The end of August is my favorite time of year, to be certain. It marks the days of the Virgo, and while astrology is not something that I personally follow, I cannot deny that many have come to me to ask if my birthday falls between August 23rd and September 22nd. I'm told that I "just scream, 'Virgo!'" Reading documentation, I am not so sure that this is all that complimentary...nor is it comforting that Miles nods knowingly as I read aloud:

Mercury, planet of the intellect, rules Virgo, giving Virgos an analytical approach to life. That communication is important to Virgos is aptly demonstrated by the fact that so many of them are very talkative, despite their natural shyness. This, coupled with their wide vocabulary and intelligence, often loses their companions' interest. They love books, magazines, and writing. With a critical eye for organization and detail and their constant search for perfection, Virgos have an irresistible urge to improve everything and everyone, whether they need it or not. While Virgos are unassuming and non-egotistic, they can sometimes be gossipy, nosy, and nagging. They may appear to be passive-aggressive.

Last night, Debbie returned from the grocery store with apples...lots and lots of apples...and pie crusts. Someone's birthday is arriving in mere days, she told me. Someone who likes apple pie. Someone who likes her Aunt Debbie's apple pie best of all. (I think it MIGHT be for me! Shhhh!)

So, in retrospect, I might just be a companion-less perfectionist talking to myself in an empty room...but at least I still get pie, and that really isn't such a rotten trade-off!

We are planning, if Mom feels good enough when the time comes, a week-long vacation in Boulder Junction, Wisconsin...one of the bazillion towns comprising "Up North", or "Up Nort", if you will. We are renting a cabin on Middle Gresham Lake, as we did for a week every summer when I was a youngster. It has been a dream of my brother's to go back there one more time as a family, so we will try.



It is quiet and simple there, and the world blurs out around you. A week without distractions, a week without communication with the outside world...a glorious time was always to be had. This time, it is different, though. This time, we have Miles.

I spent most of the morning delving into Sprint coverage areas, Alltel coverage areas, and regional Wi-Fi Hotspots. I hit gold with but one, a cyber cafe in Minocqua called The Caffeinated Internet. Their website is none too impressive, but that's coming from a jaded ex-graphics artist, so take me with a grain of salt.

"Are there phones in the cabins?" Miles asked on the verge of desperation. I shook my head, beginning to say that there are pay phones and you can always use the resort's "office" phone, but I didn't get the chance. "Outlets?—are there outlets so I can at least PLUG IN a computer!?"

"Yes," I snorted. "Though, I can't guarantee that they're grounded, so you ought to bring a converter." By the look on his face, you'd think that I asked him to relieve himself in a bucket rather than a toilet for a week.

Oh, wait! [insert fake boisterous laugh] That's what his mother wanted me to do during a proposed laid-back getaway (that we never took). She found my prissy bathroom standards altogether ridiculous and once asked me once on a laugh, "Well what do you think they were doing before they had bathrooms!?"

A half-heartbeat later I replied, "Inventing bathrooms."

I propose a cabin with running water, and he acts like I've stolen his favorite game identity. "You can stay home," I keep telling him, an idea which he emphatically rejects...and it is during these times, when Miles is fussy, more "hold me now" than "holier than thou" when I wonder how the heck he survived ten years as a Boy Scout.

They must have camped out in only the remotest of 5-star hotels, and roasted marshmallows upon perfumed 4-wick pillar candles in the lobby. I laugh at the imagery this calls, and he glances over, poised to ask me to check the Sprint coverage area once more.

The clothing industry is not catering to my needs.

Is there a self-conscious moment in everybody's life when they're sitting on an examination table, and a doctor looks at old x-rays, then looks at you...and asks, "What happened?" [Horror-struck Laura-face. ] Huh? What's wrong with me? "You should have been about 5'10"," the white coated man with the foot sticking out of his mouth continued. In hindsight, I can see that my young habit with the Mountain Dew wasn't spectacularly brilliant. "Oh, I see now, you had some childhood illnesses." Well he didn't say that specifically, specifically he went into specifics, but you really don't want to read the diaries of a young girl's GI Tract, now do you?

In essence, my growth was stunted, a fact I had not realized until I was 20 years old. For those of you who've met me in person, you might wonder, "How could you not have guessed!?" Well, I don't come from particularly tall stock. My parents' ancestors were skyscrapers, but the generations that have come since have adopted a more diminutive set of genes. Standing at 5-nothing on a good day, I accepted my height.

In middle school, my best friend, holding her hand up to mine, declared, "You have big hands for a little person!" Also, my grandmother never fails to mention the size of my apparently gigantic feet when she sees them. I was used to feeling like a freak of nature by that point, mainly from the aforementioned GI Tract and the constant discomfiture, so the implications didn't really penetrate.



I can tell you with certainty that knowing I was meant to be taller has done nothing to salve the wound. If anything, I have taken to walking around with an indignant attitude and snarling, "Oh yeah! Well I should have been kissing 6'!" whenever a Wal-Mart greeter offers me a sticker, or an Olive Garden hostess asks if I would like crayons. Oh well, in 30 years when I am dancing in my mid-50's and looking about 12 years old, I bet I'll appreciate it then. Grandpa Miles can get the senior discount, and young Laura can sneak in with the children's.

Worst of all, is finding a pair of pants. I buy them in petite, short, Munchkin, and, as Amy likened, Oompa Loompa lengths...and yet, they are too long. Yesterday, I hemmed 3 such pairs of blue jeans. With the residual denim, I fashioned a 3-piece suit for Miles, a pair of stockings for Mom, and a bow for the cat. At least others can benefit, I suppose.