in pink pants. And I put a worm on a hook. Elkader, you are a special place. I will return.

9. Finally, I played BINGO and blackjack, all in the same 3 hours. 

So now that we've gone through a super long post about July, you'll understand I've been a busy blogger who has not been busy blogging. August looks to be just as packed with, as that UPS guy put it, adventures. Today is sure to be full of laundry doing. I'm pumped.
xo-LP

*Emily, this is for you, and all 4 readers who still have faith in the blog. Podcast recommendation list. So that we have things to talk about other than the cutest baby in the world and LP:
Radiolab (the one about Unraveling Bolero, amazing.)
This American Life (Be sure to listen to the one about Amusement Parks)
Freakonomics (not sure you'll like this one, but try it Emily, just try it)