Nick is a blurter. He often says ridiculous things in all seriousness. I'm not being critical—it can be entertaining. He laughs at himself and tells me that I need to publish the ridiculousness, promising he will keep me in material to write about. (Thanks, Captain Obvious.)

So we're in Minneapolis. Normally the fates aren't in my favor for traveling. I seem to come down with terrible viruses and experience maddening insomnia. That hasn't been the case for awhile now...actually, Nick has been carrying the virus burden lately. He doped up on decongestants before we left yesterday (he was feeling better by nightfall).

I felt great and slept like a baby...except for that jolt awake after "somebody" kicked me. We were walking together later that morning when he apologized. Awake now with my logical sensibilities, I questioned it all.

Me: "How the heck did you happen to kick me!? It was a king-sized bed!"

Nick, sputtering, blushing: "I was trying to get closer!"

His INTENTIONS are so sweet...it's the follow through that we need to work on.

Tomorrow morning, Nick and I are traveling to the Minneapolis-area where we will spend the weekend. I don't know why we can't seem to plan a trip to Minnesota in the summer, but it is what it is. When we firmed up plans, I knew there was one person who I had to see: my sweet and talented friend, Anna.

When I first met Anna, I remember being a scared college freshmen who had to move into the empty dorms early because I had training to attend (I was a consultant in the campus computer labs). She was that tall girl who lived across the hall (of course everyone seems tall to me). She had to move in early too, and hers was one of the first new faces that I remember seeing.

Once everyone moved in, the occupants of our two rooms (Anna, Amy, Sarah, and me) became great friends. We used to keep our doors open so we could call across to each other, and I remember how much we laughed. We were the only "blue" rooms in our wing who were pulling for Gore to win—if anyone starts talking about hanging chads, I'm going to get all twitchy, so just stop right there. Surely the solidarity of our political beliefs alone would have bonded us, but we actually had a general affection for each other.

At some point during that year, Anna gave me the address to her blog. A public diary. Silly Anna…diaries aren't public; diaries are sold with locks and keys. While the concept was foreign to me, Anna is an entertaining writer and quite humorous in her storytelling—I started and never stopped reading…even after my life went in a different direction than hers.

She is the one who gave me the idea to keep one of these blog…things. When I was trying to figure out a way to keep my family in my life from a thousand miles away, this was the first thing that came to mind. After all, I felt like I was still living across the hall from Anna because I knew what was going on in her life. This blog bridged many miles and helped me feel like I wasn't quite so far away from everyone I knew and cared for.

And here we are today, still writing. I have seen Anna exactly once since 2002, but it feels like she lives just across the road. Sharing your life: it can be intimidating. It's sometimes exposing and always personal…but it doesn't make you vulnerable.

Sharing your life opens you to love. See you soon, Anna!

The job was on my radar and had been for some time. I can't remember the last time I've actually taken things apart (shelves, drawers) to scrub it all down properly—don't judge me. Part of it was sheer apprehension at what green and fuzzy thing might be living in the back of the refrigerator. The other part, well, that was pure, unadulterated sloth.

I put dinner in the oven (it needed an hour), and I got to work. I pulled out all sorts of treasures from the dark unknown of the back refrigerator corner. There was the sticky, almost empty jar of jam that was pretty much adhered to the shelf; about five bottles of bleu cheese dressing because we use it for one recipe and buy a new bottle every time we make the dish; and the chocolate syrup that expired in 2008.

I wasn't all that surprised about the syrup. I do not have a huge sweet tooth, and in any case I've never liked chocolate syrup. I'm pretty sure that bottle predated my presence in Nick's life. Still, it was interesting/sad that we had a bottle of something that has been unfit to eat for three (almost four) years taking up real estate in our cramped refrigerator.

It was cathartic purging the waste, but then, I'm a thrower. This might be the biggest clash that Nick and I have. He saves everything, but I see no reason to keep something if it isn't of use to me. You can be assured that I will never be a hoarder!

After everything was shiny and reassembled, I called Nick in for dinner. He opened the door and just stared. I assumed it was appreciation that kept him glued there, appreciation for the comely sparkle that I swear came complete with the ting of a tiny bell. Who wouldn't be awestruck? Clouds part and angels sing for refrigerator shelves with that kind of gleam.

I was just so happy to have it clean and organized. I couldn't wait for the joy to break through the reverence so that he would share in my glee. He stood there for another minute or so before looking up at me. He looked pouty instead of joyful.

"Uh. Where's our stuff?"

He meant the expired, cruddy stuff that no living being should consume—the stuff that has no use and that I gladly throw. I think he was joking when he asked his question, but I've heard that 50% of all jokes are based in truth. A vision of a home with garbage and empty condiment containers stacked every which way popped into my head. I'm going to have to keep an eye on that boy.

We did not decorate for Christmas last year because we left for Florida on December 26th. We did not want to return in mid-January to a house full of Christmas tchotchkes that needed to be cleaned up. So, we were the grumpy couple who went home to a sterile house where we sat in the dark quiet of cheerlessness.

Anyway, that's what I remember the most about last Christmas. I think Dickens summed it up quite well (if I've got the line right): "Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it." I'll tell ya—cheap and a whole lot easier on the effort scale, too. I was headed that way again this year, remembering the effort I didn't have to expend. I can be a bit miserly with my effort you know; I don't want to throw it away just anywhere. Sounds like I need a good kick from a few ghosts, eh?

Well, I really didn't want it to come to that (the hauntings), so I made a point to put up the tree today. Nick had a bad case of DOMS that kept him couch-bound most of the day, but his comments on how I was doing everything (and how it could be done better) were invaluable. Sophie helped me, though. She was very excited to see the tree since she was denied last year.

And at some point during the process, I lost the sarcasm and started having a lot of fun. I became so disgustingly cheerful that I stopped scolding Sophie for taking swipes at my ankles every time I passed while stringing the beads. Go ahead, trip me! Attack my toes! Gnaw the branches! AND MERRRRRRRY CHRISTMAS!

She's hardly left her place on the tree skirt since she and I finished wrestling while I tried to straighten the darn thing. I think she likes the heat from the lights. In any case, she's a cute little present to have sitting under our Christmas tree!

Nick thinks of so many little things—little things that are not even on my radar. For example, he knows that I prefer to drink from straws. When we go to the Kohl Center to watch the Badgers play, the concession stands serve their fountain drinks without plastic tops or straws (to cut down on the refuse left behind, I assume). I have never really thought much of it…mainly because I am highly adaptable and talented enough to know how to drink both from a straw and from a glass. But Nick thought of it and remembered to smuggle in contraband. I sipped happily from the illegal straw throughout the entire game.

He can be so thorough that I can only be humored when confronted with gaps in ordinary processes.

We eat frozen pizza more often than any grown up should, but we can both be pretty weary after work. That frozen pizza may just save us from calling a handful of pretzel sticks "dinner." By contractual agreement, I remove the outer wrapping and place the pizza in the oven, and he takes the pizza out and cuts it. Along with our duties, it is assumed that I will remember to turn the oven on and that he will remember turn the oven off.

Frequently, the oven continues to heat long after it has been emptied, and this has become the source of one of our standing jokes. If it isn't the oven that he leaves on, it's the light that he turned on to check the "brownness" of the pizza when the timer first goes off. I usually take a turn in the kitchen to make sure everything has been turned off because I rarely assume anything with Nick anymore.

The other day, he was feeling pretty cocky as he sauntered out of the darkened kitchen with a plate of pizza. "Oven: OFF! Light: OFF!" No sooner did he finish his proclamation that the oven timer shrilled.

"And the timer?" I questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Timer: not off."