The Best Thanksgiving Ever

My best cousin is coming for Thanksgiving (hi Steph!). We've been best cousins since that fateful day when she decided she wanted a pen pal and she picked me. One of the best things to ever happen.

We had a long conversation this morning about all the delicious things we are going to make. She wanted to talk to me weeks ago but I kept putting her off. Bad cousin? Probably. She'll keep loving me anyway. We're best cousins, after all.

We're going to have pies and cakes and turkey and five different vegetable dishes and a fruit platter that looks like a turkey and a vegetable platter with a bread cornucopia. We're big into this food thing.

It's going to be the best Thanksgiving ever. Not because of all the food (my food lists fill a page, front and back, in my planner), which is going to rock. Nope. It's the talking and laughing and loving that's gonna make this Thanksgiving a winner.

PS As of half a week ago, I'm back in Utah.

PPS I can't get it into my head that time still passes when I'm in New York.

PPPS Happy Holidays!

Three Things

Nol-Man

• When we go on walks together he uses one hand to hold mine and the other to find his belly button. He puts his little finger on it and doesn't let go.
• I've taught him several new words including dapper and mess. We're currently working on delicious. Yum is functional, but delicious is functional and fun.
• I've also taught him to do up his own buckles. He finds them fascinating and will play with them for twenty minutes at a time.

Livvy Loo

• Her favorite thing is to tell me how fast she is. After spending twenty minutes in the bathroom, singing to herself while she does her business, she'll run out with a big grin on her face. "Was I so fast!? My body just wants me to go fast in the potty!"
• I recently went on a shoe raid after she'd gone to bed. She insisted on wearing her favorite shoes which were a size too small. Five minutes into any car ride she'd start howling. "The shoes are pinching my toes!" This might qualify as a cruel to be kind moment.
• I am so so so glad skinny jeans are trending. I love to dress Livvy Loo in skinnies. Her long legs and tiny waist size make them uber adorable. I ignore the wealth of skirts and dresses bursting out of her closes so I can see her in her skinnies. Particularly since she practically refuses to wear the adorable jean vest hanging in her closet. As soon as I turn my back it's on the floor. I think she thinks it's a jacket. Either, it doesn't work in any outfit because it doesn't stay on.

Ella Belle

• The best times are when it's just me and her and there's nothing to distract us and she talks and talks and talks. She's not one people would consider a talker but she's got a lot to say 
• She prefers her tennis shoes to her cute boots or her lace overlay sneakers. Better for having adventures in. A girl after my own heart.
• I walk her to the bus most mornings and often pick her up, too. It's weird. People with kids walk kids to the bus stop. I am not a people with kids. Except I am?

The Middle Brother

• He's stressed out of his mind, poor guy, and being finished with the LSAT hasn't helped. But I have a secret weapon. Orange jello salad.
• Sometimes I linger in the hallway outside of Nol-Man's room when he's going down for the night. The Middle Brother hardly sings anymore. I get it. He's got a wife and kids and more on his plate than any one person can handle (read: why I am in New York). I miss hearing it.
• He wore a pair of awesome, pink sunglasses on his company's breast cancer awareness day. With his sunglasses and his pink, turned up collar, he looked model worthy. I don't think he'll ever wear the sunglasses again. Tragic.

His Cute Wife

• She has sold two of her paintings. She's done two more to replace them. I'm proud of her for creating.
• She's been putting Nol-Man down for his naps. At first he refused to go down for her. It had been months and months since the last time she'd done it and he just wanted her to hold him and love him and sing to him and play with him. Now he goes down without a fuss because he knows she'll be there, bright and happy and ready to play, when he wakes up.
• She thinks I make the best green smoothies ever. I think. She thinks everything is the best ever so it's hard to know what actually is. In any case, I'm going to keep making them, and she's going to keep eating them (or else) so it's best all around for her to think they are the best ever.

The Ma

• She's been baking bread like crazy. Nearly a batch every day. She hopes to put a stockpile in the freezer. Only problem is, we eat her bread like crazy because yum. I ask you, how did the world ever go from homemade to store bought? Blech.
• She constantly gets lost on these New York roads. They pretty much all look the same so it's not surprising. She makes me do all the driving which I don't mind a bit. I love a good drive on a windy road surrounded by trees in fall colors.
• Ma is an errand runner. She runs errands in Utah. She runs errands in New York. I suspect if she were living in the Alaskan tundra she'd be an errand runner there. I am not ashamed to admit that she wears me out.

Me

• It's important to me the girls are dressed cute for church and school. I take time each night to pick out their outfits for the next day. Ella Belle is consistently one of the best dressed girls at the bus stop.
  I've wondered, will this be important to me when I'm a mom to my own kids, or is it just important because they aren't my kids?
  I always do my best work for other people. Maybe it's time to do some of my best work for me? Or is that selfish?
  I'm confused.
• I'm the best lunch packer ever. At least, I'm a much better lunch packer than I was when I first got here. Ma and I don't buy a lot of cookies and things. The Middle Brother's mother-in-law, who was here before us, buys a lot of cookies. I am ridiculously delighted when I pack a couple of cookies or an extra pack of fruit snacks in their lunches, knowing how happy they'll be. Funny. I do everything I can when they're at home to make sure they don't know there's cookies in the pantry or ice cream in the freezer or pretty much any sweet treat anywhere.
  I hope I always take time to pack a lunch for my kids. Who knew something so simple could be filled with so much love?
• The Middle brother lives in an apartment complex with a dog park. There is not a children's playground. There are a lot of families with children living here. It's a good family sort of place. Yet they have a dog park. And no playground.
  When did our world become a place where a place for the dog to run become more important than the children?
  I don't get it.

Things

I logged on and discovered the last time I posted was July 15. I was sure it had been longer than that. It felt like months ago the last time I posted. Years maybe.

It's been two months.

I didn't post anything in August. That's the first time in two and a half years I missed a month.

I didn't purposefully post something at least once a month for two and a half years. I got lucky.

My luck ended.

It seems like I've been everywhere in the past two months.

I did a little math because I like math. I've been in town for 40% of July and August and out of town for 60% of July and August.

I'm tired. I'm also an efficient packer.

I'm leaving again on Saturday. I'll be gone for just about four weeks. I expect you won't be hearing from me in that time.

The high is usually between 15 and 20 degrees cooler in New York than here at home. I'm contemplating taking three different pairs of boots, which feels excessive. Church boots, every day boots, get me to the gym and back boots. Thank goodness, I won't be needing snow boots.

I went to the 100th annual Meskwaki powwow. Ma did her first ever 5k. I walked it with her. We got Meskwaki swag. She thinks she might try running next year.

We went to church the Sunday we were in Iowa for the powwow. The people were very friendly. One lady asked me who I was and what I was doing there (passing through or moving in?). She asked me who my grandmother was because she apparently knew some of the Meskwaki people. "Oh, of course. I knew your grandmother!" Sure you did, lady. "She went to study at BYU, didn't she?" Huh, maybe you did know her. "She had a couple of sisters," Okay, but a lot of people had sisters. "She had the prettiest handwriting. So precise. Like a machine." A random lady in a random town in a random church used to know my grandmother. Weird.

Ma and I ran away together and saw two Tuacahn plays. The rest of the time we laid in bed and read books. It was glorious.

Ma recently drove to Oregon with Pa for a wedding. On the way home they stopped by an orchard. She brought home eight varieties of apples for me to try. Eight. That's love.

I'm obsessed with apples. It's unhealthy. Or very healthy, depending on your perspective.

Ma also brought home four varieties of pears. I love me some pears.

The day after I got home from New York, I helped throw a crazy birthday barbeque that kept getting bigger and harder to put together. I was grumpy.

This past week is the first time I've not been fighting grumpiness for a long time. It's also the first time I've been home with no extra visitors for more than four days.

I'm not naturally a grumpy person. Just when I'm around people. And since the world is full of people, I seem to be a naturally grumpy person.

If I were a hermit, I would not seem like a naturally grumpy person.

It's still too hot to go running after work so I've been rocking the treadmill runs. I haven't run much since spring. I was sure the treadmill would kill me but it didn't. I've never run so fast and strong on a treadmill before. I still get bored out of my mind, but at least it's not hard.

In the last month, half a dozen people at least have mentioned how short my hair is still. For the first time in a year, it finally has some length to it.

I did not sew my swimming suit. That project has been shelved until March.

I haven't done any other sewing either.

Really, I haven't done much of anything. Yet, I have been so busy. How is that possible?

I made time for chia seed pudding. It's been on my list for months. It was gross. I don't care what they say. The Aztecs can keep their chia seeds. I'm sticking to my real, fatty-milk based pudding.

The Little Sister thought she didn't like green smoothies. Then she had one of my green smoothies. I made about two dozen smoothie bags for her freezer. She's going to have a baby soon and can't get her life together enough to make herself some food. So. Big.

Her little one loves them. He's been rocking the green-smudged, sticky mouth lately. Babies will eat spinach when it tastes like strawberries. I've got proof.

When I try to follow a green smoothie formula (google it) they turn out gross. I stopped trying.

I read the entire Harry Potter series in about a month. It made me happy.

Clearly, I have not been following my reading plan.

I'm going to write a post about the books I read during the summer. Maybe in October.

I fly home on Friday.

For perhaps the first time I am beginning to understand the mystique around the word Friday. Just saying it is enough to make my heart flutter, my mind less cluttered, my feet lighter. Like a charm or a spell, it pulls my mind irresistibly toward the future.

Friday.

In just a few days I will be home again. In just a few days I will belong to myself again.

I've developed some unsavory habits.

Most nights I don't make it to bed until 10:30 or 11:00. Each night as we prepare for bed I tell Ma that tomorrow is the day that we will be in bed by nine. I say it again when we're up by 6:00, wakened by the screaming of morning children. And still, we don't make it to bed until 11:00.

I've begun eating like a desperate person. I don't taste my food. I don't savor my food. I grab what is easy and stuff it in my mouth, bite after bite after bite, waiting for a small head to walk around the corner of the table. What will it demand I do for it? Eat. Eat quickly. Eat now. It is your only hope. I've developed a black raspberry and marshmallow shake habit. An almost every day sort of habit. I assume my body is attempting to make up for the missed calories. Pump them in! The straw, use the straw, it's faster!

(I do not regret the nearly every day shake habit. Only my desperate way of eating everything including my nearly every day shake.)

I brought two computers with me:

• a work computer - for working
• a personal computer - for writing

My work computer is out almost all the days. Work, work, work. My personal computer is out none of the days. No writing. None at all.

Soon, I will be able to sleep like me again. I will be able to eat like me again. I will be able to write like me again.

One thing I know with a certainty born of a three-child experience: I will do everything I can to ensure I am never a working mom. There is not enough patience, not enough kindness, not enough laughter, not enough time for exploring and learning and loving, not enough adventure.



Friday.

A New York Adventure

I've been in upstate New York for two and a half weeks.

I'm going to be here one week more.

I've learned a lot while being here.

Things like, I can drive a minivan like a champ. Or rather, like a soccer mom.

And I can get a tantrum throwing child out of the closet with laughs and smiles.

And I can make a pouty child throw a full-blown, crying in the bathroom for 20 minutes tantrum with barely a word.

And I still try to hard to make things happen for other people when they tell me they are important even though they don't act like they are important which means they probably aren't that important.

But mostly what I've learned is that life is crazy and unexpected in both good ways and bad and if I try too hard to hold onto it I'll miss all the good parts and most of the bad and I'll give myself a blazing headache.

Betrayed by the Library

The other day I was wandering about the library.

My library employs several shelves for the express purpose of displaying books. These shelves are meant to tantalize you and also to show the incredibly large selection of reading material the library offers on every subject.

I was browsing one of these shelves, wishing I had the time to read the book on cooking with onions, the history of women's footwear, and the book about hiking with small children (do I have small children? no, I do not). I stood in front of that shelf dreaming of having the time to read those books but remembering the two and a half shelves of books in my room waiting to be read and my goodreads to-read list stuffed full and the list I keep in my head of books I'd like to pick up when I've got a little extra time.

I realized that I will never be able to read all the books I want to. And then I felt terribly betrayed.

I've always known there would never be enough time for all the things I wish there were time for. I will never be a master carpenter, a master cook, a master seamstress, a master musician, and a master of everything else that I've taken a fancy to over the years. I don't have the time to even have a small sort of skill in all these areas.

In the same way I knew I'd never be able to read all the books I'd like to.

Knowing is not the same as believing.

Standing in front of that shelf I finally understood what I thought I already knew. My library promises me everything but everything is not a true possibility.

Simply put, I cannot do it. For the first time in my life ever, I knew beyond a doubt that even if I poured all my energies and attention into a single purpose, I could not possibly succeed.

The betrayal I felt was not bitter. Just very sad.

Summer Bucket List

I've been thinking more about the idea of a summer bucket list. I'm still not ready to commit to one. Particularly since I will spend a large portion of this summer in upstate New York.

But, if I were to have a summer bucket list, it would look something like list:

• pack the perfect picnic
• become a whiz at whipping up delicious, homemade popsicles
• never, ever let the freezer be empty of homemade, delicious popsicles
• make my own swimsuit
• make two more
• spend as much time as possible up the canyon
• read outside in the sunshine every day
• hang out at the pool with a niece or nephew at least once a week
• put a strip of summer fun color in my hair
• make a funfetti layer cake from scratch with lots of sprinkles on top
• eat the cake
• grill watermelon

It's the first week of June. That means I have three months to revel in summer fun. While I'm not committed to the summer bucket list above, I am committed to summer fun. This is happening.

May Books

I'm going to make this quick because I'm behind by five days. How embarrassing.

I had a poor showing this month. I've been concentrating on other things. Even so, according to Goodreads I'm three books ahead of schedule for my yearly goal. Yes, I'm awesome.

• The Forgotten Man: A New History of the Great Depression by Amity Shlaes
• A World Without Princes by Soman Chainani
• A Breast Cancer Alphabet by Madhulika Sikka
• Selected Poems by Rita Dove
• Yoga for Runners by Christine Felstead

The Forgotten Man was my favorite. I am not a fan of Roosevelt and someone needs to rewrite the history books to show an accurate portrayal of how he affected the depression, both positive and negative. Rita Dove's poetry was beautiful but a little beyond me. I think I need more practice reading poetry. (Any suggestions on where to start? I'm a little lost with poetry.) A World Without Princes was unexpected and well done, I thought. I like the symmetry of the endings between the first book and the second book. I intend to purchase Yoga for Runners and I loved A Breast Cancer Alphabet.

I counted up the books I have left to read on my shelf the other day. First, I organized them by type based on my current reading strategy (five books a month from five different categories with the extra book club book each month). I have enough classics to last me a year, enough fiction to last me more than a year, about half a year's worth of both children's fiction and nonfiction and three or four month's worth of history or biography.

The only book from my shelf in May was The Forgotten Man. My nonfiction and book club books for June will come from the library. I hope to pick the other four from my shelf. Which sounds hopelessly boring and not summer fun at all.

Tyrant

Ma flew to New York this morning to help care for my sister-in-law as she recovers from her surgery. Ma will also be watching her three, adorable, New York dwelling grandkids. Lucky Ma.

With Ma gone, I'm in charge on the home front. Do you know what happens when I'm in charge on the home front? Stuff happens.

The Little Brother comes home in three weeks.

Ma comes home in two and a half weeks.

I forced my father to sign up for evernote this morning. Through text message. Like this: If you do not have evernote on your phone or iPad please add it so I can share with you.

(When I navigated to my sent message just now, I was pleasantly surprised to find I said please.)

I've been toggling all morning between work and evernote, creating lists for each room, adding things to do when I think of them or I get a text from Pa.

I also intend to create a calendar on a currently unoccupied whiteboard with all the days left between now and then. Each day will house a list of the things for use to do. If we get something done earlier than the day it was planned for, we can slot something else in it's place.

There is no end goal. We will do as much as we possibly can with the time that we have. We will not run out of things. Nor will I let either of us slack. There are things to be done and we must do them.

I'm basically a tyrant.

Sewing Machines: An Accounting

I spent Saturday getting the Ma's serger up and running. We had taken it in to the shop months and months ago. The repair man was appalled. "You messed up the programming, which you shouldn't be able to do. How did you do that!?" We hadn't touched it since bringing it home.

(Is anyone surprised that we were able to mess up something you aren't supposed to be able to mess up?)

I gave myself a sunburn reading the manual. There were a couple of parts I didn't understand and reread several times. I forgot to notice how long I'd been in the sun.

Giving up all hope of coming to an understanding, I threw Ma in the car along with my trusty serger manual and we headed to the Bernina dealer. I showed the sweet lady my confusing points. She was just as confused as I. I gave up asking for help. It turned out okay. I was able to do what I needed to and it was while I was sewing that I had an epiphany about the confusing parts. There's still one thing in particular I do not understand. (The line means to thread the needle, the dot means to pull out the needle and unthread it. So, the dot on top of the line means . . . that you both need a threaded needle and no needle that is not threaded??)

I had to do some rearranging to get the cutting station set up. Currently, the only usable machine in the sewing room is the serger. That means we have access to one quarter of our machines.

We have:

• a standard bernina sewing machine, a couple of decades old at least
• another standard bernina sewing machine, maybe a decade and a half old (belonging to me)
• a bernina sewing machine that can be an embroider machine, half a decade old
• a serger that does both an overlock stitch and a cover stitch

These machines used to be shared among three of us: me, the Ma, and the Little Sister.

The Little Sister has inherited a sewing machine from her husband's grandmother. That means those four machines are shared between two people. May I point out that there are two standard sewing machines for two people, which makes perfect sense, and the other two have distinct purposes. This means we can both be in there embroidering, sewing, and serging at the same time. We're almost never in each other's way.

We're contemplating purchasing another machine. Most sergers can't switch between the overlock stitch and the cover stitch. Setting up your machine to do one after it's been doing another takes a good twenty minutes, and that's if you're fast. The Bernina dealer has a supply of sergers that just came back from the schools. They are newer, easier to use, and inexpensive. They don't do the cover stitch. Our solution? Set up our current serger to do the cover stitch and leave it as a coverstitch machine. Purchase the new model just come back from the schools to be our serger.

Clearly, two women need five sewing machines.

When we do things, we do them in a big way.

The National Bottle Museum

I wrote this post last June but I was saving it until I got my other New York trip posts ready to publish. Still hasn't happened. Maybe it never will. In the name of doing what you can and not worrying about the rest, I'm publishing this post.

Bet you didn't know there was a museum out there dedicated to old, glass bottles. There is. One that is national, in fact.

The National Bottle Museum just happens to be located on the main street of Ballston Spa, not a five-minute drive from the Middle Brother's abode. Also, it was free to visit. How could we resist?

I'm addicted to museums. For real. If there's a museum, I am there. Even if it's a tiny, poorly-funded museum dedicated to old, glass bottles. Do I care about old, glass bottles? Not really. Did I really want to go the National Bottle Museum? Yes! I would have gone by myself, gladly.

I learned distinguishing marks of old bottles and how you can tell about when a bottle was made. I also learned more about the different techniques they used and how they put together teams of men in order to maximize the glass bottle output. Factories would make millions of bottles each year, each one made by hand. They had an impressive collection of old bottles and an enthusiastic staff.

Apparently the best place to dig for bottles is in an old privy. Gross. Good news is, they're old enough that the only thing down there is really fertile dirt. Don't think about it too hard. Glass bottles were imprinted with the factories name. They wanted their bottles back and it was considered stealing to use the bottle for anything else. Imagine it's winter and there's five feet of snow outside. You can't get the bottle back to the factory, you can't use it for anything else, you don't have enough room to let it just hang around your tiny home. What do you do? Through it down the privy hole. The deeper you dig, the older the bottles get. There's nothing better to a bottle collector than an untouched old privy.

This is the part where you thank your lucky stars that old, glass bottle collecting is not something you're interested in.

Elle and Izzy struggled a bit with it. The museum curator was long-winded and not particularly adept at keeping the interest of small children. They did have a rather nice miniature of a glass manufacturing setup. I picked up Elle so she could see better and explained to her that they made glass bottles by blowing air down a tube, making the glass expand from a ball to a container. I used my hand to explain to her how it was done. A few mornings later, Elle and Izzy were hanging out in the family room while I was pretending to still be asleep. I wasn't, of course (Aunt Megan! Aunt Megan! Are you awake, Aunt Megan?). The girls usually played silly games while they waited for their parents to realize they were up and about. I was drifting, not really paying attention to whatever game they were playing, until I recognized the sound effect I had used to explain to Elle the expanding of a bottle. I perked up, and what did I hear? Elle explaining to Izzy how glass bottles are made! I think that might just be my proudest Aunt moment.

Weekend Things

Last night, just before dinner, I took my nephew out to play in the sun. I sat him in the baby swing, sat myself on the grass in front of him, and sang him silly songs as he swung back and forth. My Pa came out and started kicking around a soccer ball. Little Man was enthralled as the ball went whizzing across the yard.

After observation comes practical application. I pulled him out of the swing and set him on the ground by the ball. He put his two tiny hands on the top of it, investigating its shape and texture. When he was ready, we held hands so he could walk. He didn't understand at first; he had never intentionally kicked something repeatedly before. I kicked the ball for him. He thought it was pretty much the funniest thing he had ever done in his entire life, which is quite possible seeing as he has less than a year to his name. In time, he was able to kick the ball himself. It didn't go far but that made it easier to kick again. He'd kick it a few times, I'd kick it to Pa, and Pa would gently kick it back. It didn't matter who kicked the ball, it resulted in the same rush of giggles and belly laughs and happy screams.

On our way in, I tickled Little Man's tummy and told him about what it takes to become something in this life. The key, I told him, was consistency. He could do anything if he were willing to be consistent. Starting early didn't hurt either. But most important is to enjoy the ride. I've never seen anyone play soccer with as much joyful abandon as Little Man did. Remember, I said. Remember to be consistent and happy and you've got this life thing down. He grabbed my tickling hand, shoved it away from his tummy, and gurgled at me. I think the talk did him some good.

Later, I went back out again. There was a perfect dandelion I protected from Little Man's errant kicks. It stood tall in the middle of the lawn, waiting for a perfect wish. I blew the dandelion wisps into the wind and wished with all my heart for my sister-in-law to live a long and happy life. Days before her 29 birthday she learned that she had breast cancer. She had surgery earlier this week and we're all praying as hard as we can that she will be cancer free for now and forever and able to raise her three small children. A perfect wish for a perfect dandelion. Ma will be flying to New York soon to help take care of her babies while she concentrates on getting better. It's hard to help from thousands of miles away.

This weekend I have no plans. Not true. This weekend I have no social plans. I've left it intentionally empty because, oh, do I have plans. Selfish plans every one.

My weekend things:

• flip my mattress
• clean my bathroom
• clean the carpet in the hallway outside of my bathroom
• serge the pile of rags in the sewing room
• pick up the sewing room
• make a couple of loose-fitting, wide-necked sweaters to wear while I'm working
• sew a pillow cover
• finish reading my book
• start and finish my other book
• start my other book
• eat popsicles

My weekend doesn't start until tomorrow after work and only lasts through bedtime on Saturday. Sunday is a different sort of day not made for weekend things. As you can see, my weekend is full to bursting. A perfect sort of weekend. I'll do what I can and save the rest for another time.

My week has been filled with people and plans, which is why I have a list of weekend things. Tonight I've been invited to a tea party. However, I've heard nothing solid. I see two options. 1) The tea party will occur followed by an hour of yoga (who doesn't do yoga after tea?) and it will be delightful. 2) The tea party will be postponed and I will begin my weekend things tonight and it will be delightful.

PS I'm considering investing some time and thought in a summer bucket list. Working a grown-up person job does not mean there is no such thing as summer. On the other hand, a summer bucket list seems pointless for me. I already know the four most important things: popsicles, sunshine, books, and traveling to and with family, aka adventures. A list is unnecessary. Finding something to put on a list feels forced and un-summer like. I think that means no summer bucket list for me. What would be on your perfect, summer bucket list?

Phoenix

A few weeks ago, Ma and I headed to sunny Phoenix for her birthday. We left Wednesday as soon as I finished work, stopped for the night in Vegas, and traveled the rest of the way Thursday. The original plan was to leave Thursday morning from Vegas and be in Phoenix by early afternoon. Check out wasn't until noon, our beds were heavenly, and all we meant to do in Phoenix was stay in bed and read anyway, so why hurry?

We arrived in Phoenix right around dinner time. While we were tempted to find a delicious, local restaurant, we went to the grocery store. A wise decision considering our intentions. It made it easy to lounge around all day with a fridge full of food that we could grab and eat.

Friday afternoon we finally made it to the olive grove I've been meaning to visit for years. It was a perfect ninety degrees with a light breeze. The trees were beautifully delicate with spindly branches and tiny white flowers. Apparently each tree only produces enough olives for 1 to 6 gallons of extra virgin olive oil. Why is olive oil not as dear as gold?

The restaurant was delicious. Ma and I split a sandwich and also shared a peanut butter cookie made with olive oil. I would have been happy to eat my way out of a tub of those cookies.

Saturday we ventured out only for food.

The rest of the time we spent hanging around the cool house or in the backyard with the sunshine, reading our books, eating birthday cake and drippy popsicles.

Pretty much one of the best birthday weekends ever.

Current Obsessions

There's one thing I have in common with each of my siblings. We are always moving on to the next big idea. It's impossible to know what's going to strike our fancy next, but we love exploring and learning and trying out new things. While this is true of all of us, I'm the worst culprit.

I've compiled a list of some of my current obsessions. These are things that I love but don't yet have a permanent place in my life. I have to work at them to make sure they have place. For all I know, they are a passing fancy, though I hope the majority make the move from passing fancy to permanence.

Neila Rey. This is one fancy lady. She's pretty much my fitness heroine.

Making my own swimsuit. I'm thinking this tutorial with a beautiful, green material to sew it up in. Something like this, maybe.

Yoga. I've gone so far as to make a list of things I'd like to acquire for my personal yoga practice. A foam roller, a yoga block (not the foam kind; a nice one of wood), a couple of small pillows, and a bolster.

Studying French. I'm using duolingo, coffee break French, and a couple of teach yourself French books that I picked up from Barnes and Noble a couple of years ago. I haven't missed a single day (besides the days when I was pretty much dying) since I decided it was definitely happening. Except Sunday. Sundays are always my break days. I've got four other members of my family hooked on studying Spanish and I'm planning to pounce on my grandmother soon.

Spring cleaning and decluttering. A couple Saturdays ago I did my bathroom. I pulled everything out and cleaned it top to bottom. I'm working with my Ma to get the office cleaned out. In the next couple of Saturdays I'll take care of my bedroom.

Meditation. I've tried it a few times over the past several months. I am not good at meditation. My brain whizzes around thinking about all sorts of things when I'm supposed to be focusing on my breathing and settling my mind. I will learn how to meditate effectively. I'm determined. I have a specific pillow that is now my meditation pillow.

Getting my car paid off by my two year anniversary of owning it. That might not sound big, but it's big. I bought it new and had no down payment to speak of. I decided just last month or the month before that it's going to happen. It's making me very poor but I'll be much less poor once it's done.

Black out curtains. For energy saving purposes.

Planks, push ups, pull ups, and chin ups.

General Conference. I'm determined to do an in-depth study of all the most recent talks. I've got a conference binder where I'll keep all my notes, a template for favorite quote flashcards, a list of prompts to help me focus my study of each talk, and a tentative schedule mapped out. Also, a couple of cousins to encourage and help me to stay focused.

Listening to all the keyboard solo cds at the library. This is going take a long time. I've checked out maybe ten so far.

Poetry. I've been less good about it the past couple of months, but I'm still reading it. I intend to begin writing a haiku a day again soon.

A Childhood Nightmare

Last night was a living nightmare from childhood. I forgot what it felt like to keep a lonely, late-night vigil with only a cold, porcelain bowl for company. The sand papery feeling in my tired eyes, the silent begging for my body to sleep or at least stop being so regularly ill, but hoping beyond hope for both. I was always set up on the couch so I wouldn't wake the little sister with my constant comings and goings, my restless turning in the night, the few times when I would have to employ the giant to my child hands sauce pan that acted as my back up for when I couldn't get out of my blankets fast enough. The nights would always end with me falling into an exhausted sleep at five or six in the morning halfway through my fourth movie. Usually the bustle of my family would wake me, but then I could stumble to bed and fall into non-existence for the rest of day.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this. This is not something you need to know. Though I do think it's interesting to note the differences from last night and twenty years ago (Ma wished me good luck before going to bed instead of setting me up in my little couch cocoon of illness, I spent the night in my own bed instead of on the couch because there was no one in my room to disturb, I didn't have a straw in my little cup of sprite because I didn't know where to find them in the new kitchen), what is really important about last night is how it reminded me that there is someone out there who subtly influences our lives to make them better. Often harder, but always, always better.

One. I spent six hours cleaning my bathroom and then was gone for five days living it up in Phoenix which means my bathroom only saw about a week's worth of use before my late-night vigil, and it was still pristine. The only thing worse than being violently ill all night, is being violently ill in a grimy toilet, in a grimy bathroom, on a grimy floor. How is that evidence of a person ruling the universe who loves me on an individual level? I can say with certainty, my bathroom has not been that clean since the day we moved in. I can't speak to its cleanliness on the day we moved in. I was seven and far more interested in the playability of the big toy in the backyard. It's possible my bathroom has never been that clean. Ever.

My bathroom is no longer pristine. You may think it's in my head, tainted by association. It's not. I had to wash my face with hot water and real soap after my first three encounters. So much splashing. My face was not happy. In general I use raw honey and olive oil as my face washing products. This morning the whole thing aches from dryness. Weirdly, I can tell exactly were on my face my tears were most likely to fall while I was doing my business. The salt from my tears sucked out any moisture those parts of my face might have been hiding. My face only kind of hurts. My tear tracks are silently screaming.

Two. We had Sprite in the refrigerator. This was important. My first three encounters were spent emptying my stomach of everything I had eaten in my past two meals. The two encounters after that I didn't have anything left to get rid of which meant there were several seconds of super painful gagging, followed by a small mouthful of stomach acid and burning in the back of my throat and nose that I couldn't get at with a toothbrush.

Sprite, spiked with the tiniest bit of apple juice, comes up almost as easy as it goes down and doesn't burn in either direction (I stir mine when I'm sick so it's super flat). Also, it tastes pretty much the same going down or coming up. TMI? Probably, but it's true.

Also, sprite has sugar, something my body sorely needed. On the off chance I did manage to keep a mouthful or two down, my body would thank me for giving it some calories.

I can't remember the last time we had sprite in our outside refrigerator. Normal sprite. Occasionally we have sprite zero which I will use to spike my fruit juices. It takes me months to get through twelve cans of the stuff. But real sprite with the sugar and everything in it? It's been years. And yet when I popped out to the garage refrigerator to assess my options on sick drinks, there was a brand new twelve pack just waiting for me. I know it wasn't there a couple of weeks ago. For some reason, Ma thought it would be a good idea to buy sprite with sugar sometime in the past two weeks and as soon as we're both awake at the same time I'm going to gush to her about how thankful I am.

I've been slowly drinking a can's worth of sprite spiked with apple juice this morning. I'm hoping I'll sleep better. Chances are good it's about all I'll ingest today.

Three. It's been less than a week that my hair has been long enough for me to pull it all up and back with a single hair elastic and a couple of bobby pins. It's off my face and off my neck. If I had been sick even a week ago it would have been nearly impossible to keep my hair out of the splash zone. I would have had to use myriad bobby pins with a distinct tendency to slip out at the worst possible moment. My face is easy to wash. My clothes easy to change (I had to change my pajama shirt three times during the night, and my sleeping shorts once). But my hair? Not easy to wash in the middle of night when my brain is fuzzy from lack of sleep, my eyes are like sandpaper, and my body hurts everywhere from the constant squatting and standing up again, the heaving, and the leaning over the sink to brush my teeth (which I stopped doing at about two in the morning; there didn't seem to be a point to keeping it up).

These things might seem silly to you. I can say with certainty my night would have been far worse without a clean bathroom, a can of sprite, and a way to keep my hair out of my face. Perhaps you may see these as coincidences or great luck. That's fine, but I know they're not. Unfortunately it's not a type of knowing you can pass from one person to another. It's something you need to know for yourself. Before you know you can't help but doubt the possibility. After you know, you wonder how you ever could have not known.

I do know. I know that those weren't coincidences but were instead clear manifestations of the powerful love the God of everything has for me. He cares about me enough to influence my life in such a way than when I'm up all night living a childhood nightmare, I'll have a clean bathroom, a can of sprite, and a way to keep my hair clean.

You might think it would be nicer if he had kept me from being sick in the first place. Which is partly true. I would have preferred to spend last night blissfully sleeping instead of heading to the bathroom every half hour like clockwork. But our bodies get sick for a reason. Often, it helps us know how to better take care of them. We went to a restaurant to celebrate the Ma's birthday yesterday. This was not a case of food poisoning. Ma and I shared the same burger and the same basket of fries and she was in bed all night. (I can't say she was sleeping all night. I'm sure my antics woke her. Once a mother, always a mother.) This is the second time in the past few years I've been so sick I couldn't help but empty my stomach after eating there. That's significant. I've probably thrown up only half a dozen times (I'm counting last night as a single incident) in the past few years and most of those half dozen times where during that time period when I was on that medication that made it hard for me to eat without being sick after. This is my body's way of telling me to please stop eating there. I like the taste of the food, but my body really struggles with it. I will never eat there again because now I know better.

I also want to note that there was no great lesson to be learned from the can of sprite or the super clean bathroom. These were not put in my life to teach me, to help me grown and learn. They were put there because my Father loves me enough to want to make my life a little easier. Seeing and feeling that love manifested in such small ways nearly makes last night worth it.

There's one more thing I've been thinking about. We'll call it four. This one has less to do with a specific happening of the night. Last night reminded me how lucky I am to work a job where I can take a sick day, of how lucky I am that even if I was really very sick for several weeks and needed to quit my job for a little while that it would be possible because of the financial position I'm in. I'm not rich. I'm actually pretty poor. But I'm so much richer than most of the world. For so many people a day of missed work means a day of missed pay which means less food for their children, less chance to buy a used pair of shoes for their growing children's feet or more chance that they won't be able to make their rent payment. It could also mean the chance to be replaced by a younger, seemingly healthier worker that won't need sick days. Truly, I am blessed.

You'll have to excuse me now. I fell into an exhausted sleep sometime around five. My body woke itself up at about twenty to seven, ten minutes after my usual wake up time but not too shabby after spending most of the night awake. Of course, I'd much prefer I hadn't woken up, but it gave me time to send an email to my manager letting her know I would not be appearing for work and to cancel the meetings that there's no point in holding if I'm not there because I was the host of the meetings and I have the work that needs discussing and the ideas for implementing and I would be doing the work that came out of those meetings.

I'm trying to trick my body into letting me sleep. My blackout curtains are open, letting the sun flood in, and I'm keeping my brain occupied. When I log off, I'll close my blackout curtains, turn on my fan to keep the room cool like night, and stop using my brain. This is supposed to signal sleeping time to my body. Wish me luck.

Also, I thought you might like to know that I've made a pact with myself to never eat again. Ever. Except applesauce and water. And the occasional sprite spiked with juice for when things start feeling sketchy. In six months I might consider adding toast to my diet. Another six months after that I might consider adding in oatmeal. I do love oatmeal. But that is it. For the rest of forever. And I'm only considering those items for the continuance of life. Something about the necessity of calories to keep your heart pumping.

One last thought. Last night was awful and endless. As the night wore on I couldn't see anything but dark half hours stretching into forever and beyond, an endless night of tired eyes and achey muscles and crying (not sob crying, but I apparently cannot throw up without tears leaking out of my eyes; this is one thing that hasn't changed over the past twenty years). An endless night of a little pain growing into small gags and then big gags and then a need to be in the bathroom right now or else.

I slept for less than two hours. The sun is out. The pain in my belly is gone (though my muscles are super sore). I've been nursing a can of sprite (still no straw) over the past hour, an amount it took me five hours to drink last night, without the slightest sign that I might need to run to the bathroom to rid myself of it. This is how it always used to be as a child. The night would end, the day would dawn, and it would feel like I had spent the night living in some sort of surreal, alternate universe.

And I can read again. That's impossible during the night when I'm tired and my head hurts from lack of sleep and anything is liable to set off my need to run to the bathroom. When I try to read during a night like last night, the letters dance in front of my eyes and make me motion sick. But today I can read. Good thing as that will be my go to activity if can't manage to convince my body it should be sleeping.

It's amazing to me the difference night and day makes. I don't understand. I see no logic in it. But somehow, it works.

Thank goodness for a shoddy memory.

PS, I realize this is a really long post about a subject you don't much care to hear about. If I'd gotten more sleep last night, perhaps I could trim it down. As it is, my bed is calling. If you made it this far, congratulations. I'd tell you to leave a comment and I'll bring you cookies, but since I've sworn off cookies for the rest of forever you'll have to settle with a pat on the back administered by yourself to yourself.

April Books

I had a pretty poor showing this month. Only four books:

• The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
• The Conch Bearer by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
• On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King
• The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton

My favorites were The Grapes of Wrath and On Writing. I liked King's book on writing so much I'm looking into reading one of his novels. Not my genre, but knowing a bit about the author's ideas about writing will make the novel much more interesting.

The Conch Bearer was my novel for children for the month. It was interesting to read a fantasy children's story set in the Indian culture, but I didn't love it.

The Forgotten Garden was this great mash up of The Thirteenth Tale, Rebecca, The Secret Garden, and a pirate story I apparently haven't read and included gory family secrets, curses, and lost orphans.

I didn't read the book club book for last month, nor did I manage to get my history book read. I did start The Forgotten Man: A New History of the Great Depression but I've hardly made progress. Just means I've got a head start on my history book for May.

Apparently I'm feeling sad about my poor reading this past month because I've got a hefty list for this next month. I see my chances of getting it done as slim to none, but I'm hoping at the very least to read my standard six according to my reading plan (fiction, children's fiction, classic, history/biography, nonfiction, and book club). Wish me luck.

PS I tried to get this post written in ten minutes (I use a chrome timer app--it helps me not be so overwhelmed by my work). I'd say it took me about fifteen minutes. I'm a bit of a slow writer.

Movie Stars!

I found this picture a little bit ago. I spent the evening with a couple of my bestest friends. We go all the way back to elementary school. While we were talking, we got on to the subject of the people we had run into from high school and if it was a) awkward, b) fun, or c) a situation of mutual ignorance. We couldn't all place the names with faces so we busted out the high school year books. It was funny to go through them being nearly a decade removed from the mess that is high school, but that's beside the point.

As I was flipping through the pages I came across the above photo. That's the Middle Brother and his cute wife, high school style. They were pretty much fated to marry each other. The photo proves it. They were both voted future movie stars in high school. What stronger bond is there?

Star Trek

Ma and I have successfully navigated our way through the entire Star Trek original series. I was sure there would be oodles of them based on the following Star Trek has garnered over the past decades. There aren't.

I'm going to miss it. It was refreshing to watch entertainment that also spoke to the political and societal issues of the day, many of which are still pertinent. Each episode was not only a creative look into the possibilities our galaxy offers us, but also a dialogue about freedom, human rights, feminism, religion, humanity, the distribution of labor and wealth, unhealthy pursuits of science, the nature of good vs evil, and most of all, our potential as humans.

Why is this a secret. Do trekkies not see the dialogue? Do they see it but not care? I hadn't the faintest idea that philosophical ideals were so central to Star Trek.

Also, Spock. Love him.

Next up: Star Trek The Next Generation. I don't know if I should allow myself to hope. The title is promising. The original addressed the issues of the sixties. Fingers crossed the next generation refers to the next generation of people in our time as well as the next generation of space travelers.

I also need to rewatch the newer movies. Did they have deeper themes and I missed them? The themes were so obvious in the original series episodes. Maybe they made them more subtle and all I expected to see was an action movie so that's all I saw. I'll need to do some research. It's hard to say this early in my study, but preliminary hypotheses suggest a bowl of popcorn will be essential to my investigation.

PS I still almost can't believe I watched a save the whales movie. Who knew saving the whales and futuristic space travel could be mushed together? That's an impressive bit of creative writing. I highly recommend. It also offered up my favorite line of the original series: "A little too much LDS." I know exactly what that feels like.

PPS It was also a reminder of how quickly our knowledge changes and grows. They travel the galaxy in Star Trek, but they didn't yet know that the center of the galaxy is not where they might potentially find God, but is instead a supermassive black hole. Coming near it would not give them an opportunity to see a before unknown world but would instead cause spaghettification.

PPPS I love that astronomy is so straightforward. Supermassive. Super cluster. Spaghettification. No need for hoity toity, meaningless names here.

PPPPS The very concept of spaghettification blows my mind. Whoever theorized and then proved spaghettification must have been one super cool dude.

Disaster

Somehow, I made it past yesterday.

Yesterday everything was a disaster.

There were no disasters. Everything was
as it always is.

But my mind and my heart said everything is
a disaster.

The world was heavy in my hands. My actions,
small and futile.

Hopes? What are hopes.
Broken pieces of dreams pricking hearts, a
reminder of nothing.

Dreams? What are dreams.
Misguided and empty. Broken promises of a
new tomorrow without disaster.

Yesterday there were no disasters.

Just a mind and a heart struggling against disaster.

Still, I made it past yesterday.

March Books

The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan and To Hell With All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan were my two favorite books this month.

The Worst Hard Time, which details the lives of some of the people who stayed behind during the great dustbowl of the thirties, made my heart ache a little for the lost prairie land, plowed under by ignorance and a desire for land. I don't blame the people, but it is very sad. It's also something of a warning. How easy it is to ignore the voice of warning in the name of progress.

To Hell with All That was simply delightful. Flanagan is a talented writer who touches on some of the troubles of today's do-it-all moms. I enjoyed her perspective and found myself agreeing more often than not with her ideas and philosophies.

The Whizz Pop Chocolate Shop by Kate Saunders, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wrecker were all disappointments for me. They each had magical elements, but I wasn't enchanted with any of them in the way I hoped to be.

Cress by Marissa Meyer is the third book after Cinder and Scarlet. I liked it. It was a good continuation of the story. Cinder did more with its base fairy tale than either Scarlet or Cress have done, but that's understandable since those books also have to wrestle with the continuation of events from Cinder. It's too bad there isn't space for a deep focus on the altered fairy tales.

I'm part way through The Grapes of Wrath. I meant for it be a March book. Ah well. I'm loving it. I always forget how much I enjoy truly skillful writing until I stumble on it again. Steinbeck is unquestionably a master.

PS I've moved on to solo keyboard cds containing works of Bach and Debussy and I am much happier. I'm trying to enjoy it and not think too much about what I'll do when I run across some more contemporary classic solo keyboard music.

House Keys

About ten years ago it became clear that the front door was in desperate need of a new handle. The parents had put off acquiring a new one for as long as they could (things like door handles and door keys seem to always be at the bottom of the list). The new handle came with two keys. My father kept one for himself. The other was bestowed upon me.

My dear aunt recently came to visit. When she visits she's here and there and everywhere, visiting other family and friends and taking care of business. To make it easy for her to come and go as she needed, Pa decided to give her a house key for the duration of her visit. Pa's key had long ago been given to a son-in-law. Ma borrowed my key and made six new house keys with it. Making a copy for my aunt gave her the perfect opportunity to make a copy for herself, Pa, the little sister, and the little brother (who will want one when he comes home from his two year sabbatical). While Pa did once have a key, neither Ma nor any of my siblings have ever possessed a house key.

After Ma made copies and returned my key, I wondered aloud how it was that I ended up with a house key. I was in high school when it was given to me, and while I was out late at night on the weekends, I rarely had my keys with me and preferred instead to use the garage. I also spent some time living in Virginia. My trusty house key lived there with me. These days, I often use the house key but that is only because my comings and goings have been shaped by it. Not having one would not have been an inconvenience. So how is it that of all the people in my home at the time, my two parents and five siblings, I ended up with the house key?

Ma was excited to tell me that she knew the reason. I was surprised both by her enthusiasm and by her professed knowledge. It didn't seem like the type of information Ma would have known in the first place, let alone kept in her head all these years.

I was given the key because she deemed me to be the most responsible person in the house. She knew that if she were to give me the key it would be ready and waiting when she found time to make copies. And so I was given the key.

Had I known the reason I was chosen to have a key I likely would have refused to take it. Thank goodness her calculations were correct. I can say with assurance, I have never lost my house key.

A Truth

It's 8:15 on Saturday night. The parents are out of town for the weekend. I could have invited over all my friends and all of their friends, too, and had a raucous party with no fear of disturbing anyone. I could have invited over my favorite friends and enjoyed an intimate night of talk and laughter and yummy food. Instead, I'm sitting in my bed, all ready for sleep. My teeth are brushed, my face washed, my dirty clothes from the day in the laundry room and the dirty dishes loaded carefully in the dishwasher.

My intentions? I will read a little from my current book (The Grapes of Wrath—I'm so in love with the writing I almost don't know what's happening) and then snuggle up in bed and go to sleep. Judging from the size and frequency of my yawns, I'll be sleeping long before most everybody else even begins to think of ending the night.

This is one of my truths. I'm happiest when I have some space at night to get ready for bed leisurely and to spend some time writing and reading before falling softly in to sleep sometime between 9:30 and 10:30. Things just go better.

So tonight, while I have seemingly endless space to myself, I will hoard it jealously, sharing with no one. Tomorrow will be a better day for it.

Vingts Regards

Ma often offers to drop me at the library when we are out running errands. She'll ask if I need to pick up something without my having said anything about it. The answer, more often than not, is yes.

(Remember that one time when I tried to limit myself to two books from the library at a time? That was a bad idea. Thank goodness my reading plan gives me a reason to have a stack of books waiting for me to consume. It makes things so much easier.)

Yesterday, after dropping off a birthday card in the mail we stopped by the library so I could pick up a couple of holds.

In general, I need less than a minute to pick up a hold when I'm dropped by the door. Yesterday, I also swung by the fiction shelves and then through the mixed media department. With the added stops I think I upped my time to three minutes. Perhaps four.

In the media department I picked up the first cd in the solo keyboard section. OPL organizes their cds by artist, not composer. The first cd in the stack was the Vingt Regards sur l'Enfant Jesus of Olivier Messiaen played by Pierre-Laurent Aimard.

I had not heard of Messiaen before. One of the reasons I chose to run by the solo keyboard music to pick something up. Already I've expanded my music knowledge. I have to say, I'm not much of a fan of this particular work. As I have been listening to the Vingt Regards while working, my shoulders and neck have tightened up considerably. The Vingt Regards make me feel anxious and alone in an unwelcoming vastness that is at times sinister.

Even so, I intend to listen to the Vingts Regards all the way through a few more times. For the next couple of days they will accompany my work.

Note to self: remember to take stretching breaks. Lots of stretching breaks.

February Books

I read eight books this month:

• The Art of Happiness: A Handbook for Living by the Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler
• The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate
• Band of Brothers by Stephen E. Ambrose
• The Lost Lake by Sarah Addison Allen
• My Antonia by Willa Cather
• Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
• The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
• Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore

My favorite by far was The One and Only Ivan. It made me wish I still lived with my sister and her kids because they would for sure find it delightful. Instead I sent her a picture of the cover and told her to pick it up when they go to the library. It's necessary.

Don't ask me how I missed reading The Wind in the Willows as a small thing but I unquestionably did. I think I would have loved it.

I enjoyed Band of Brothers, The Lost Lake, and My Antonia. While I have thoughts on all three of them, the books themselves don't stand out in my mind.

I was disappointed by The Art of Happiness. I enjoyed reading the Dalai Lama's words. I did not enjoy having them filtered through the mind and voice of the particular therapist that coauthored the book. I'm worried about pursuing other books by the Dalai Lama because I think that most, if not all, are coauthored. Maybe I'll like the other coauthors more?

I didn't have strong feelings either way about Bitterblue. I didn't love it. I didn't dislike it. I did like Graceling when I first read it years and years ago and I think Bitterblue was keeping in the same vein, typical of this writer and series. Maybe I'm past generally liking YA novels?

Things Fall Apart was the book club pick for this month. I was sure I had never read it before until I started reading it; then I was sure I had read it before. I'm glad I had an opportunity to read it again. I don't know exactly when I read it before but I know that while I appreciated the writing, I didn't appreciate the story. The themes are pretty profound. While I knew it was sad story that last time I read it and mourned for Okonkwo, it's not until you can appreciate those themes on a deeper level that you can understand how tragic the story is.

PS The Dalai Lama is one of my heroes. I love that man.

San Diego

A couple of weekends ago was a three-day weekend. You all know what that means: road trip!

This time Pa came along for the ride. This was most excellent for me because that meant Pa did a lot of the driving which meant I had time to paint my toenails perfect, San Diego pink to prep them for sandal wearing. We stayed with cousin Bonnie who conveniently has an apartment above one of her out buildings.

The first thing we did when we drove into San Diego was head to the museum of making music. I didn't know so much innovation in music had occurred in the last 100 years. I know a lot about the innovations in music over the centuries before that but I considered music to have been pretty much what it was for over 100 years at least. I was wrong. It seems perhaps of late things may have stagnated a bit but I have every belief that musicians will keep innovating and pushing the boundaries on accepted instruments.

I sent the Middle Brother the above picture and told him his next project ought to be learning how to play the bass harp guitar. I don't think he's really on board with this idea. Which means one of you lovelies can take it up. I would support any or all of you in making this happen.

Our next stop was Lego Land. Ma told both Pa and I the whole ride down that she wanted to build 100 custom mini figures. We didn't build a single one. We did eat dinner at Lego Land mostly because we were starving after a day of driving. Probably the best idea ever. Nowhere else have I been given a box of legos to play with while I waited for dinner.

It was Valentine's day. Don't they look so in love? You'll notice that Johnny is guarding the sacred treasure, a heart-shaped junior mint. The structure he is standing on is about three times taller than can be seen in this picture. Ma and I are probably the best lego builders ever.

Saturday we headed to Scripps Aquarium. It was fun. A little small. They had an entire exhibit dedicated to solar power and protecting the environment. Not exactly the responsibility of an aquarium but kind of I guess. It didn't matter, of course, because they still had tanks of baby sea horses and the shallow water displays with bright colored star fish in them, which is what really matters. Admittedly, I did have fun turning the wheel to make the music turn on (part of the environmentally conscious exhibit). I was able to maintain a steady 72 watts of power for maybe thirty seconds. I was pretending to be a wind turbine.

This is the picture we took after Ma said, "Here! Come help me take a selfie!" Pa and I were confused but we got it sorted eventually.

We also had the unique opportunity of being eaten by a shark. Tank unnecessary. We live on the edge.

We ended the day at Seaworld where we took only one picture because we were too busy gawking at sea animals.

This is what I call a Pa picture. It is my goal to get a Pa picture every vacation I take with him. Previous Pa pictures have included cowboy hats, teddy bears, and cups of yogurt. The props are unnecessary but they help Pa get in his Pa picture mode. Doesn't he look good with his flamingo face on? But don't tell him I look for these picture opportunities. He'll feel embarrassed and not let me take my Pa pictures anymore.

Ma wanted to play the games and win a giant shamu to bring home with us (where would we have put it in our overstuffed car?) but the games closed down before we finished gawking. I love the dolphin shows as much as I did when I was a kid. Well, almost. Back then I wanted to be a dolphin. (The Incredible Mr. Limpet anyone? I tell you, it's possible!)

Sunday we went to church as early as we could so we'd have the rest of the day for toodling around. Cousin Bonnie was kind enough to show us some sights and take pictures when we posed for them.

This was taken on the top of Mt. Helix. Did I mention I was wearing sandals because it was so deliciously warm? Loved it.

We went to Balboa Park afterward and happened to be there just in time to see the weekly Sunday organ concert played on the famous Spreckels Organ. We also happened upon it on the pet parade day. The organist spent much of her time playing such pleasing numbers as How Much Is That Doggy in the Window. It was okay though because she started with a Bach prelude. If I lived in San Diego I think I would try to make it to Balboa Park every Sunday if it meant I could hear Bach played on that beautiful organ. I think I need to put 'learn organ' on my list of to dos, as well as 'become independently wealthy' so then I can add 'build massive organ to play Bach on' to my must make happen list. Bonus points if the organ is outdoors.

Cousin Bonnie was kind enough to let us off near the organ before parking the car. Pa proposed sending a text message with info on where we were sitting. We proposed sending a visual image. It sounded funner.

We went to the Japanese Friendship Garden, which was disappointing, and the Museum of Man, which was interesting. Ma had it in her head that we were going to go to five different museums at least. Despite loving museums more than anyone I know, we are pretty much museum wimps and were all happy to be done. I wanted to ride the free tram that takes you around the park but I was too tired and hungry so we skipped it. Next time.

There was nothing left to be done but to head back to Bonnie's house and eat some good mexican food. Yum.

At one point during the trip Cousin Bonnie broke of a part of a large, well-tended succulent plant. It wasn't hers. Does that make her a plant thief? She told me to take home the little branch she had broken off and plant it.

The big one is the branch, the smaller ones are leaves Ma pulled off the big one for the purpose of planting. Cousin Bonnie has a green thumb. I have a black thumb. It's funny how people who have green thumbs don't understand people who have black thumbs. "You just stick it in some soil, give it some water, and it grows like crazy!" Not quite. I stick it in some soil, obsess over how much water it is getting, do research at the library, check out half a dozen books, do research online, go back to the library to do more research and to check out another half a dozen books, and then my plant dies.

My maternal grandmother, from whom I inherited my black thumb, was much more efficient in her plant killing. She'd water it and maybe do a little research here and there but mostly she let her plants die without prolonging the ordeal by obsessively trying to keep them alive. I might get there someday but I still believe in my heart of hearts that I can learn to grow things.

We were very sad to leave but at the same time happy to be coming home. We brought along some grapefruit that Cousin Bonnie picked just for us the morning we left, as well as a bag of oranges bigger than my torso (really) and a couple of bags of avocados. The oranges and avocados came from stands on the side of the road. I'm probably some sort of vitamin C superheroine by this time. Unfortunately, it's not going to last long. We're nearly out of oranges and I'll soon return to my mundane, lacking in serious vitamin C self.

I can't wait to go back to San Diego. I also can't wait to take another vacation with the parents. We don't often take time for just the three of us to be a family.

Things that might have been worth memorializing in pictures:

• Boris the giant tortoise who, by the way, did not move slowly
• Cousin Bonnie's husband (he's in a couple rock bands)
• Cousin Bonnie's kids
• A view from the side of the mountain I didn't climb but meant to on Cousin Bonnie's property
• Pa playing the electric guitar at the museum of making music
• Ma with her toenails painted as well as her two-year-old granddaughter can paint them (Ma did paint them herself)
• Me trying to carry a bag of oranges larger than my torso

Today I Am Sore

Yesterday was my first outdoor run of the season. I went barely three miles and ran most of the way.

Like a fool, I thought I'd be able to do the same run today. I need a day, maybe two, to recover. My recovery strategy: go up and down the stairs as few times as possible.

A month and a half ago while on my way to Phoenix, I drove past a girl in southern Utah running maybe four feet away from gorgeous red rocks. Being behind the driver's seat in an empty part of the state on a long sort of drive, I wistfully pondered the loveliness of running beside red rock every day.

I am embarrassed to admit how long it took me to remember that while I might not have red rock to run beside, I have a beautiful canyon. I suppose sometime during all those years of riding my bike, long board, or feet up and down those canyon paths I forgot how wondrously lucky I am to live right next to it.

I consider my run yesterday to be the most beautiful run I've been on yet. Surprisingly, this has very little to do with my realization of several weeks ago. It was beautiful because I ran outside for the first time in months instead of trudging through my miles on the treadmill. Also because it was perfectly sunny outside and while I was glad for my long-sleeves at the beginning of the run, by the end I wished I had worn short sleeves. The canyon, too, was beautiful, but when I think about my run yesterday that's not what I remember. I remember the sun and the fresh air and looking down at my legs pushing forward step after step after step.

I am inordinately pleased with myself. I went on a run. In February. Outside. And, I've got two more canyon runs already lined up for later this week.

Runs like yesterday were how I ended the season in the fall of 2012. This is why I love running: if you do it, you can't help but get better.

Which is true of most things in life. Make time and do it. You, more than anyone, will be surprised by the results.

My Reading Plan

I've worked every day this week.

On Tuesday I logged in for one meeting. While in the meeting I realized I was not capable of doing any work and promptly climbed back in bed where I spent the rest of the day. Wednesday I slept in, not logging in until the late morning. I intended to work only for a few hours but had a mess come up that needed sorting and my drugs were working well enough that I worked almost a full day, after which I climbed back in bed.

I probably shouldn't have worked at all on Monday, but I put in a full day's work. And by that I mean I was at my computer for eight hours, with a break for a lunchtime nap. I did very little work despite my best efforts. Sick brain. One of the few things that did come out of my work on Monday was an organized plan for my reading. It's strange that through my efforts to get work done Monday, this plan for reading came floating to the top of my brain when I've never before considered having a plan for reading.

The plan: each month I will try to read one book out of five different genres: classic, fiction, children's fiction, history or biography, and nonfiction. I will also read whatever my book group is reading.

It might sound limiting but it almost comes as a relief. I've been trying to get all the books on my bookshelf read. I've made serious progress over the last year, but I've got a few dozen at least to go. I look at my shelf and don't know where to start. At the same time there are books I don't have on my shelf that I want to read and I almost feel like I can't go to the library because I have books at home to read.

This plan will enable me to pull books from my shelf I haven't read and fill in the holes with books from the library. It also gives me a reason to peruse the books on my to-read shelf on goodreads. Previous to this plan I would throw books on the list but never consult it.

With both a physical and virtual pile of books waiting to be read, this gives me direction, purpose, and the advantage of never being at a loss as to what to read next.

And suddenly the reason why I subconsciously created a reading plan is clear. Have I mentioned my work life has been slightly out of control and overwhelming of late? My answer to being overwhelmed is to organize. Always to organize. There's not much that can be done about work, but you better believe I can whip my reading into shape.

January Books

I've been sick sick sick. Over the past week, when I haven't been working I've been in bed. Occasionally I'm on the couch with my mother watching an episode of Star Trek. One of the really old ones from the 1960s. Who thought wearing mini skirts in space was a good idea? But mostly I'm just in bed. It's good for me to be really sick sometimes. It helps me remember to appreciate all the rest of the times when I'm not sick.

These are the books I read in January:

• The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
• The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey 
• Outliers: The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell
• A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
• The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka
• The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards

I loved A Tree Grows in Brooklyn best. It was beautiful. I also loved The Book Thief and Outliers. I loved the perspective of death. Death is a frequent character in books but I've never read one where I found death's perspective so unique and worth appreciating. I'm only sad I waited so long to read the book; my copy has a big NOW A MOTION PICTURE burble ruining the cover. Pretty much the worst. Outliers was interesting and easy to read. I'm hoping to dig into Gladwell's other books.

I really liked The Buddha in the Attic. I think many people would find the collective perspective used throughout the book disorienting and alienating. I thought it was lovely. The Snow Child I also really liked.

I found The Memory Keeper's Daughter a bit too didactic for my taste. The man who made the wrong choice ruined his life, destroyed his marriage, and estranged his son in one act. The woman who made the right choice changed her life for the better, living with fullness and joy and service to hundreds of women with children like her own where before her life was dull and empty and full of nothing but waiting.

Counting Calories

Sometimes I count calories. Not for days or weeks at a time. Just every once in a while for a single day, but not all day. At one particular moment in the day I'll think through all of the food I've eaten and tally up the calories in my mind. It isn't particularly accurate (looking up calorie counts for food online is also not very accurate unless you eat a lot of processed, packaged foods, which I don't) and so I pad the calorie count for each item, just to make sure.

There's one significant difference between when I count calories and when other people count calories.

It is common in our society to count calories for the purpose of food restriction.

I count calories so I know how many I've got coming.

For example:
It's been a long day, I've been frazzled and stressed and haven't managed to accomplish anything at work despite being so focused that I don't get in much eating. Let's say on this day I also happen to have dinner plans with a friend. The work day ends. I close my computer and run upstairs to change. (Since I work from home, anytime I step out of the house I need to dress up a little; snowflake pj pants aren't appropriate for dinner outings). As I'm changing I tally up my calories for the day. Half a yogurt, a small apple, some carrot sticks, a piece of bread, a peanut butter spoon, a small salad, a chocolate chip cookie dough ball: 45, 80, 50, 100, 100, 100, 100 = 575 calories for the day. If we're assuming I eat a diet of 1600–1800 calories a day, I've got over a thousand to consume before the day's over. And then I get really excited about dinner.

Don't worry. I've got this.

Perfect Road Trip Snacks

I've been practicing the art of road trip snacks for as long as I can remember.

I packed pretty much perfectly for Phoenix.

This is what I took:

• carrot sticks
• celery sticks
• cherry tomatoes
• cheese sticks
• boiled eggs
• yogurt
• triscuits
• several pieces of homemade bread
• peanut butter
• apples
• almonds
• these cookies

I was quite pleased with how well I packed our snacks. The one thing I meant to do but didn't find time for was making some stove-top popcorn to bring along. Add that to the list and it's the perfect pack of car snacks a person could want.

It should be noted that these are just snacks. I haven't yet conquered the art of meal eating in the car, particularly for a two or three day drive. With such great success in snack packing, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I succeed in the art of meal packing.

A note about the cookies. They were delicious and didn't need frosting, as the recipe suggests, and the dough was yummy. Also, sprinkles. I love me some sprinkles. I used red sanding sugar sprinkles that have been in my mother's pantry for about as long as I can remember. Not my first choice but I got a point for using them up (see no. 9 on this list).

I'm deliriously happy to have a sugar cookie recipe that is easy and delicious, doesn't require copious amounts of time in either the refrigerator or the freezer, and is intended to be shaped as drop cookies. No rolling out for me followed by endless frosting of cookies. Bleh.

Eye Exams

I went to the eye doctor today. I rewarded myself with a chocolate chocolate doughnut. Yum.

I don't exactly mind the eye doctor so the reward wasn't entirely necessary, except that I should have gone in half a year ago, but as you may remember, July was official breakdown month of 2013. The reminder postcard came in the mail. I looked at it despairingly before putting it in a pile of papers labeled mentally as 'to deal with sometime other than now.' Once something makes it into that pile, it takes large amounts of can-do to get it back out again.

More than deserving a doughnut for finally going, I deserved a doughnut for surviving my eye exam.

I like my eye doctor. I've been visiting him for years. I've worn glasses since I was eight and contacts since I was thirteen. I'm familiar and comfortable with the routine of the exam.

But what if I do it wrong? The doctor has me take out my contacts. He then puts his funky bug eye thing up to my forehead and starts asking me which is better: 1 or 2, 3 or 4, 5 or 6. I want to answer exactly as I did the year before because that means my eyes haven't changed at all. When you're as blind as I am there's nothing better than hearing your eyesight is stable. But I can't remember how I answered last year, and it's not that I want to lie about which one is better, I just want to know that I'm answering the same so I can feel good about having stable eyes. I start feeling stressed and anxious when I think I might be giving different answers, and since I can't remember what my answers were a year ago there's a high, as in above 50%, chance my answers are different, which gives me reason to stress.

Or maybe I won't answer like I did last year but instead I'll answer them all wrong and I'll end up with the wrong prescription and I won't be able to see anything for a whole year until I go back again and I get the right prescription unless I answer them all wrong again and get another bad prescription.

It's the stuff of nightmares, I tell you.

And so I gave myself a doughnut.

Phoenix

I didn't work yesterday. That meant a three-day weekend.

The Ma had a rental car because someone ran into her and her car needed fixing.

Rental car paid for by someone else? Three-day weekend? There's only one possible outcome when two such factors are put into the same equation. Road trip!

We thought about the Sequoia National Park. I've never seen the giant redwoods and I've wanted to pretty much forever. Winter is not the perfect time for visiting the giant redwoods. Too much snow.

We settled on Phoenix instead. I was so super excited to go down there. This is why: temperature right now: 27 degrees; temperature over the weekend in Phoenix: 70s.

It might seem crazy to drive down to Phoenix when you only have three days. It's a ten-hour drive after all and to get there and back you'll need two days for driving. That leaves one day for vacationing. That didn't bother me or the Ma. I've done such three-day weekends before. You can read about one of those weekends here. As you can see, I'm well-versed in three-day weekend, ridiculous drive, road trips.

Phoenix was also a good choice because I've been meaning to visit here for some time now. Also, on the road down you end up pretty close to the south rim of the grand canyon. Only the smallest of detours would get you there. I also love the idea of this restaurant and put it on my list of to-dos in Phoenix some time ago.

I didn't do any of those things. Ma and I laughed and played and made ourselves sick on the swings at the park. We lay in our beds and read our books. We sat on the couch with a bag of popcorn and a box of junior mints between us and watched old movies.

It was a perfect sort of weekend.

Skeptical Ventures

I recently pulled out my trusty nanowrimo novel. It's a mess. Like a big mess. I've been working on fixing it. I'm on chapter four now. What that means is that I put a couple of spaces between what I had written and the top of the page, and then I fill that space with new words. Once I've finished filling up the space with new words, I take all the old words out and copy them into my discards folder.

Yes, I am completely rewriting my nanowrimo novel.

But it's going so much better! And the only reason I can make it better is because I typed it all out in a month long writing binge and it was awful. Now I can fix it. Also, it will be shorter. Probably with only half as many words but a more complete plot line. Win and win.

I've taken to putting down Writing in my planner every day. I look at the list I have for the day and written to the side in big, bold letters is Writing and it mentally becomes a part of my day. Oh yeah,when can I fit that in? I don't do much writing in any single day, but I'm doing it.

I'm really good at making messes. Going back and cleaning them up is a new thing. I'm skeptical about the merit of such a venture. But I'm skeptical about many of the ways I spend my time recently. I mean, running? Who thought that was a good idea?

A List of Resolutions

If you spend anytime on pinterest, chances are good you've seen an image or two of this cake hanging around. I like the cake but it's the list of resolutions I love. That's a list I could get behind.

My own resolution is coming along nicely. I've run on the treadmill three times, tried two new bread recipes, read two books and started two more, wished my niece a happy birthday, and taken a nap. Six days of me being awesome.

One of the bread recipes I tried was a loaf of no-knead bread. I used my purple pot. It was amazing. I need to make another recipe this weekend just to see it happen again. I marvel at the science of bread baking. Also, I loved my little loaf of bread. He was adorable.

Photographic evidence brought to you by the Ma: "You have to take a picture!" She also deserves credit for the composition of the photo. I just hit the button.