Bringing in the New Year

There are only a couple of hours left in the old year. I'm celebrating in true Megan fashion. I'm going to bed.

I thought about taking a moment with you to  consider the past year and all I have done and become and gained. But now is not the time for such things. It is the time for celebrating. Or sleeping.

And so it is time to say goodnight to 2012 and to our 2012 selves. I'll see you all in the first good morning of 2013.

Taking Snoopy for a Ride

I got my flu shot yesterday. There were tears.

I don't do well with needles.

From where I was sitting, the pharmacist did a stellar job, though the parents did say I had him a little worried.

I do okay until they start prepping my arm. I start falling apart rather rapidly at that point. Yesterday was worse than usual. He swabbed my arm with alcohol. I put my head in my free hand and suppressed a sob. He stuck the needle in me and I dropped a few tears. He administered the vaccine and I had to close my eyes and concentrate on not throwing up in his lap. Then he put the band aid on me. I was done, and I was fine. I wiped away my tears, popped out of the chair and smiled. Another year done.

When I was a small thing my doctor had bright blue band aids with snoopy on them. I always got one when I had any short of shot done. After smoothing on the band aid the nurse would smile (probably in relief--I've never done well with needles) and remind me to take snoopy for a ride around the block. I would then obediently pump my arm back and forth and up and down in a distressed, small child's approximation of a circle. This was intended to dispel soreness and any lingering pain.

It became something more for me. It was the lull at the end of the battle, the sign that I had successfully navigated another needle. These days I take snoopy for a ride as much to pat myself on the back for being awesome as to avoid later soreness. I was taking snoopy for a ride periodically throughout the day yesterday and I got some pretty weird looks, but probably they were just jealous of my awesomeness.

Secret Fuzzy Flannel Hearts

I bought a new pair of pants. It was the cheapest pair of pants I could get away with. Consequently, there were some features I wasn't quite pleased with, like the "distressing" which really meant a couple of holes. So  I patched up the holes with fuzzy, heart-patterned flannel.

Yup, that just happened.

The best part is, no one will ever know I'm wearing secret, fuzzy, flannel hearts.

Now What

It's barely been two weeks since my oral defense. What a relief it would be to be done, I thought. Maybe for the first week it was a relief and I think maybe it still is, but I must be addicted to learning.

In the past week I've

• discovered that it will take me until 2029 to save enough money to pay for an MFA out of pocket (don't worry, student loans will be acquired before then)
• looked into local graphic design programs and thought of how I could get my current employer to help pay for some graphic design classes
• considered getting some fitness class training
• looked into PhD programs in English
• considered (very, very briefly) some sort of degree in French
• gathered the information I would need to write an email to the volunteer coordinator at OPL (I used to work with the broken books and there's so much more for me to learn about mending)

There's not a thing on that list that I haven't considered before. I don't know that there's anything you could add to a list of possible areas of learning that would be new to me. I've probably considered pursuing knowledge in just about every area. I'm cool like that.

In my mind I tell myself how nice it is to be done and to have a small break, but subconsciously I must be ready to move on to something else fun and exciting.

I find myself slightly exhausting.

I've determined that today is going to be a good day.

I made biscuits and fried potatoes with onions for breakfast. Comfort food. I struggle with breakfast. It's rare that I eat something for breakfast that I really love like I love fried potatoes and biscuits. I don't think it's possible to have a bad day when you eat biscuits and fried potatoes for breakfast.

It's been a rough week so far. A wracking sobs in the shower kind of week. I don't know how long it's been since I've done that. Years, I think.

But I'm done with that week. Today is going to be a good day.

I made my biscuits with 1/3 whole wheat flour that we ground ourselves and a couple ounces of cream cheese in place of some of the butter and plain greek yogurt mixed with skim milk instead of buttermilk. Biscuits a girl can feel good about eating. I only baked half the biscuit dough. If pillsbury can keep biscuit dough in the fridge, I ought to be able to. That's my thinking anyway. We'll see how they bake up tomorrow.

I'm also wearing a new pair of pants. It's slightly silly to be wearing a new pair of pants when I have four perfectly good, nearly new pairs of pants folded in my closet. The problem is I can't wear those pants because I started a new medication over the summer and I'm about ten pounds fatter than I used to be. I don't mind the ten pounds. I do mind needing to buy pants when I already have pants. I'm too poor for that.

To counteract the necessity of purchasing new pants, I started a fitness challenge with a friend. As part of the challenge I weigh and measure myself weekly. It's been about seven weeks. I've just danced around my original weight (never being more than two pounds away from it either up and down which really just means I'm stable), but there has been a significant change in my inches. I've lost about half an inch around my waist and gained between half an inch to an inch everywhere else (i.e., calves, thighs, hips, chest, arms). I'm officially larger in circumference than I was when I started which will not help me get into those pairs of pants that don't fit anymore. I gave in and went pants shopping yesterday. I am now the proud owner of one pair of unpatched pants, one pair of pants that has been patched once, and one pair of pants that has been patched twice. Yes, it's true, I'm a pants patcher. I'm determined to make those three pairs last until I can wear the other four pairs of nearly new pants in my closet.

Incidentally I'm about halfway through a book on happiness. I did not come across the book because I walked into the library and begged the librarians to direct me toward some happiness books. I've had the book on my to read list for months and physically on my bookshelf for about three weeks. It just so happens I'm reading it the same week that I've been really struggling. Maybe it's fate?

I think I need another biscuit.

Thanksgiving

This is my favorite time of year. Thanksgiving is almost better than Christmas. Food and family without all the  stress inherent in Christmas. Why is stress an inherent part of Christmas? I hereby swear not to allow stress to overwhelm my holidays.

Should be easy. My oral defense is later this week. Everything else will be far more manageable once I've gotten that taken care of.

I did some schooling over the long weekend, but mostly it was all food and family and movies and popcorn and late night pizza. I made myself a bracelet just for fun and visited a quilting shop where they give a free fat quarter to first time visitors.

We've already eaten our way through most of our leftovers and we've got plans underway for using up the rest of the turkey. Tonight it's baked pasta with turkey. Tomorrow night we're having wild rice turkey soup.

I've discovered something rather embarrassing about myself.

I'm delicate. Really delicate. I work hard to maintain a physical and mental equilibrium and just about anything can tip me over the edge.

If I'm physically uncomfortable for any amount of time I'm liable to throw up. I'm pretty sure that's why running 5ks makes me feel so ill. My body isn't used to it and doesn't like it. As a side note, this is also the reaction I had the first few times my optometrist put contacts in my eyes when I was just a young thing. He had to numb my eyes before I could have contacts in them without needing to hold the barf bucket. Needles, bad smells, icky sights (e.g., mold, broken bones, blood) all set me to dry heaving.

I think I may be even more emotionally delicate than I am physically delicate.

I'm pretty sure everybody knew but me. It's embarrassing enough to be delicate. It's even more embarrassing to not know you're delicate. All this time I've been wandering around pretending to be a strong sort of person

I've been finding my life particularly overwhelming of late, with no apparent reason. Easy things have become hard and hard things are impossible. I had a brief verbal scuffle with the Ma earlier today over the issue of not having quite enough soup and it resulted in some bad feelings on both sides. Over soup. Later, I nearly started crying in the middle of thigh work during my workout. It was so hard and awful and I didn't want to do it anymore.

I've known for several months that I'm a delicate sort of person. Knowing isn't helping me handle my delicate nature any more effectively than I did before. It's frustrating.

Struggle.

I recently received a very small package from the Little Brother--the best thing that's happened to me in the past few weeks. I'm not allowed to open the package for about another month. I don't mind. It makes me smile just to see it sitting on my desk, waiting. My tiny package is a small piece of the Little Brother. I love having even that small bit of him around.

Some Reasons Why

This is what I did this morning. Can you spot me? Apparently they occasionally sneak pictures and post them on social networking sites for all the world to see. Fabulous Anna and I have been rather faithful as of late. Don't be too impressed. At the end of class with our bodies sinking into the carpet (why do they want us to sink into the carpet when we finish? because our exhausted bodies aren't worth anything else?), Anna told me she was definitely getting less flexible and I told her it was consistent because I was sure I was less fit. With my right cheek and half my nose squished by the floor and my achy muscles crying all over, I briefly considered spending the next few weeks (or the next few forevers) being as committed to not going as I have been to going. Bleh.

I've spent somewhere between 8 and 10 hours today working on my master's thesis. I've been breaking only for essential things. Like lunch. And dinner. I'm *this close* to being done. Less time than I've put in today ought to finish it up, but I have no desire to work on it anymore. Ever.

These are some reasons why saddling up and getting 'er done is worth it:

• After I finish I won't have to work on it again. Ever. Just like I want.
• No more tuition payments.
• It will be the end of time wasted because of my thesis. So often of late I haven't allowed myself to do things because I ought to have been working on my thesis, but I had no desire to work on my thesis, so instead I would do nothing at all.
• After I finish, I can refer to myself as Master Meg. I'm thinking of having a nametag made up. Maybe with a Marvelous thrown in for good measure?
• I won't have to spend my days on the computer working and my evenings and weekends on the computer schooling. I sort of detest my computer.
• It's November and November is Nanowrimo. I've told myself that as long as I have thesis work to do I can't do any Nanowrimo-ing, which means I am currently about 7,000 words behind.
• I've given myself permission to buy a new pair of boots in celebration after I've finished this thing up. Anything under $200 is fair game. A slightly ridiculous amount since my shoes are more often clearance $10 buys than anything else. Or maybe I'll buy two pairs of boots. And a scarf. And maybe some gloves.

All good reasons. Off I go to do some more thesis-ing. I promise I'm not kind of crying about it.

For the Love of Apples

I love apples.

I love love love apples.

Gala, Fuji, Golden Delicious, Jonagold, Pink Lady, Cameo.

An apple day often isn't nearly enough.

I recently checked this book out from the library. I'm in love. I plan to purchase a copy soon that I can keep forever and always. There is so much  to know about apples and so much more to do with apples than I knew could be done.

I may secretly wish to be Amy Traverso.

I made my first batch of apple butter using a recipe from this book, a poor example of the diversity of recipes featuring apples. I've been eating it on everything, including my finger. It's crazy delicious, was easy peasy, and will be a fall staple in my home forevermore.

One Small Piece at a Time

I'm in love with the way I smell today. A strange thing maybe, but smells are important to me, and the way I smell is particularly important. I'm obsessed with chewing gum, not because I love gum but because I will not be caught with bad breath. I got out a new bar of soap this morning and it smells delicious and so now I smell delicious.

I've been organizing my world one small piece at a time. I would prefer to make some rather large changes, but it seems the big things are out of my control. I've stopped thinking about them and am instead concentrating on the things I can do. Like organizing my bathroom drawers.

There's lots of information and videos online about how to organize your bathroom drawers. Who knew, huh? A lot of it wasn't helpful. Turns out my bathroom needs are pretty sparse compared to the. I purchased three of these in different colors. Because they were made to keep things from sliding they don't move around in the drawer even without adhesive and they keep my things from sliding. I now have perfectly organized bathroom drawers with a bit of sunshine and happiness tucked inside.

Yesterday it snowed for the first time this year. In true celebratory fashion, I got my first cup of hot chocolate. It was delicious, a treat I don't often allow myself these days. I've been eating healthy. I mostly only consume the right things these days but not enough of them. Another part of my life I can bring into order. My dear friend M.C. told me about how much using a chore chart has helped her bring order to one small piece of her life.

So, I made myself a chart, a healthy eating chart. It reminds me how much of each yummy thing I need. Each day I can cross stuff off according to my levels of consumption. Or, if I'm feeling creative I can practice coloring in the lines.

Pretty fun, huh?

The Ma picked this up for me off the bargain shelf at Barnes & Noble. I love the Barnes & Noble bargain shelves. I can't tell you how much time I've wasted browsing the bargain books at Barnes & Noble.

The Ma brought this home for me, proudly showing off the bargain sticker. She was so excited. It's pretty elementary and there's not a lot of content (maybe a couple of hours worth), but it's funny to listen to on the way to or from work. And there's nothing wrong with a little extra French practice. Most of the French studying I do these days involves nothing more than me and a book. It's good for me to listen to a French speaker now and again. Or, in this case, it's good for me to listen to a man that's being haunted by the voice of his former French professor who goads him into asking a cute French girl on a lunch date. This French professor also has the power to change the weather and make the man's car not work so he has to take the train (en train!).

Homeless and Poor or Maybe Crazy

Apparently that's what I was the other day.

The Ma and I had a couple of errands to run in the center of town. Instead of parking a couple of times, we parked once and crossed the street to get to our errands on the other side. (Why did the mom and the daughter cross the road? To get to their errands on the other side!) The intersection we crossed is fairly central and it's always busy (even in the early morning hours; don't ask me how I know because I'll never admit to it). It takes a long time to walk across that street. This is what happened while we were doing it.

The Ma: *sniggle, sniggle, sniggle

Me: *quizzical brow raise

The Ma: We're homeless and poor. *sniggle

Me: *confused face squench* What?

The Ma: *sniggle* Whenever I see someone walking across this road I think, "Oh you poor, homeless person."

Me: *pause of thought ending in serious confusion* Because only poor, homeless people walk across this road.

The Ma: *sniggle, sniggle* Yes! What sane person with a car and a roof over their head would walk? *sniggle, sniggle

Yup, that really happened.

For the sake of increased understanding, I should tell you my mother has this funny little laugh that bursts out of her when she thinks something is so funny that she can't contain it. I call this her sniggle. It is not malicious. Usually, when she sniggles she's sniggling at herself, as in the story above.

In my mother's defense, it's not entirely her fault that she has strange ideas when it comes to a body being moved by its own force rather than that of a machine.

If I Were a Reptile

Sometimes, I wish I were a snake. Then, I could shed myself as easily as a snake sheds its skin. I would slither away without myself and be, well, whatever I would be if I left myself behind.

If you get tired of where you're living, you move. If you're tired of eating the same thing for dinner every Wednesday night, you eat something else instead. If you're tired of watching the same program on tv, or listening to the same music on your way into work, or of wearing the same clothes, you change them.

I'm bored nearly to death of being me. I'm tired of my likes and dislikes, the way I spend my time, how I'm always trying something new, the things I think and the things I feel. Trying something new is passe, the things I like are the same things I've liked for years and years and years, I would rather lie on my bed and make pictures out of texture on my ceiling than dig into one of my usual pastimes, and my thoughts aren't worth dribble. I wake up in the morning and nearly fall right back to sleep out of sheer boredom from still being me.

I bet in twenty seconds or less I can make you bored nearly to death of me, too.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

See. Now we both want to run when we see me coming. Problem is, when you run, it works. The running, I mean. It doesn't matter how far or fast I run, I can't get away from me.

And if you're sitting there thinking you're not bored of me yet, you cheated. When it comes to being me, there is no skimming.

I should make some changes. Throw out some of the old, bring in something new. Problem is, I'm already tired of all of that new stuff because all that new stuff will be more of the old stuff. It will be things I like, things that are solidly me, and I'm tired of me. Replacing my old stuff with new stuff that I don't like makes even less sense.

Just to be clear, it's not that I don't like myself. None of this, if you're not happy with who you are you can become a different person. I do like myself. There are a few rough edges here and there, some small housekeeping things that I should look into taking care of, but for the most part I am a-okay with who I am. I'm just bored is all.

It's an impossible problem. A ridiculous one, too. Who gets tired of being themselves?

You know what the worst of it is? Even if I were a snake the only thing I could shed is my skin, which would really be no help at all.

The Worst Hard Time

Every October is national book month. The Utah Humanities Council is a big supporter of national book month. This year is the 15th Annual Utah Humanities Book Festival, with events all over Utah. The OPL participates every year in the book festival through Orem Reads (formally known as Orem's Big Read).

Each year, a single book is selected. This year, Orem Reads is focusing on the book The Worst Hard Time, by Timothy Egan. For the month long event, OPL has pulled together a fantastic program featuring authors, professors, and other experts speaking on the themes and events surrounding the book. There are also movie screenings and exhibits. This year's program includes square dancing and a canning how-to.

Last night, at the good, old OPL I had the opportunity to hear Timothy Egan talk about his book in the kickoff event of Orem Reads. This nonfiction book, winner of National Book Award in 2006, follows five people through the dust bowl, the worst environmental disaster to hit the US. Ever.

Egan said the dust bowl was played out in 3 acts.

Act I - before the misery. The dust bowl used to be the greatest sweep of grasslands found the world over. The nation was determined to settle it and offered a mile square to anyone willing to farm the land. It was difficult to find a plant that would grow there, but the Germans from Russia brought turkey red wheat with them which grew well in the grassland conditions. At first they prospered. People who had never owned anything had land and enough money to buy nice clothes for their children.

Act 2 - the crash. Prices for the wheat fell dramatically. There was too much of it. The stock market crashed. Banks closed all across the plains and the farmers, who couldn't sell their wheat, no longer had any savings. Then the drought and the wind hit. There had always been droughts in that region of the country and there is always wind down there. The only difference was the plowed up fields. All that grassland with nothing to hold it down blew up and became the dust bowl. Some of the dust bowl storms were so awful they carried dust through Chicago, past New York, and 100 miles out into the Atlantic.

Act 3 - trying to fix it. This was the first time the federal government stepped in and tried to help in a natural disaster. They planted 200 million trees and tried to reinstate the grasslands. Nothing they did helped much. All the people could do that stuck it out and didn't move to other states (where, by the way, they were not very welcome; think Grapes of Wrath), was wait for the drought and the storms to end.

Timothy Egan called this living history. It's a story within our memory, but just barely. All five of the people he followed in the book have passed away since its publishing.

I've wanted to read The Worst Hard Time since it was first published. I've also always had a vague interest in Orem's Big Read and have attended events here and there, though I've never read the selected book (often I have already read the book selected, making participation in the events easy).

This year I'm going for it. My copy of The Worst Hard Time is currently whizzing to me through the magical medium of Internet purchasing. I've got my schedule of events at the OPL pinned up and hope to be back there at least a couple of more times.

I'm so excited I almost can't stand it.

Saga of the Wilty Plant

Me: Kelly! Will you water my plant? I just run him under water til it comes out the bottom.

Kelly: I was going to water all the plants and my hunky russian said that he already did so I was like cool. But then the next day I saw yours and it was all wilty and sad and I was like OH NO!!! And my hunky russian was like oh I didn't see that one cuz it was on the counter so I watered it a couple days ago and now look at him! So happy! << picture of happy plant >>

Kelly Belly is pretty much the best saga teller you'll ever meet. The suspense, the drama, the real emotions, all wrapped up in a four-line saga.

29 Years

With a title like that this ought to be a birthday post.

My parents recently celebrated anniversary 29. Twenty-nine years is literally more than a lifetime for me. I think of everything I've done with my lifetime, slap on a few more years to make up for the difference in time, and that's what my parents have given to each other. All of that life, lived for someone else.

Sometimes I wonder how they did it. My parents seemed to have learned not so much how to work with each other over the last 29 years as much as how to work around each other. An important skill, they both acknowledge. The dinner conversation is always fun as Ma and Pa think they've communicated perfectly when really I'm the only one that understands what they've said and also that they have no idea what each other has said. When it matters I point it out (Pa thinks Ma has told him to do something when Ma thinks she's told Pa not to do something); when it doesn't, I don't.

But it's always been clear to me how much they love each other. Not a day has gone by that I have seen both of them together (which doesn't always happen, even when I live with them in their house) that they don't kiss and tease and smile. Even if just a moment before they were exasperated and shaking their heads at each other. They would also do anything in the world for each other. Though it ought to be noted that they don't often ask each other to do things that they can do for themselves because they know the way the other person would do it would drive them crazy. Still, it's the feeling that counts here.

What it all comes down to is that I'm glad my parents have stuck it out and made it work for 29 years, crazy in love the whole time. Not because they are driven crazy by their love, but because they drive each other crazy, but still love every bit of each other, even the craziest of the crazy bits.

Happy 29 years, Ma and Pa. Someday, when I make my 29 years lived for someone else, it will be because you showed me how.

Yesterday.

Yesterday was not a good day. I had been feeling a little strained this week anyway. I leave for Charleston tomorrow and will be gone for ten days. So excited. But I've got work pouring out of my ears, and only one coworker with as much work to do as I have to pick up the slack when I leave and I need to get my prospectus finished for my master's thesis in hopes that when I get back from Charleston I can hit it hard and get it finished up. Which means I've been putting extra hours in at work, taking a half hour break or so, and then it's right back to the computer for school work.

Yesterday, traffic was heavier and more parking lottish than usual. I didn't mind too much. The commute to work is kind of restful in a way. I can't do anything. Literally. All I can do is drive. It gives me time to think and reassert my emotional balance. I was in the process of doing so very successfully when I got banged up from behind. Luckily, nobody was moving quickly on the freeway. Things could have turned out a lot worse. Particularly when you compare the size of his GMC Sierra to my little civic. His car looked fine. My back bumper did manage to bend his front license plate in half (yeah, civic!). My car didn't fair quite as well.

I climbed out of my car, expecting the big man in the big car to take charge or be mad or something. But nothing. He just looked at me with his sad, little eyes and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He clearly had no idea what to do.

I have been in a car accident before as the driver. Somebody ran a red light and I t-ed him. Also a big truck. That time, though, I was smart and had my parent's, massive van. Take that, red light runner. I was just 16 and was an emotional wreck. My experience there was no help yesterday.

I pulled my frazzled mind together, asked for his insurance and contact information, didn't take a picture of our cars (as I realized I should have after I got to work and sat down and had time to think a little bit), and didn't write down his license plate number (also as I should have). We did not file an accident report with the police. I was fine, he was fine, both our cars still worked, and didn't even look too banged up. I needed to get to work (remember impending vacation strain?), and I was struggling to function. I still feel good about that decision, but I should have gotten that picture.

Ah well. I filed a claim with his insurance yesterday and so far things seem like they will work out well. Fingers crossed he'll cooperate with the insurance when they verify the accident with him.

In the end. I'm grateful. For a lot of things. I'm grateful the big truck didn't smash into my car and bust up the trunk and push me into the car in front of me. I'm grateful the big truck didn't crush me, like it could have. I'm grateful that even if the insurance falls through and I have to pay for the damages myself, my car maintenance fund can handle the cost of the repairs with money to spare. But what I'm most grateful for is the experience. Yup, I said it. I'm glad someone ran into me on the freeway yesterday, and that I was already feeling strained and that it nearly put me over the edge. Someday, somebody is going to run into me again. Having dealt with it on frazzle brain with a driver who had no idea what to do or how to take care of it but could only say over and over again, "I'm sorry," will make it so much easier for me to deal with it later when maybe the other guy isn't so nice or the accident is a lot worse. I've done it once; dealt with it all on my own and did okay. I can do it again. Next time, I'll even do it better.

I rode home in a mountain of tissues.

Which might not have been so bad if they were new, soft, cushy tissues. They weren't. They were slightly damp and sticky, used tissues. I dislodged my mountain at every stop for food or gas or a stretch of the legs, but it took nearly no time at all for the mountain to grow again. Luckily the Ma and Kelly Belly mostly stayed in the front of the car while I and my mountain of tissues stayed in the back.

The Ma also made sure I was well drugged, particularly at night. When you share a hotel room with someone who is hacking and coughing and sneezing you only sleep as much as they do.

I think I picked something up from Uncle Sam. The poor man couldn't stop himself from sneezing. I don't blame him. He's old and frail and each time I see him he seems to have collapsed in on himself a little bit more. One of these days a strong Iowa wind will pick him up and gust him away.

Mountains of tissues aside, I always look forward to Iowa at Powwow time.

This is my cousin Jaron, the one in blue. He dances at every Powwow. He's really very good. Also, I think he looks fantastic in his dance garb.

I spent the days in Iowa working, but Kelly Belly went to the Powwow grounds in the morning and helped braid all the little cousin heads so they would be ready to dance.

I love watching the dances at Powwow while chomping down on hot, crisp, chewy frybread. More than the dances, I love the music. Groups of men sit around a single massive drum, each with their own drumstick. Together they beat on the drum and sing. It's beautiful.

The Ma has come home once again determined to make piles of frybread. Frybread is easy (flour, baking powder, salt, and water, and lard for frying), but it's difficult to get it just right. You need a good, hot fire. We don't have a fire pit. The Ma is contemplating squatting in the currently vacant garden and building a fire there. If I suddenly gain twenty pounds you'll know she's succeeded. I could eat piles of frybread for days and not grow sick of it.

It is good to be home. It is much better to be droopy and sore-nosed in your own bed than an indifferent, hotel bed. I've pulled a steak out of the freezer and intend to make about a gallon of beef barley soup with oodles of delicious vegetables. I'm also contemplating hot apple cider to soothe my achy throat.

4 hours 58 minutes

That's how long it would take me to get to Chicago.

Did I mention that I love Chicago?

Don't get me wrong. I love Iowa (kind of) and I really love my family (definitely), but sometimes I want to just throw Grandma in the car and hit the road. What I would do with Grandma once I got to Chicago, that I don't know. But it wouldn't matter! I'd be in Chicago.

I know that Chicago and I have only the most fleeting of acquaintances, but we were meant to be together.

How I Fared in Portland

I've discovered something about myself recently. I am exhausting to go on vacation with. I exhaust even myself. I pack more into two and a half days than most people get done on a week of vacation. And mostly it's all food.

I flew to Portland with my father for the weekend. Flew in Friday night, late late late; flew out Monday evening, not so late. I've been to Portland a few times. My aunt has lived there with her family for as long as I can remember. But visiting Portland for family reasons is not anything at all like visiting Portland. This time around, Pa and I were playing tourists.

Saturday we got up early enough to enjoy the Hillsboro Saturday Market. It was packed with deliciousness. My aunt and uncle had a booth where my cousin was selling bread. We didn't buy anything (I don't know that my aunt would have let us) but we stopped in and picked up a sample of blueberry lemon bread. It was moist and lemony and bursting with blueberries.

Oregon is mostly rural and the market showed it. Booths and booths stocked with the most delicious looking farm fresh vegetables,  fruits, and berries. I wanted to grab it by the armful. I didn't. It would have been impractical, being on vacation and all. And I like to pretend that I'm a practical sort of person. I did eagerly try any sample that was handed to me. I also purchased and shared a number of market goodies with my father, aunt, and cousins. We bought pita and hummus, a lemon white chocolate chip cookie as big as my face (so good!), a raspberry peach pie, a bumbleberry pie, and some potato salad.

We said goodbye to our poor cousin manning the bread booth and headed toward downtown Portland. We stopped in at Pittock mansion for the view and smelled the roses in the rose test garden at Washington Park. Then it was off into the heart of Portland for more food. Our first stop was a food cart for lunch. Food carts are all the rage in Portland. Pa was brave and tried a Korean food cart with me. The food was fresh and delicious and perfect for sharing. After the food cart we hit up Voodoo Doughnut. No, I didn't try the maple bacon donut, but I did sample a variety of others. Voodoo cooks up some super delicious donuts. I wouldn't wait in that line for them again, but I wasn't disappointed that I had. Also, carrying around a pink Voodoo donut box makes you an instant celebrity. "Hey, where is that place?"

After Voodoo donuts we wandered through the Portland Saturday market. It was big and loud and crowded and full of people showing off the stuff they can do. Pa and I shared a cherry lime sno cone and watched boats go by on the Willamette River.

After downtown Portland we headed home to pick up my cousin from the bread booth. He was done for the day, and it was nearing dinner time. We went to the part of Portland that used to be downtown but isn't anymore. We stopped in at the Salt and Straw first. Ice cream is far more important than dinner, as anybody ought to know. I had a blueberry lavender sorbet in a freshly made waffle cone. It was heaven. I savored it while we walked up and down both sides of the street, looking in the cute shops. I couldn't resist stepping into Moonstruck Chocolate. I limited myself to four: huckleberry truffle, lemon truffle, milk chocolate, salted caramel in milk chocolate. Some of the best chocolates I've ever had. Then it was time for dinner. We went to Pastini Pastorina, a local pasta restaurant for dinner. It was delicious. Pa and I shared, of course, leaving just enough room for us to share a tiny caramel steamer at Powell's Books after dinner, perfect for keeping you company while you walk up and down the endless aisles filled to the brim with well-loved books.

Sunday was far less intense. We didn't do much and ate even less (hard to believe I know). Before church we took a jaunt in the car up to Vancouver and drove along the Columbia. After church we headed to the Multnomah Falls. They were gorgeous and it was fun to climb to the top with my cousins, even though they though I was slow. I wasn't slow. I was enjoying the moment.

Monday, we started out early in the morning. We stopped for breakfast at Camp 18 on our way to the coast. Breakfast fit for Lumber Jack's. We shared a cinnamon roll as big as my face (really, it was that big) and each ate eggs and potatoes and biscuits on top of that. Also, the hot chocolate was delicious.

The Oregon coast is beautiful. When my aunt first suggested the beach I was not interested. I was thinking beachy beach. The Oregon coast is not beach. It's beautiful and rugged and gloomy. I fell in love.

We stopped in at Seaside, walked around the touristy shops, and grabbed a bag of sea salt taffy made in Seaside to munch on. Then we sat down to share a couple bowls of seafood chowder and a big platter of fish and chips. On our way out of town my Pa grabbed some peanut butter fudge. By that time I was all eaten out. Bet you didn't think it could happen, did ya? But I was, and I didn't have a single bit of that peanut butter fudge.

After Seaside we had just enough time to stop in at my aunt's house, gather up our stuff, and head to the airport to catch our plane.

I wasn't there nearly long enough. Portland is beautiful and delicious and I can't wait to go back.

PS I wore my pedometer the whole time I was there. Portland Vacation step count: 36,000. Not bad considering I spent hours sitting around while we traveled by car and plane.

The France Plan

I have a plan. It's my France plan.

I'm going to live in France. Don't know when (in the next couple of years I hope) or for how long (probably just a few months), but it is going to happen.

In preparation for my France plan I'm taking a French class.

This is not my first encounter with French lessons. My long and rather windy path to French began when I signed up for and then dropped French in ninth grade. I signed up for and actually took French the next year and then the year after that. I learned nothing (except the word for cheese). I took another two years as an undergrad, starting from the very beginning. I learned only a little more.

French is my brick wall. School was easy. Math, Science, History. All of it was easy peasy. But French, French was hard.

I don't know when it was I decided that I would be fluent in French, but somewhere between flashcards, and vocab lists, and solid B work, I realized that I would never give up on French.

Yesterday was the first session of my Beginning French 2 class. I should probably be in the intermediate class (yay!), but I'm sticking with beginning 2. It's an accelerated class that will only last a month and I feel good about shoring up my French foundation.

In no time at all I'll speaking French with the best of them. And by that I mean to say this time I'm seeing it through to the end. I will study French diligently (mostly) until I am fluent, which may very well mean I am studying diligently (mostly) for the rest of forever.

Le chemin est difficile mais je peux vaincre.

Don't worry, I'm not sure what it means either.

Wil and Lexi

I was listening to the radio on my way to work. The morning DJs were playing a game with a listener: "Are you smarter than Lexi?" A man called in. His name was Wil.

The first question neither Wil nor Lexi knew the answer to (Where are the 2012 Olympics being held? Answer: London). Wil, being at a loss, attempted to google the answer. You could hear him typing. Lexi told him off for trying to cheat. The next question (What state is the Grand Canyon primarily in? Answer: Arizona) took Lexi a little bit of time, but she got it in the end. Of course, before she figured it out she had to tell Wil off again for trying to google the answer.

After Lexi answered the question, Lexi told Wil he needed to up his game on the next question if he wanted the tickets. Wil didn't answer. He had hung up.

Poor guy, he never saw it coming. See, Wil is smart. He knows where to find anything he needs to. A few seconds with an information processing device and Wil can tell you just about anything. That, dear people, is amazing.

The problem is, Wil can't come up with the information on his own. Once upon a time people stored information. These days, mostly we just process information. Chances are pretty good at some point Wil came across the information that the 2012 Olympics were in London or that the Grand Canyon was mostly in Arizona. At the time, Wil didn't need the information. He processed the information as "not important" and moved on.

I recently read The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing Our Brains  by Nicholas Carr. This book talks all about why Wil is the way he is. It's the internet. It's done it to all of us. You may think that's a hasty generalization, but I'm pretty confident in my assessment, seeing as you are currently reading this post. You = internet user. Apparently it only takes about five hours of internet time to significantly rewire the brain. Imagine what your brain must look like.

But that's okay, right? Nothing wrong with being adept at information processing. The thing with the brain is when you begin to do one thing intensely, the connections in the brain involved in that process grow stronger. It works the other way around, too. The less you do something, the weaker those connections become.

The internet helps us with our decision-making (click on that link or pass it by? pay attention to that ad or ignore it?) and with information processing, but it does not help us practice our focus. The less time we spend focusing on a single task (watching tv, browsing the internet, and carrying on three different chats all at once doesn't cut it), the less able we are to focus on a single task. This means that less deep thinking is going on, which in turn means there's less imagination and creativity. Kind of a scary thought.

Good news is, the fact that I was able to read that book in two days means I am still fully capable of focusing.

I may be a champion information processor, but I won't go down without a fight. I exercise my concentration and deep thinking skills quite regularly. I also have a deep dislike for smart phones and intend to not have one for as long as possible. And you better believe someday when I'm filthy rich and don't have to work anymore I'll spend significantly less time practicing my information processing skills.

P.S. I am definitely smarter than Lexi. Who doesn't know where the Olympics are this year? Or where the Grand Canyon is?

Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

If you frequent a Smith's or a Kroger, you may have noticed the little orange stickers that pop up occasionally. They say 'Manager's Special' in big bold letters and display the new, discounted price. Items go on manager's special for lots of different reasons: clearance, new packaging, the product is no longer carried. The most frequent reason, it seems, is that the item is getting near its expiration date.

The Ma loves the thrill of the shopping hunt, rooting around til she finds a good deal, getting something that everybody else would pass over for an amazing price and turning it into something spectacular. She's out of her mind in love with manager's specials. They've done all the hard work for her. All the best deals are clearly marked with a big, orange, easily identifiable sticker. Ma quite often makes dinners with nothing but manger's specials.

The other day she came home proudly bearing manager's special, chunked butternut squash. Our favorite way to eat butternut squash is roasted with butter and brown sugar, but she wanted to do something funky with it. Like make soup.

While the Ma has been feeling brave recently and has found herself a few recipes all on her lonesome, she still prefers giving that task to me. "Find me a recipe containing these three ingredients that can be done in less than an hour and will fulfill this delicious meal idea!" Luckily, on this particular trip she found so many manager's specials she didn't have time to think about the butternut squash for at least two more dinners (a little nervous making when you consider that it was on manager's special because it was nearly too old to be eaten, but none of us have died yet from eating it so I think it turned out okay). That gave me the time I needed to hunt for oodles of recipes, compare them with one another, and then pick and choose the parts of the recipes I liked, leaving behind those I didn't.

I was disappointed at first in my search for butternut squash soup. Butternut is a winter squash which apparently means that when turned into soup it ought to taste like Christmas. I love Christmas as much as the next girl, but I've never been a fan of the traditional Christmas flavors: nutmeg and cinnamon and allspice all rolled together so everything tastes like a pumpkin pie. Not to be swayed by the early signs of defeat, I dug til I found some different spice combinations I thought would be delicious.

Best. Soup. Ever.

Really. At least the best creamy, winter squash soup that has ever come out of this kitchen. Plus, it is easy peasy. This is becoming a staple on my fall menu. No longer will I suffer from having more butternut squash in the garden than a girl knows what do do with.

And who knows. This might just be enough to keep me from shaking my head the next time the Ma sets out with a happy giggle to hunt down some manager's specials.


Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

5 cups chunked butternut squash
1/2 medium onion, rough chopped in large pieces (I cut mine into six pieces)
2-3 tbsp olive oil
1 8oz package of cream cheese
3 cups water
4 cubes bouillon
1/4 tsp dried marjoram
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
1/8 tsp ground cayenne pepper

1. Preheat oven to 350*. Dump squash and onion chunks in an oven safe sauce pan and drizzle with olive oil. Stir to coat each piece. Roast in the oven for about 45 minutes. Squash should be cooked through. You can check doneness  by inserting a knife. If the squash is cooked, a butter knife will slip easily into the squash flesh.

2. Puree Squash and onions in a blender (I suppose you could use a food processor for this but I think those things are a booger to clean) til all the chunks are gone. Add the cream cheese and puree until it takes on a smooth, even consistency. Return to the sauce pan.

3. Dissolve bouillon in hot water. Add bouillon water, marjoram, black pepper, and cayenne pepper to the squash mixture in the sauce pan. Warm over medium heat. Do not boil.

4. Bust out the previously purchased, crusty bread and delicious sweet cream butter. Dig in.

PS I only used chunked butternut squash because it was on manager special. The easiest way to roast butternut squash is to cut it in half from top to bottom, scoop out the seeds, and throw that puppy in the oven. No chunking, just halving. Coat the onions with olive oil and drizzle olive oil on top of the squash halves. Scoop it out of the skin and into the blender for pureeing.

Othello

I recently attended a performance of Othello put on by Shakespeare in the Park. Othello has always been pretty near the bottom on my list Shakespeare plays. I think my dislike of it stems from my 11 grade English honors class. I playacted a scene with a group of students in which I was mostly dead, after being smothered violently with a pillow. Also, we didn't read the actual text; we read a comic book version featuring mice.

Despite my dislike of the the play, I was excited to go. I have not seen nearly enough Shakespeare in my lifetime. I wrangled together some other Shakespeare fans, found my picnic blanket, grabbed some snacks, and headed to the park.

In their original form, Shakespeare plays were performed on an outdoor stage with little props or scenery. The story was told through the words and actions of the actors. There was also no fourth wall. The performances relied heavily on the reactions and participation of the audience. Shakespeare wrote to please the masses.

My expectations were pretty low. Free Shakespeare performed by volunteers in the park? I thought the whole thing was highly suspect.

Shakespeare performed is magical. Always. Shakespeare performed in the evening among the tall pine trees at the park while you sit on blankets and munch on bottle caps is pretty much the best thing ever.

You can find more information about Shakespeare in the Park here. I believe they are doing Richard III next. You should try to find the time to go. Trust me, it's worth it. Chances are pretty good you'll run into me, sitting on my picnic blanket with my buddies, munching on my bottle caps.

PS It is so strange to work with a whole bunch of people just like me. Who knew I'd ever have a host of friends that enjoy Shakespeare? I'm kind of in love with it.

Las Vegas

There are two parts to going on vacation: leaving and coming back. As much as I love the going, I think I may love coming home even more. There's something luxurious about sleeping in your own bed with your own pillow and showering in your own shower.

Four days, I think, was perfect. Long enough that I was able to relax into the vacation, but not too long. I was sad to leave but also glad to come home. Feeling only sadness at leaving means I haven't been gone long enough. Only happiness means I've been gone too long.

Ma, the Little Sister, and my Twinner Sis-in-law made the perfect traveling companions. We talked and laughed and shared pillows and road treats, but we also read books and watched movies or just watched the red rocks go by, leaving each other to our silent occupations.

I appreciated the company of Twinner SIL particularly. Although she didn't wake up as early as I did (I woke up just after 6:00am the first morning), she woke up sooner than the Ma and the Little Sister. Twinner SIL hadn't spent much time in Las Vegas before. We explored the strip together, checking out the sites. We were whistled at, approached about Vegas pool parties, and asked if we wanted VIP access to a night club. We said no.

Because Twinner SIL hadn't been there before, we took lots of pictures. Lots of pictures. I was the only photographer so our pictures look pretty much the same. Me on the right, Twinner SIL on the left, with different backgrounds: the monorail, multicolored m&ms, the fountains at the bellagio.

This one is of us in the conservatory of the bellagio. Simply add different backgrounds and you'll get a pretty good idea of what all the originals looked like.

We waited for Ma and the Little Sister to wake up before doing anything super fun. Like going to Freed's Bakery and trying their wedding cake. Some of the most delicious cake I've ever had. Or driving to the Hoover Dam and leaning over the edge so we could feel the crazy wind coming up from the bottom. Or visiting the floor to ceiling chocolate fountain at the Bellagio.

I've been visiting Vegas since I was a tiny child. Years I didn't visit Vegas are far more rare than the years I did. This trip included far more touristy things than ever before. It was fun and there was a lot we missed. Luckily, a girl trip to Vegas (no men and no babies) is officially part of the yearly schedule. Some of my sisters and definitely my Ma appreciate lying by the pool more than anything else. I am excited for the chance I'll have to explore the city from top to bottom, ranging far and wide, finding things to see and delicious things to eat.

Mostly I'm glad that I have some time each year to hang out with the Ma and my sisters,

In Which the Little Brother Begins His Two-Year Hiatus

It happened. I gave the Little Brother a giant hug yesterday, told him goodbye, and that was it. I've sent my kid brother off to do and learn hard things. When I see him again he'll be a man.

Not man enough, I hope, that he won't giggle with me while we lay on my parents bed where Pa is sleeping (in our defense he wasn't sleeping when we first got there) and we torture each other with Pa's back scratcher. This may or may not have been how we spent the last night together. Who knew a back scratcher could do so much damage? Also, we were whooped. We had buckets of unfinished business to attend to. I love the Little Brother, but attending to necessary preparations is not his strong point. In our home, whooped = super loopy, meaning that our giggles in relation to the back scratcher were louder and lasted longer then they would have otherwise. Don't worry. Pa slept through it all just fine. He was whooped, too.

It is strange to think of the next two years without him. I know two years will pass crazy fast, but where I'm standing now it feels like forever. I can only imagine what it must feel like for him.

For the most part, the Little Brother is laid back and easy going (leading to his seeming inability to get things done, as mentioned above). He's been pretty chill about this two-year hiatus thing. There was only one time when I thought he might be overwhelmed by emotion. It was the evening before he left. A couple of amazing men had come to our home to talk with the Little Brother about what he was about to do. It wasn't long after they got there before the Little Brother's face became taut, his jaw set and his cheek muscles tight and his mouth in a hard, straight line. It's a face I've never seen on him before but I recognized it because that's my emotion face. The face I make when I have so much emotion in me that if I crack even the least bit it will come flooding out and there will be no stopping it or reeling it in until it's had a nice, long romp.

The Little Brother and I are most like each other than we are like any of our other siblings. I forget that sometimes. The Little Brother and I are different enough on the surface I forget how similar we are underneath.

I'm going to miss this little guy. Technically I shouldn't be calling him little since he's been significantly bigger than me for years. But to me, he'll always be the Little Brother.

Shakespeare in the Park: Othello

Yesterday, When We Busted Out the Mother's Day Pie

We also busted out the ice cream. Gma likes vanilla ice cream with her homemade peach pie.

Since the peach pie was a last minute dessert decision we weren't able to make sure we had the vanilla ice cream to go with it. I didn't think it would matter much since I knew we had recently had some vanilla ice cream in the freezer.

My dad dug out all our frozen deliciousness when we served the pie. This is what he found:

• Turtle Tracks
• Mint Chocolate Chip
• Toasted Almond Fudge
• Cookies and Cream
• Double Strawberry
• Cherry Vanilla
• Raspberry Sherbet
• Rainbow Sherbet
• Mango Sherbet

We apparently need to work on our ice cream stockpiling skills. How could we possibly have that many flavors but not have vanilla?

The Fabulous You

Warning: This is a booger of a post. It may induce extreme hunger, dehydration, or a feeling of being lost. Proceed with caution.

Last night I attended a stake RS activity. I did not want to go. At all. We were told on Sunday that we'd be learning about hair and makeup. I know it's not completely obvious by my perpetually bunned, braided, or pony-tailed hair and my notoriously makeupless face, but talking hair and makeup doesn't do it for me.

The evening began with some brief remarks by our stake president. He was followed by a series of guest speakers.

President Shippen
President Shippen spoke a lot about how precious each day is. He emphasized that just as your outer appearance reflects your inner self, the way we live our lives reflects that which we seek. His hope for us is that we will walk in virtue and live righteous lives so that we can fulfill our purpose.

He asked the sisters what their morning routine was. Nobody was brave enough to answer but that was alright cause he had a new one for us. He said the first thing we should do every morning is get on our knees and pray and have a conversation with the Lord. We should discuss with him our day, and ask that he give us his blessing as we live it. Next, Presdient Shippen said, he wants us to find a mirror, stare ourselves down, and say this:

A personal pep talk. But you can't just say it, he said. You have to mean it. This is not something that will come easy to me. The last three will be no problem. The first three, well, it's going to take me some time to be able to say that to myself and mean it. Perhaps if it was "You rock," or "You are fabulous." That would be easy peasy (most days) because I am fabulous. But I cannot tell myself I'm beautiful and mean it. Which is the point.

Sherrie Johnson
Sherrie Johnson is an institute teacher and religion instructor and holy moly is she awesome. Really, I want to be her when I grow up. She talked about how important it is to not just read your scriptures, but to study them. Reading your scriptures will bore your brains out. Studying them will keep things exciting. There are tons and tons of different ways to study the scriptures and it's important to find the one that works for you. If it doesn't work for you, it isn't going to work and there goes your scripture studying.

My Pa likes to color code his scriptures by topic. When I was a preteen, Pa bought me a set of scripture marking crayons in lots of colors and we spent an entire family night lesson talking about color coding and using our crayons. I think I may have even put a key to the colors in the front of my family scripture study BoM. I never once used those colors because it didn't work for me. And that's fine. His scriptures look like a rainbow inside and my scriptures look like this:

Both are valid ways of studying the scriptures and we've both found what works for us.

When Sister Johnson was 28, she realized that although she knew the scriptures well, she hadn't ever ready them on a daily basis. She made a commitment then to never go to bed without reading a verse of scripture, which, she said, works about as well as telling yourself you're only going to eat one potato chip. She said to tithe your time the same way you do you money. Time is a gift from the Lord and if you give back 10% (which to me seems like an awful lot of time, but I'm going to try to work my way up there), there will be plenty of time leftover for everything else.

It's a choice really. Is scripture study a priority or isn't it?

Kathy Hill
Pretty sure I want Kathy Hill to be my new best friend. I appreciated her upfront, frank approach to the subject and her insights into why looking your best is so important. She said it is important to be pulled  together so you can forget about yourself and think about others. Soap is cheap so shower every day. Unless you have dry hair, in which case every other is okay. According to Kathy, it doesn't take more than 30 minutes a day to get ready (her hair took her 10 minutes to go from wet-from-the-shower to fabulous and her makeup takes her 6).

In the words of Kathy Hill, "Let's just groom up!"

Larry Tucker
Larry Tucker spoke to use about nutrition. He said that while reading your scriptures is more important than proper nutrition, being close to the Lord becomes much more important if you don't eat well since you'll be meeting him sooner.

He gave us three principles:

1. Focus on foods with a low energy density (a small number of calories per gram). You can eat these suckers til you topple over from being perfectly satiated. No going hungry here.
2. Don't eat when you're not hungry. That means recreational eating. I am a champion recreational eater. I suppose it's time to pursue new hobbies.
3. Don't drink your calories. Sodas and other high calorie drinks will make you fat, fat, fat.

Following these three principles will allow you to eat til you're full always and either lose weight or maintain a healthy weight.

Super simple, really. Until you're faced with a jumbo, chocolate, gooey brownie smothered in mint chocolate chip ice cream and marshmallow ice cream topping. Yum.

Heather Anderson
Heather Anderson spoke to use about makeup. I already knew just about everything she told us, I just don't apply it.

Here's your basic face.

• Barriers: Toner (for oily skin, not for dry), moisturizer, and a foundation primer
• Foundation - During summer a tinted moisturizer works great in place of your foundation
• Eye primer (this stops shadow from running or creasing and keeps it true to color) - She uses Urban Decay which I've heard is fantastic. I use, excuse me, have an eye primer from NS Minerals which worked great that one time when I had makeup on my face.
• Eye shadow - Don't forget to blend your colors
• Eye liner
• Mascara primer (gives the mascara something to hold on to)
• Mascara

She wanted us all to remember that we are beautiful and should work with what we have. Also that it doesn't matter how beautiful we are on the outside, we'll never be beautiful if we aren't also beautiful on the inside.

She also wanted us to know that grocery store makeup is great (except a couple things which she didn't specify, so good luck with that) and that sleeping in your makeup will ruin your face and make your eyelashes fall out.

Rogan Taylor
By the time it was Rogan Taylor's turn I was getting antsy. I can only take makeup talk for so long. But then I saw he used a Prezi. I'm slightly obsessed with Prezis. I've never done one myself, but someday I will be a Prezi maestro. This is happening.

He talked with us about exercise. There are three main parts to exercise: stretching, cardio, and strengthening. It's important to work on each as they all play a major part in our physical fitness.

Robin Harmon
Robin Harmon gave us a handout with the top 10 (which actually included 14 items) essentials in a girl's wardrobe. I'm ashamed to say that I don't own a single one of those things. Except maybe the cute PJs. But only if it's okay for them to be old and fraying at the hems.

She gave us the 3Cs:

• Clean - This is pretty self-explanatory (remember Kathey? Soap is cheap!).
• Color - Fashion colors change every six months or so. To incorporate these colors without purchasing a new wardrobe get them in a lipstick, bag, belt, shoes, scarf, or jacket. Personally, I love getting new nail polish colors (I hardly ever wear anything but green so I don't know why I bother but I can't deny that I love having two palms full of fantastic nail polish colors).
• Creative - Don't worry about how other people are wearing things; wear things your way. Be bold and daring. I apparently have this one down pat. Once said to me by my mother: "You wear things other people wouldn't." [Long Pause] "But wish they could." Thanks, Ma.

I am so grateful to the many talented people that gave of their time and knowledge last night so I could learn a lot bit more about how to be a better me.

A Series of Poems About a Spider

Ode to the Spider Living Between My Window Pane and the Screen of My Window

You sit there basking in the sun.
Sometimes high,
Sometimes low.
You're always on the screen, not my window.
Does the screen feel better on your spider legs like Dr. Scholl's massaging insoles?
Or maybe you hope that if you sit there long enough
You'll melt through the screen like the
Ghost of a spider.
You've been stuck between for days.
You can't find your way out.
You must have crawled to the screen when my window was open.
You came from the inside, not the outside.
Don't you know outside will kill you as surely as living between the screen and my window pane?


Ode to the Spider that Used to be My Roommate

You and I were roommates before you crawled between.
We lived amicably together.
   I didn't know you were there.
   You didn't crawl down my throat in my sleep like spiders sometimes do,
   The sleep studies say.
We were good roommates.
Then you crawled between the window pane and the screen.
The warm, spring air must have called to your Spider senses
Just as they called to mine.
But you stayed too long.
   I shut the window.
   Now you are stuck and
   I know you are there.
Someday I will open the window.
If you are not already dead, I will kill you.
We used to be roommates—
Now I live in the world behind the glass
And you live between.


Ode to the Spider with the Overactive Spider Senses

You couldn't resist the call of Spring
the sweet Summer air
the cloud-studded sky
the smell of green, growing things.
Now you will die.


PS I feel that it would be irresponsible of me to not now research the traditional form of odes (is there a traditional form of ode?). If any of you lovelies have information on the Ode, please share.

Why Run?

I'm reading this book. It wasn't on my currently reading list, but it was sitting on my bookshelf and it's from the library, so I'm reading it.

Amby Burfoot, the author, is an editor of Runner's World Magazine. It's obvious from the way this book is put together that she is quite adept at the short, magazine article style of writing. It's not my favorite way to read a book, but it does make for quick reading and the information she provides is still valid.

There are ten parts to this book and I've just finished reading Part 1: Why Run? This section was longer than I wanted it to be, but chances are if you're struggling to find the motivation to run, something in this section will inspire you which I'm sure was her intention and explains the length of this section.

But you don't need to read this book, or any book, to find good reasons to run. The best motivation for anything comes from yourself. Figure out why you want to do something, whether it be running or something else, and keep those things in mind always. When it gets hard, remind yourself why you're doing it. If it's important enough to you, if you constantly remind yourself why it is a priority, you'll get it done.

I'm changing up the way I do running a little bit. Mostly the changes I am making are things I intended to do anyway, but reading the first section of this book has given me the oomph I need to get them done.

1) I've moved my activity log from my ipad to an empty journal I had lying around. (I have oodles of empty journals. I always feel proud of myself when I have a good use for one; it legitimizes my keeping them around.) I prefer a physical activity log to the virtual log. I'll be better about keeping it, happier to write in it after an exercise, and potentially motivated to run when I don't want to just so I can put it in my activity log. I entered Saturday's 5k as my first entry in my new log. That way, whenever I'm feeling discouraged, I can look at my first entry and remember what a success it was. Remembering that my first entry was a success will remind me that any entry in my activity log is an entry of success.

2) I've adopted a simple reward system. Kelly Belly and I are champion celebrators when it comes to doing something unique and specific (like taking a big test or teaching that RS lesson you've been dreading), but I'm not very good at rewarding myself for the constant, little things that are difficult to keep up. A reward is never enough to make me do something I don't want to do, but it does make me happier when I complete something I was going to do anyway. The book suggested purchasing a piggy bank and giving yourself a quarter each time you complete a training session. I've already got a piggy bank and I like the idea of giving myself money to treat myself with. (One of the books on my currently reading bookshelf is about personal finance. I'm trying to be more deliberate about my purchases as I work toward being more fiscally responsible overall. That means less spontaneous buying. Having a little piggy with some extra cash in it that I've sweat and toiled over might just be perfect.)

3) I'm writing out my reasons for running on 3x5 cards. I have a fetish for 3x5 cards and use them for all sorts of random things. I use a single 3x5 card for each reason. "I run because . . ." or "I run for . . . " followed by one of the reasons I run. I know why I run, but it would be nice to have my reasons delineated like that. Then, when I'm feeling like running is the worst idea ever, I don't have to work to come up with good reasons to run. They'll be right there in front of me written on 3x5 cards in cute, sharpie colors.

4) I'm going to hit up the fabric store and purchase a fat quarter that I just love. I'll turn it into a strip of fabric that I can tack up to my wall. I plan to pin up all my running bibs so I can see what I've done. A little silly maybe, but I never thought I'd ever run a race, let alone several. It's a reminder to myself that I can do things that I never thought I could or would. It's me reminding myself that I am awesome.

Spring Cleaning

According to Goodreads I am currently reading seven books. That doesn't count the book that's sitting on my shelf from OPL that I need to get read. I also probably have five or six books sitting around that I've started at one point and haven't gotten around to finishing. But they don't count. There's no official record that I've started reading them and I'm keeping it that way; seven unfinished books is more than enough for me to deal with.

It's time to do a little spring cleaning, time to get serious about reading my seven unfinished books. I feel I should give myself a date to have my currently-reading list cleared about by, but that really doesn't work for me. I know I could get them finished by a specific date, but setting a date will make it more likely that I won't accomplish getting them all read by that date than if I don't set one (don't worry—it doesn't make sense but I know myself well enough to know it's true).

I have updated my blog to include a widget from Goodreads that shows some of the books on my currently-reading list. The plan is to read all of those (plus the two or three I actually do need to get read in the sometimes near future) before beginning any other books.

Let the Goodreads spring cleaning begin!

Yup, that just happened.

Happily Ever Afters

Kelly Belly got married to her hunky Russian a few days ago. It was a happy day of wedding festivities, tired children, and delicious food.

I feel like it should be strange for my younger sister to be married. She and I have always been a pair. Now she's paired with someone else. It doesn't feel strange. It feels just right.

I had the dubious distinction of getting five children ranging from the ages of 1 to 6 to the temple in time for pictures. There was babysitting help waiting for me at the temple, but I had to get them there first. It took three car seats, two booster seats, and about twelve minutes to get them situated in the car. I am proud to say they all arrived at the temple happy with each other and happy with me. My oldest nephew Graham was the biggest helper. I don't know if I could have done it without him. I took all the little people out of the car one at a time, putting the two smallest girls (about 18 months old each) on either side of Graham, holding tight to his hands. The other two girls, one at a time, climbed out of the car and joined the line. After grabbing a purse full of books, coloring implements, diapers, wipes, and snacks, I snagged one end of the line and we made our slow way up to the temple entrance. Nearly everybody we passed just about died at the adorableness of five tiny people all in a row, discussing the benefits of holding hands and walking slowly to make sure nobody got lost or hurt.

As much as I loved seeing how happy my sister was, my favorite wedding moments were those spent with my nephews and nieces. Like when I danced with my nephew at the end of the reception when everybody else was dancing with their sweethearts. He developed a system for our dancing by which we could maintain evenness; a child after my own ordered heart. Or when my niece that is just learning to crawl and I chilled together on the floor in a corner while I ate some bread and salad for dinner. Or when my other little niece was going crazy because there were four balloons stuck on the reception hall ceiling. She wanted them. Bad.

I am a notorious shoe ditcher. I love my shoes, but mostly I love them not on my feet. I ditched my shoes near the beginning of the reception and didn't put them on again til the end. Mostly I didn't realize I spent most of my time there barefoot. I wonder how many others noticed.

I tried each of the five desserts. The chocolate pie was my least favorite, the key lime pie came next. The best was the mousse shot, with the cheesecake and the creme brulee as close seconds. My brother-in-law disagreed. He was glad he ate the chocolate pie.

I can't tell you the number of people that told me it was my turn to get married next. Oodles. People told me the same thing nearly five years ago when my oldest brother got married. Marriage isn't about turns. It's about somebody you want to spend the rest of forever with.

It's not their fault. They just love me and have hope for me.

I've spent the last nine months fielding questions about how I'm affected by my little sister's marriage. Apparently I'm supposed to be sad or bitter, upset in some way or another. It didn't make any sense to me. She's my sister. My younger sister. I've spent my life watching our for her. Her happiness is more precious to me than my own.

As I was driving home from the the reception, I pondered on why others find a younger sister getting married before an older sister upsetting. Why am I supposed to be upset? This is my theory. It's a matter of timelines. Like the game of life. You hit certain squares and you stop there until you either get yourself a spouse or a career or a house. It only takes a single turn. Once you've accomplished your purpose there, you move on. Meeting these timeline milestones in real life is a measure of your life success. Having a younger sibling (by nearly four years) hit those milestones before you shows that your timeline is off somehow. Something is not right and it is probably you.

I've spent my entire life doing things my way on my own timeline. I'm not much bothered by when others think things should happen in my life. Kelly Belly being married before I am means nothing except that when I take trips to foreign places I need to bring back a gift for her hubby, too, and that I'm going to have gads more nieces and nephews.

That being said, marriage is definitely on my timeline. I'll get to it when it's right for me. Until then, there is nothing I would rather do than celebrate my siblings' happily ever afters and am not bothered one bit by showing up as just me instead of as an us.

What's so great about tiny feet?

Eye-popping purple Toms in child's size 3.5 are less than half the price of their adult-sized counterparts.

Bonsai, the Little Orange Guy

I've recently become obsessed with growing things. I don't know where it came from, but I'm in deep obsess.

I bought a small plant a few weeks ago. I have no idea what kind of plant it is, but it doesn't matter; I love him just the same. He's got oodles of gorgeous orange blossoms and the cutest little pot.

I have never been responsible for the livelihood of a young, growing, green thing but I'm all sorts of happy about it. He's grown about three inches since I got him, so apparently he's pretty happy about our associations, too (except for the part where he might be dying from being over watered and then underwatered).

I read this blog post a bit ago and I want to copy it exactly. I want more little, green, growing things in cute glass vases that can live and thrive under my care.

Yup, definitely an obsession.

Eventually I may acquire more green, growing things. For now, I'll stick with my little, orange guy. We're already well on our way to being the best of friends. It helps that this little guy doesn't like direct sunlight. He's perfect for my well-lit cubicle that gets oodles of natural light but not very much direct sunlight.

What my little orange guy doesn't know is that he is a test. I've wanted for several months to supplement my office environment with a bonsai tree. I know, I know—what a weird thing to suddenly want. But I do. I want a bonsai. (Admittedly, I've taken to calling my little, orange guy Bonsai, so technically I have a Bonsai. It's just not quite the same.)

A bonsai is more expensive, more care, and more dignified than my little, orange guy. It would be tragic to promise to love and support one for the rest of its bonsai days, only to have my obsession run its course. But maybe, if I take good care of my little, orange guy and he grows up big and strong, my obsession will turn into love, and my little, orange guy will make a new friend and I will become the caretaker of a real bonsai (not just a little, orange guy named Bonsai).

Popsicle Sticks

It's officially almost summer. The sky is nearly always summer blue, my windows are thrown open to the sound of children playing, and a summer breeze kept me company on my walk last night.

I pretended yesterday that I was a kid and it was summer vacation. I couldn't pretend all day since I still had work with buckets of meetings and some errands that needed running (boo to being an adult!), but I did manage to read a book start to finish and I ate a large slice of honey dew melon and a popsicle for lunch.

When I was a small child I basically lived off popsicles in the summer. I would eat as many in a day as my Ma would let me get away with. My tiny mouth and my tendency toward painful brain freezes necessitated eating my popsicles slowly. I would sit on the front porch with the sun in my face and my popsicle running down my fingers to drip on my barefoot toes and get in the funny, plastic, green outdoor carpet we had there. I would try to lick as much of my popsicle drippings up as I could, resulting in a sticky face, sticky fingers, and sticky arms.

The best part came after the popsicle was gone. A quick trip to the small water spigot we had in our backyard fixed the stickiness and prepped my popsicle stick for things to come. I had all sorts of uses for my popsicle sticks but making tiny wooden spears was by far my favorite. None of these namby pamby pretend popsicle stick spears either. Some determination, a little bit of elbow grease, and a nice slab of sidewalk is all you need for perfect popsicle stick spears. It was an art form, grinding my popsicle stick at the right angle on both sides to get the perfectly pointed, surprising sharp, popsicle stick spear.

I used my popsicle stick spears to slay dragons and evil wizards, to protect the interests of my magic turtle (a small mound of earth in our backyard purposely shaped like a turtle), and to undermine evil older brothers and destroy the malicious plans of annoying younger sisters. All my foes were pretend, of course, and none of them resembled in any way living people.

After I was through with my popsicle stick spears I would plant them in the garden, sharp side down. I made little rows of them. Sometimes they would stay there til they started looking tired and worn out from sprinklers and sun. More often, my carefully planted rows of popsicle sticks would disappear after one of my parents or my Granny got serious about weeding. I never let such antics stop me. I would simply begin again, carefully planting my popsicle sticks, giving them the hope that someday, when the time was great and the danger was near, they would live again, defending the honor or their mistress and maintaining the peace and safety of her kingdom.

Magnetic Benches Tibet

Sometimes I think it would be nice to start life over. A new place with new people and new things to do. A whole new life.

I've been considering recently the possibility of moving to Tibet and taking up residence on a park bench. (My first consideration was Europe but it was quickly pointed out that there were serious faults in this plan that could, in the end, ruin my Europe, bench-living dreams.) My dear friends have been helping me work out the logistics of my not too distant move to Tibet, reminding me of the small things that I would have forgotten about. For example, if I want rearrange things so there's room for guests on my bench, will I be able to locate a discarded pizza box to use in the remodel? Also, are there magnetic benches in Tibet? This could seriously impact my interior design possibilities.

I find that I am slightly exhausted just thinking of all the small things I need to consider. I also haven't been brave enough yet to put 'magnetic benches Tibet' in google for fear that there just wouldn't be the kind of information on Tibet that I'm looking for.

Lack of serious resources on the potential magnetic nature of the benches in Tibet means that it might be better for me to stick around here.

And just like that, another Tibetan dream is dashed.

And it just keeps getting better.

I made a quick trip out to the mailbox (in my socks! I hate going outside with just my socks on). There were four things just for me. I never have four things, let alone four awesome (and unexpected) things.

Thing 1: Amex wants me to start a savings account with them. Okay, this one wasn't awesome. It was definitely junk mail, but the letter was well designed (me = nerdy).

Thing 2: Two free tickets to the women's expo. Never been but I've always found it intriguing. The free tickets might make checking it out worth it this weekend, despite not being able to take advantage of it due to my already overloaded weekend agenda.

Thing 3: A special publication from Runner's World, just because. Pretty sure that qualifies me as a real runner.

Thing 4: The super awesome cookie cutter that I ordered for Kelly's bridal shower. I was kind of worried it wasn't going to get here on time. I'm ecstatic that it got here early, but mostly I'm just ecstatic about it. I wasn't lying when I said it was super awesome.

Perfect Monday Mornings

I'm hopelessly addicted to Monday mornings. I know I already covered this topic, but I can't help mentioning it again.

This morning was beautiful. I got up long before the sun rose to drive to work. The sky was painted with gorgeous, pastel blues and pinks and the air was just cool enough to feel crisp and clean. Beethoven's sixth symphony (my personal favorite) accompanied my drive. Everything was perfect.

It didn't matter that I had so much work to get done in the first four hours of work that I couldn't possibly get it all done, even if I spent each moment working on at least four things at once. It didn't matter that my schooling has basically come to a halt as I try to work through some serious blocks to my progress. It didn't matter that I'm behind on everything else with no good reason. No reason to stress or worry. Things will get taken care of soon enough.

Monday mornings help me realign my priorities. They remind me of what is really important. There's nothing better for starting the week than a Monday morning.

Some other things from my morning:

• I got an email from pinterest informing me that 229 people repinned my pin. I laughed out loud at how funny that is.
• My uncle, one of the most intelligent persons I have met, left me a facebook message asking if I would read books with him with the intention of speaking intelligently about them once we finish. He even left the first choice of book up to me. I'm still in shock (also ridiculously gleeful) that one of the most superior minds I've encountered would seek out intelligent, thoughtful conversation with me. Can you say serious intimidation? (Preliminary reading considerations include Imagine, Quiet, The Beginning of Infinity, and The Elegant Universe. Thoughts?)
• I opened the refrigerator to find we had oodles of home-whipped cream leftover from last night. I guesstimate how much we'll need based on my own whipped cream consumption which, apparently, leads to gross overestimation. That means lots of home-whipped cream left for me to snack on. Yum.
• I did a presentation at work that I was scheduled to do a few weeks ago. I missed it so I could take care of my mother. I think it went well despite serious misgivings and my tendency to say the same thing over and over again in different ways. (I really need to work on that saying the same thing in different ways. It's a problem.)