Dana Burland

Childhood is great because it’s the first time (and possibly only time) we’re at our true pits. It’s the select window of time where we’re honest enough to pat grandpa’s belly and ask him when the babies are coming, creative enough to dream about a career as a garbage woman/furniture saleswoman and convicted in our notions enough to believe grandpa’s babies and a dirty job would make for the most fulfilling future ever. Eventually we all grow up, add layers and rarely peal back fully again. This is a story about the last time I saw my pit-- this past weekend-- and a Memorial Day surprise. When I was even smaller than I am now, with even more vibrant freckles and even more violent bed-head, I dreamed of owning an overhead projector. Some little girls want ponies, dolls or toys, but not I. With an overhead projector, I could take my beloved doodling from bland white computer paper to shapes and colors dancing in light, blown up to fill my entire bedroom wall. I could, essentially, ma...

While I couldn't quite hop on the path to a teaching career , one of my dearest friends did. I, in turn, benefit by getting to relive the occasional oddities of childhood all over again through her stories. Behold, snippets rich in innocence, ripe in humor, and random enough to remind you of why you value your desk job. Ladies and gentleman, I give you, my second guest blogger of all time, Elsa Algot Hummergard of Uppsala, Sweden! *Name and location may have been changed for anonymity.  Dear children, please stop singing 'It's Friday'. A. It is Monday. B. That song makes me want to drop kick a small dog. * Disclaimer: I would never ACTUALLY kick an animal. While scolding my girls for dancing a little to promiscuously...I secretly took notes on their moves. Local dance clubs here I come. What's navy blue with neon green chunks all over? My carpet, after a mid-math test display of stomach acid and nerves. But fear not! It's not only the kids who are up to...

Dear Dana, Don’t wear your hair in a messy bun 3 days in a row. It screams I-was-still-drooling-on-my-pillow-15-minutes-ago. Do fake a stylish up-do. Also, throw some blush on your cheeks; you still look like you’re sleeping! This style is old, but I don't care. It's my blog and I'll be late to the game if I want to. Front Braid Pony Tail This works best for me if I don’t shower. Don’t shower you say? I can sleep for another 10 minutes! It also works for almost any hair length, I swear! Example on moi to your left.

Perhaps this is a sign I shouldn't attend the party....?

FOUND: Car key and key fob to a Honda, circa 1997. Under the passenger seat of my car by Louise , when she came to visit for a marvelous weekend of fun, mischief and gossip. We were en route from my company’s family farm land, to lunch at a bakery that serves up cake so good it should be illegal. So good you eat it too fast and 30 minutes later your stomach treats it as illegal to your body (I hope that sentence is both clear and vague enough to spares you details). At the farm I showed Louise the roof-top garden, pizza garden and farm kitties. It was gloomy out but not nasty enough to stop us from smelling all the spicy herbs (cinnamon basil?) for sale and watching the fresh tad polls slither around in the pond. At the moment in which the set of black keys were located, we were heading for cake. Mint cream, chocolate chip, moist cool chocolate cake; slices the size of our faces. This is not the first, second, nor the last time that we will enjoy treats from this shop. With ...

You know I use as tennis ball? A grain of cous-cous. Ladies, gentlemen and shells with shoes on - I’m about to introduce you to the tastiest, fastest, simplest pasta salad of all time. Perfect for a summer picnic, lunch on the go, or for a pre-snack, snack. I saw this on the Food Network one day at the gym and ran to the grocery store for supplies before the sweat had even settled into my skin. Last week I also dreamt up the need of a new camera and bought one the next day. I’m a surfer in an ocean of impulses... riding one wave to the next. Anyway, enough about me. Ta daaaaaa-  Colorful Cranberry Cous-Cous

Once upon a time, I thought I was going to be a teacher when I grew up. Scratch that, I knew I was going to be a teacher when I grew up. (An art teacher to be exact.) I knew, my friends knew and my family all knew it to be true. Then, the summer before I left home to pursue said teaching degree, I spent as a day camp counselor. Somewhere between sobbing 4-year-old Charlie peeing on me as I bounced him on my knee to comfort and the lost battle of indoor to outdoor voice distinction, the clarity about my future disintegrated. So some of my truths changed, it happens to us all. From making the dreadful connection between Santa’s handwriting and your moms (presents to this day still addressed from Santa), deciding raspberries aren’t as revolting as you once thought (in moderation), or determining a new value or mission to live your life by- we lose and gain truths constantly. As my black and white truths changed, I made some new gray ones. Ones I could modify and live with for a whi...