Eye-popping purple Toms in child's size 3.5 are less than half the price of their adult-sized counterparts.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
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).
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).
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, April 23, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, April 16, 2012
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.
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:
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.)
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Buttons
I love buttons.
I mean it. I have an undying love of buttons.
I blame the Ma. When I was young, to keep me safe and occupied while she was busy sewing up matching Easter dresses or putting the finishing touches on a Rainbow Bright costume, Ma would give me the jar of buttons. This wasn't your typical mason jar. This jar was at least twice as big around and nearly half again as tall, with a big, wide opening. The jar was so large my tiny hands could barely hold it.
I would play with the buttons for what seemed like hours (I'm sure it was only minutes, maybe ten or so). I would dump them out, sift them through my fingers, pick out my favorite colors or shapes or sizes.
Now I can't get over my love of buttons. It's been a constant thing. In elementary school I still toted that jar of buttons around the house to play with. In middle school, I had a friend suggest I make a button collage of my celebrity crush (I refuse to admit asking her what a celebrity crush was). In high school, when we hit up the local thrift stores on 50% of day, I would check out the clothes for their buttons, not for their potential as part of my wardrobe.
Just in the past few days I've discovered something glorious. There's a whole world out there of button jewelry. They even make button jewelry craft books.
Look at how adorable these are (my favorite is the wood one). And this. And I love the ones here. And these just make me happy on the inside (why have they sold already!).
The possibilities are endless and I'm completely in love.
I mean it. I have an undying love of buttons.
I blame the Ma. When I was young, to keep me safe and occupied while she was busy sewing up matching Easter dresses or putting the finishing touches on a Rainbow Bright costume, Ma would give me the jar of buttons. This wasn't your typical mason jar. This jar was at least twice as big around and nearly half again as tall, with a big, wide opening. The jar was so large my tiny hands could barely hold it.
I would play with the buttons for what seemed like hours (I'm sure it was only minutes, maybe ten or so). I would dump them out, sift them through my fingers, pick out my favorite colors or shapes or sizes.
Now I can't get over my love of buttons. It's been a constant thing. In elementary school I still toted that jar of buttons around the house to play with. In middle school, I had a friend suggest I make a button collage of my celebrity crush (I refuse to admit asking her what a celebrity crush was). In high school, when we hit up the local thrift stores on 50% of day, I would check out the clothes for their buttons, not for their potential as part of my wardrobe.
Just in the past few days I've discovered something glorious. There's a whole world out there of button jewelry. They even make button jewelry craft books.
Look at how adorable these are (my favorite is the wood one). And this. And I love the ones here. And these just make me happy on the inside (why have they sold already!).
The possibilities are endless and I'm completely in love.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
5k Summer
It's official. I'm signed up for a 5k. According to this article from Salt Lake Running Co., signing up for a 5k is one of the six important steps to start you down the path (a running path I am sure) to loving running.
I'll be running my first 5k on May 5. Dear friend Camilla signed up for it first. Her excitement made me temporarily forget how much I dislike running and I signed up, too. I'm happy to say that I've conned nearly half of my family into doing it with me. My sisters agreed under one condition: we take it slow.
Signing up for a 5k is apparently highly addictive. I haven't even run the thing yet and I've already decided this is going to be a summer of running. I plan to run at least one 5k each month from May to September.
Not wanting to overdo the running before I have a chance to fall out of dislike with it, I've conned the Little Brother into strength training with me on my between running days. (Apparently conning people into things is one of my talents. I have many friends willing to attest to this.) Yesterday was our first day and I'm happy to say I feel just fine. I only get into trouble when I try to use my legs; my thigh muscles either seize up or threaten to dump me on the floor. I haven't been sore like this in years. It feels pretty good in a 'holy moly, what did I do to myself?' kind of way.
And this is just the beginning.
To a summer of soreness and 5ks!
PS If any of you lovelies would like to join me for some race running (supporting good causes, race shirts, and official times!), I would love to have some company. Just remember the condition. We take it slow.
PPS I made this Blackberry Cobbler from Pioneer Woman today on my lunch break. This stuff is dangerous. Deliciously so.
I'll be running my first 5k on May 5. Dear friend Camilla signed up for it first. Her excitement made me temporarily forget how much I dislike running and I signed up, too. I'm happy to say that I've conned nearly half of my family into doing it with me. My sisters agreed under one condition: we take it slow.
Signing up for a 5k is apparently highly addictive. I haven't even run the thing yet and I've already decided this is going to be a summer of running. I plan to run at least one 5k each month from May to September.
Not wanting to overdo the running before I have a chance to fall out of dislike with it, I've conned the Little Brother into strength training with me on my between running days. (Apparently conning people into things is one of my talents. I have many friends willing to attest to this.) Yesterday was our first day and I'm happy to say I feel just fine. I only get into trouble when I try to use my legs; my thigh muscles either seize up or threaten to dump me on the floor. I haven't been sore like this in years. It feels pretty good in a 'holy moly, what did I do to myself?' kind of way.
And this is just the beginning.
To a summer of soreness and 5ks!
PS If any of you lovelies would like to join me for some race running (supporting good causes, race shirts, and official times!), I would love to have some company. Just remember the condition. We take it slow.
PPS I made this Blackberry Cobbler from Pioneer Woman today on my lunch break. This stuff is dangerous. Deliciously so.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Perfect Blueberry Muffins
Smitten Kitchen claims to have formulated a recipe for perfect blueberry muffins.
She wasn't lying.
The sour cream, the lemon, and the blueberries make a perfect flavor combination. The density and texture is exactly what I want from my muffins, and they have just enough sweetness.
I also appreciate the single bowl and the relatively small number of muffins this recipe makes.
Betty Crocker's got nothing on these.
She wasn't lying.
The sour cream, the lemon, and the blueberries make a perfect flavor combination. The density and texture is exactly what I want from my muffins, and they have just enough sweetness.
I also appreciate the single bowl and the relatively small number of muffins this recipe makes.
Betty Crocker's got nothing on these.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Buckets of Blackberries
My Ma had some pretty serious surgery last week. We've been trying to take things slow since then, but Ma's never been one to take it slow.
In her invalid state, she doesn't have the ability to run around like her usual, crazy self. Not one to let a major surgery get her down, she's been channeling her energy into more surgery friendly routes. Mostly this means that she makes lists and lists of things for everybody else to do. She rules from her bedroom, divvying out responsibilities like firemen throwing out candy in the fourth of July parade.
It wasn't so bad at first, since she was likely to be snoring when I periodically checked on her. The better she felt, the more often she was awake when I looked in on her, and the crazier her tasks would get: "I need you to buy buckets and buckets of blackberries so you can make jam, cobbler, pie, crisp, shortcake, coffee cake, and strudel! Don't forget an extra bucket for eating! Also, save the sieved bits so I can eat them!"
Yup, that happened. Lying in bed gave her ample time to peruse the ads and blackberries were on sale for a crazy good price. What she intended for the counter full of blackberry deliciousness, I don't know. Particularly considering her diet is restricted to about five things, none of which include blackberries.
I did buy blackberries, and we did make blackberry jam. I was very firm with her and told her that she could only help me make jam if she sat her little bum down on a stool and didn't move; she kept trying to get up and do things, but my 'you know you don't want to do that' face took care of that.
I've never made blackberry jam before. It's delicious. I know it doesn't make sense, but all I could think as I was licking my sticky fingers was that blackberry jam tastes how you wish raspberry jam tasted.
The best part about the blackberry jam? It wore Ma out enough that she hasn't mentioned blackberries since.
In her invalid state, she doesn't have the ability to run around like her usual, crazy self. Not one to let a major surgery get her down, she's been channeling her energy into more surgery friendly routes. Mostly this means that she makes lists and lists of things for everybody else to do. She rules from her bedroom, divvying out responsibilities like firemen throwing out candy in the fourth of July parade.
It wasn't so bad at first, since she was likely to be snoring when I periodically checked on her. The better she felt, the more often she was awake when I looked in on her, and the crazier her tasks would get: "I need you to buy buckets and buckets of blackberries so you can make jam, cobbler, pie, crisp, shortcake, coffee cake, and strudel! Don't forget an extra bucket for eating! Also, save the sieved bits so I can eat them!"
Yup, that happened. Lying in bed gave her ample time to peruse the ads and blackberries were on sale for a crazy good price. What she intended for the counter full of blackberry deliciousness, I don't know. Particularly considering her diet is restricted to about five things, none of which include blackberries.
I did buy blackberries, and we did make blackberry jam. I was very firm with her and told her that she could only help me make jam if she sat her little bum down on a stool and didn't move; she kept trying to get up and do things, but my 'you know you don't want to do that' face took care of that.
I've never made blackberry jam before. It's delicious. I know it doesn't make sense, but all I could think as I was licking my sticky fingers was that blackberry jam tastes how you wish raspberry jam tasted.
The best part about the blackberry jam? It wore Ma out enough that she hasn't mentioned blackberries since.
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