Dairy Queen, by Catherine Murdock

From the jacket: “‘When you don’t talk, there’s a lot of stuff that ends up not getting said.’ Harsh words indeed, from Brian Nelson of all people. But, D.J. can’t help admitting, maybe he’s right…

“Welcome to the summer that fifteen-year-old D.J. Schwenk of Red Bend, Wisconsin, learns to talk, and ends up having an awful lot of stuff to say.”

My take: This had been on my to-be-read list for ages, probably since it first skyrocketed into the blogosphere shortly after it was published three years ago. I finally picked up a copy from the library over the summer and couldn’t believe how great a narrator I’d been missing out on.

D.J. is a farm girl from Wisconsin who’s good at sports, bad at English, and frustrated with her family. Her father got hurt and the brunt of the work running their struggling dairy farm has fallen on D.J. (and, to a lesser extent, her younger brother) while he recuperates from surgery. When a dear family friend sends over summer help (hoping she’ll help instill him with some discipline), she knows she ought to be grateful. But when it’s the quarterback from the rival high school, a boy with a reputation of being a poor sport and a lazy jerk, D. J. flips out:

“So when Brian Nelson stepped out of his fancy new truck in his fancy new work boots that his mother probably bought him at Wal-Mart, I was just about as angry as I’ve ever been.”

Eventually, D.J. and Brian are able to work together — on farmwork, on football, and on life skills. But will that be enough to help Brian be the leader he wants to be or for D.J. to solve the communication problems plaguing her family, including the ones that have kept her two older brothers away from the farm? Or will old habits prove too hard to overcome?

Not only is her character endearing, but D.J. also has a great voice:

“I know when you watch TV about half the characters are gay, and probably in New York or Los Angeles or someplace like that you could meet tons and tons of gay people, and I’m okay with that. Some folks around here say mean things, but, hey, as long as you drink your milk and don’t call me Dairy Queen I don’t care what you do. But I also know Wisconsin doesn’t have any gay people. Or if it did, they all left.”

Can’t you just imagine a sophomore in high school thinking that?

There are two more books featuring D.J. as the main character and I’ll be seeking them out at the library. If you like realistic teen fiction (fans of Sarah Dessen, I’m looking your way), I’d suggest picking this one up soon.

Pages: 288

On Saturday, it started snowing around 9 a.m. By the time we headed west along 66, this is what the Virginia ‘burbs looked like:

Several inches of wet, sticky snow covered the ground by the time we arrived at Creekview Farm in Aldie (about an hour west of D.C.), and at least another inch fell while we were there:

It felt like we’d stepped onto a movie set. How else do you explain how perfect this scene looks for picking out the perfect Christmas tree?

Happy St. Nicholas Day, everyone!

I hope you all had a nice weekend. Yesterday, Rudi and I spent a wonderful afternoon out in Virginia picking out a tree, before returning home to clean, a process which continued right up to (and slightly past) when our first guest arrived this afternoon. Really. I actually begged poor Mia, who’d travelled down from Maryland just to join us, to give us an extra five minutes. She was a very obliging soul and wandered the neighborhood for close to 20 to give us a chance to do crazy things like put on clothes. (You mean everyone doesn’t vacuum in their underwear?)

The party was great, with people from a broad swath of our D.C. life joining us to pimp our pine. We moved the tree inside, strung it with lights, and hung ornaments. (I still have some more to put up tomorrow, but the tree already looks cheerfully adorned.) We ate and drank and generally had a pleasant evening with some great people.

I know I’ve spent practically the last month talking about cleaning and trying to organize the Burrow, and Rudi and I have had several very discouraging evenings this last week. But it must say something about how important and necessary and lovely this night is to us that we do it every year. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Our party starts in less than 16 hours. A tree sits out in the entryway. The makings for party food are in the kitchen and a list for the farmers’ market has been formulated. Our stuff is starting to be bagged up to hide in the bedroom tomorrow. (No one peek in there, okay?)

I’m looking forward to tomorrow night, when we’ll be able to look back on a fun evening with friends.

Talk to you then!

It’s late at night or early in the morning, depending on your perspective. I’ve just given the cats more food, so they’re up prowling, but until recently, I was the only one up. Jer was in the bedroom making sure Rudi got some sleep so he’ll be awake during our drive out to the tree farm. Posey and Della would prefer it if I’d point out that they were keeping me company in the living room, eager to help out if they could. Posey, in particular, did periodically pop up to chase away an errant plastic milk ring or packing peanut that looked threatening.

I appreciate her efforts to keep me on task.

So far in the cleaning process, we have found:

• The keys to my car and my parents’ house, which I’ve been missing for a year
• The necklace I bought from Carli that’s been AWOL at least six months
• Rudi’s SmarTrip card, which we’d thought was gone forever
• A bunch more things we’d misplaced, including souvenirs from our trip to France last year

I’d say that’s quite the success, wouldn’t you? Although if we turn up Rudi’s old iPhone in a bag somewhere, I will cry…

The Burrow is still a mess, but the layers of mess are getting thinner and are moving away from the edges toward the center, which I think means we are making progress. I remarked to Rudi tonight that even if we got rid of nothing else from the apartment before the party that I thought we’d have done better than we did last year.

And the best news of all? The party is in 36 hours, so there is limited time left for me to write further about the cleaning process.

I knew you’d be excited.

I just heard a local reporter say that Tai Shan, the National Zoo’s teenage panda, means “Butterstick” in Chinese.

Ummm… no.

But that would be hilarious, wouldn’t it?

Maybe next time…