Well, I made it through the holiday dinner with little controversy. When you get so many relatives in such close proximity, sometimes tensions can run high. But this year the turkey combined with the hypnotizing effect of the Lions game left everyone in a nice, sedate, agreeable mood. The real excitement came yesterday when it was time to find the Bergakker family Christmas tree. This is a task of literally monstrous proportions as we must find a tree suitable for the 18-foot ceiling in my parents' living room. Nothing short of twelve feet will do and even that is a bare minimum. Fortunately Dad has become resigned to the fact that cutting your own 14-foot tree is not a viable option and we are permitted to sort through the precut trees on display at the tree farm. This year we were able to decide on a tree quite quickly and then the fun could begin. My father, brother, and I proudly marched our 14-foot find over to the binder, smiling as we felt the jealous stares of all the poor little kids waiting in line to pay for 6-footers. As we hoisted our tightly bound trophy onto our shoulders and carried it to the car, a wagonload of tree-cutting families rode by. My dad beamed proudly when, in awed tones, one child said, "Oh, wow, Dad. Look at that tree! It's so big!" We ignored the chuckling doubters saying, "Yeah, but how are they gonna get it home?" With the skill and efficiency of Eagle Scouts we lashed the tree to the top of the Explorer, taking care not to completely obstruct the windsheild. Then we all piled in the car and drove home, confident our selection was one of our best ever.

Happy Thanksgiving, all. This is a wonderful holiday that runs a close second to Halloween in my book. Christmas used to be up there, but as it has become more and more commercialized and its preparation and celebration has grown to almost two months in length, I have been forced to push it down to 3rd or 4th. I never thought I'd see the day when Christmas and Independence Day were running neck and neck. But back to the holiday at hand. I write this from Michigan, from the rolltop desk in my parents' spare bedroom. Downstairs I hear the pounding of Mom's Pampered Chef (TM) chopper having its way with a mound of innocent pecans, unaware that they are about to become a part of the traditional pie. My brother has groggily arisen from the noisy, violent ritual he calls sleep, looking like he was shot with a tranquilizer dart and dragged 3 miles by his ankles. My sister is holed up in her room, blasting U2. And one other sound is invading the quiet of the holiday morning: the gentle hum of the shop vac. Don't ask me what Dad's been up to already this morning, but a major holiday is no reason to take a break from sawdust and power tools. Make no mistake about that.

On Saturday I played football with some people from work and I was forced to once again admit that I'm not as tough as I'd like to think. Being of Dutch heritage I come from hardy stock and I thought I'd be able to hold my own in this little 3-hour game of flag football played in delightfully brisk 40-degree weather. I was placed on the offensive line where my hands of stone would be unable to sabotage the game. Unfortunately, this did not stop me from being a handicap to my team. In one particular instance, I planted my feet firmly and attempted to block a determined Mr. Rich Berger from sacking the quarterback. I came on strong, certain I could hold him off at least for a few seconds. After all, he's only a little bigger than myself. I'm not sure exactly what happened after that. The next thing I remember is lying flat on my back, my butt aching. The next day I could barely get out of bed. What a wonderful reality check.

All I have to say is: Berger, you're on my list.

Okay, I know I've been delinquent in posting and I sincerely apologize. I will try to make a better effort to stay on top of things from now on. Things have been getting a little crazy and out of control around here, but I'm reigning it all in now. Last week Thursday and Friday was my first of what will likely be many trips out to Washington, D.C. It was definitely interesting and informative, but it made my first day at work seem like a cake walk. I was introduced to just as many new people, but these people all worked for different companies with different functions. This one was a project architect, that one an owner representative, another a contractor, still another a commissioning agent and the list goes on and on. I really could have used polaroids. It was all very intriguing, though. And since no one really expected me to know or contribute anything yet, I could spend the entire time absorbing information about the project and, just as importantly, the people that I will likely be working with for the next couple of years. Now I think I've got a good feel for who can get things done, who gets bogged down by details, who will be sympathetic when I have problems, who will be calling me when they have problems, etc. Now let's just hope I can put all this information to good use.

It has taken many, many years of trying, but I am finally able to tolerate, and almost enjoy, yogurt. To many this may seem trivial, but for me it is a triumph. For many years I've wanted to like this dairy product, mostly for its convenience. Repeatedly I force-fed myself the stuff, hoping that I could learn to tolerate it and maybe even one day grow to like it. But time and time again I would fail. It would often take me up to half an hour to consume a mere 8 ounces of yogurt. You'd think after repeated failure I would give up, but a week or so ago, I regrouped my efforts. I bought every kind of yogurt imaginable in the hopes that I might find just one worth eating. Imagine my surprise when I found I could eat several of them and actually even enjoyed some. It's wonderful, it's amazing, it's... I'll tell you what it is. It's a triumph of the human spirit!

Well, I made it through my first day at the new job. It was actually much better than I expected. Normally when you start a new job, you've got at least a week of awkwardness while you figure out what you're supposed to be doing. Not this time. I didn't even have my coat off yet when my boss found me and said, "Sara, you're going to be working on "x" project. Make arrangements to meet me at Dulles around noon on Thursday and I'll take you out to the site." Okedoke. Not that it wasn't refreshing to be put right work. It was just a surprise, that's all. He wasn't lying when he said, "We're gonna throw you in head first. You may flounder and splash around for a while, but eventually you'll get your footing." Let the floundering begin.

Having spent the past couple of years in solid Frederik Meijer territory, I'd forgotten what a stranglehold Sam Walton has on the rest of the country. See, Butler, my new home, has just recently gotten a "Super Walmart". Now to everyone here, it is like heaven on earth and they think the place is a miraculous modern achievement. What they don't seem to understand is that Meijer has been doing this for decades longer than Walmart. They are unaware that oh so many years ago it was Frederik Meijer who had the vision to serve humanity by placing semi-fresh produce, antifreeze, electronics, prescription drugs, cheap haircuts, and even cheaper clothes all under one roof. And not only that, he chose to make all this available 24 hours a day! Mr. Meijer, I hope one day you'll get the credit you deserve.

I must say that I'm settling into my new place quite nicely. It's getting quite homey and I'm hoping to have pictures available soon. I've got plenty of room to roam and pace about in boredom. I NEED TO GET BACK TO WORK! Very soon I'll be regretting I said that, I'm afraid. But for now, I will freely whine about loneliness and boredom since I've only got a couple more days to do so before I get thrown into this new life of mine.

A few weeks ago, while my car was being inspected, I shared the waiting room with a little Mexican man. After a few minutes he got my attention and asked the time. He followed that up with the next logical question: "How old are you? Are you married?" When I said "no", he immediately followed with: "Soon, though, right?" When I again said "no", he said, "Don't you have a boyfriend?" At this point, I probably should have been insulted, but instead I chose to be amused. So I told him I didn't have time for a boyfriend and talked about my then approaching move to Pennsylvania. He dropped the topic and told me about his family back in Mexico. After that we sat in silence for a while. Then all of sudden, his eyes lit up, he looked at me, and with his thick, latin accent he exclaimed, "I know! Maybe you find a boyfriend in Pennsylvania!"

Maybe, Little Mexican Guy. Maybe.

Phone service is essential and I was without it for five days. Five days. After a visit from the phone company and some digging around with my landlord, we finally uncovered the problem: when the apartment was remodled, no one bothered to wire up the phone jacks. Small oversight? I think not.

Packing for my move has now reached "PANIC" mode. Then why am I tinkering around online, you ask? Quite frankly, I need a release. One can only take so much frenzied packing without a break, so back off.

I was about to go into the bank today to close out my account when I realized I was wearing my "Ask Me About Totally Free Checking" T-shirt. I turned my car around and decided to go back tomorrow. It just felt too weird.

Allow me a moment to gush. I must take this time to plug my friends because they truly are the best. They have certainly made me feel loved and appreciated. They threw me a memorable farewell bash and for that I am grateful. Really, I am. So to sum up, I would highly recommend that you find my friends and make them yours.

Pete's Tavern in Byron Center has to be the stinkiest establishment I've ever been in. Don't get me wrong, it's got good atmosphere and the chili-cheese dip is decent, but the smell that attached itself to my clothes and hair while I was there was just rank. After a night of hanging in my room, the scent in my clothes has not even begun to lessen in intensity. In fact it has actually spread. I was forced the banish the articles in question to the back porch. On the positive side, the odor should repel that pesky neighborhood stray for a while.

Anyone who says the Beatles are overrated is obviously on crack. No question. I've had the The White Album on in my car for about a week now. I'd forgotten how much I love it. I think maybe I'll stack my changer with Beatles albums.