Well I've finally caved.
Hello summer!
7.30.2011
7.26.2011
There were never such devoted sisters
I'm just now getting over the depressing fact that my sister doesn't live by me, and that I don't live by her. ... And by 'getting over' what I really mean is 'putting it out of my mind so I don't have to cry myself to sleep at night.' Sisters are the best, aren't they? They might make us a little pathetic and co-dependent, but they are the best.
I have some great friends in my life. People who I have shared wonderful memories and hearts with. But there's something about my sister that simply is bigger than memories and hearts. I just... need her. Some woman named Barbara Alpert, who I think is famous only for this quote, said of a sister,
"She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink... When we doubt everything about ourselves, [sisters] remind us who we are."
This is Kelsie. She knows me better than anyone, crazy and all. I could write a novel about all the ways she rocks the universe, but we'll start with that she picked me up from the Greyhound station in Mobile, AL at 4:30 am (where I said goodbye to my Filipino friend heading to Texas and wished luck to the woman federal inmate worried about missing her ride to the halfway house and getting in trouble with her parole officer. I had already waved goodbye to the cranky gentleman who was, for some unknown reason, escorted from the back of the bus in handcuffs before we left Atlanta) and for three days I got to remember just how right whoever Barbara Alpert is.
AND (as documented above) how great nieces are! Kaylee learned how to swim without floaties, Riley made me several beaded necklaces, and Saylor just smiled ALL THE TIME. Ferris wheel, Gulf Coast (clean, go figure!), throwed rolls, swimming, and lots and lots of cuddle time. These girls know how to be sisters.
I have some great friends in my life. People who I have shared wonderful memories and hearts with. But there's something about my sister that simply is bigger than memories and hearts. I just... need her. Some woman named Barbara Alpert, who I think is famous only for this quote, said of a sister,
"She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink... When we doubt everything about ourselves, [sisters] remind us who we are."
This is Kelsie. She knows me better than anyone, crazy and all. I could write a novel about all the ways she rocks the universe, but we'll start with that she picked me up from the Greyhound station in Mobile, AL at 4:30 am (where I said goodbye to my Filipino friend heading to Texas and wished luck to the woman federal inmate worried about missing her ride to the halfway house and getting in trouble with her parole officer. I had already waved goodbye to the cranky gentleman who was, for some unknown reason, escorted from the back of the bus in handcuffs before we left Atlanta) and for three days I got to remember just how right whoever Barbara Alpert is.
AND (as documented above) how great nieces are! Kaylee learned how to swim without floaties, Riley made me several beaded necklaces, and Saylor just smiled ALL THE TIME. Ferris wheel, Gulf Coast (clean, go figure!), throwed rolls, swimming, and lots and lots of cuddle time. These girls know how to be sisters.
7.21.2011
PICK UP THE PHONE!
Sometimes I feel like an emotionless robot.
And then I watch this movie, and most especially this scene from this movie, and my insides just almost explode.
Spoiler alert:
And then I watch this movie, and most especially this scene from this movie, and my insides just almost explode.
Spoiler alert:
7.19.2011
Georgia (and 'Bama) on my Mind
I've been planning a trip to the South for months now, but since my two reasons for travel (Kelsie and Kendall) have probably the most bizarre and unpredictable living schedules of anyone I know (K1 in the military with a frequently changing training itinerary and K2 making the southern sales tour), I had been putting it off for months too. But finally, Kendall's got a deployment date and Kelsie's staying put for a minute (and somehow the two live just 5ish hours from one another) so after a whirlwind Kayak/Expedia/Orbitz/no-name-cheap-flight-finder stress-fest, I booked into Atlanta, GA and out of Mobile, AL, figuring I'd rent a car to get from the first city to the next.
My first three days with Kendall were just how they were supposed to be: easy. Kendall used to live 483 steps up the hill from me (back in the 8th grade when friendship was measured in step proximity) but since about high school, we've never lived in the same place (except for about 6 months in high school when she actually lived with me. How's that for proximity!) so we're accustomed to the whirlwind catch-up weekends (as are we used to making or responding to each others' occasional crisis phone calls).
Kendall is recently engaged (well, long-time engaged, but recently date-set), so naturally, the weekend was appropriately consumed with one of my favorite activities: wedding brainstorming (much more fun than wedding planning, I presume, because wedding planning requires one to make decisions)! In what has to be a world record, Kendall found the perfect silk dupioni wedding dress at Bloomingdales, on sale, and then on clearance (Yeah, I didn't think that was possible either) for less than $15. I wish this luck for myself and anyone besides those suckers who think that spending several grand on a dress you wear once is normal. Atlanta is bigger than I pictured, and didn't quite fit the quaint southern picture I had made in my mind.
But Warner-Robins, Kendall's now hometown does. Her home is beautiful brick with a huge back yard and a (take a sigh with me) screened in back porch. How Southern is that! All she's missing is rockers on the front porch so she could sit and watch the world go by. Warner Robins, and it's slightly larger neighbor Macon, are both that kind of quaint that is more ghetto than charming, which somehow in an unfair equation makes it more charming. None of this manufactured small-town charm you see in tourist towns. This is a small town and that means the roads only sort of make sense, everyone shops at the same grocery store, and the mayor (and everyone important for that matter) has Sunday brunch at the same place.
Peach orchards and cotton fields scattered around the city certainly add to the charm. I am, of course, a co-packing nerd and had to grill the man managing the peach sorting line how they run their number twos and make sure the food bank had a slot in the line. They do, don't worry.
Okay, an event bus ride and stories of Mobile will have to come in a bit.
My first three days with Kendall were just how they were supposed to be: easy. Kendall used to live 483 steps up the hill from me (back in the 8th grade when friendship was measured in step proximity) but since about high school, we've never lived in the same place (except for about 6 months in high school when she actually lived with me. How's that for proximity!) so we're accustomed to the whirlwind catch-up weekends (as are we used to making or responding to each others' occasional crisis phone calls).
Kendall is recently engaged (well, long-time engaged, but recently date-set), so naturally, the weekend was appropriately consumed with one of my favorite activities: wedding brainstorming (much more fun than wedding planning, I presume, because wedding planning requires one to make decisions)! In what has to be a world record, Kendall found the perfect silk dupioni wedding dress at Bloomingdales, on sale, and then on clearance (Yeah, I didn't think that was possible either) for less than $15. I wish this luck for myself and anyone besides those suckers who think that spending several grand on a dress you wear once is normal. Atlanta is bigger than I pictured, and didn't quite fit the quaint southern picture I had made in my mind.But Warner-Robins, Kendall's now hometown does. Her home is beautiful brick with a huge back yard and a (take a sigh with me) screened in back porch. How Southern is that! All she's missing is rockers on the front porch so she could sit and watch the world go by. Warner Robins, and it's slightly larger neighbor Macon, are both that kind of quaint that is more ghetto than charming, which somehow in an unfair equation makes it more charming. None of this manufactured small-town charm you see in tourist towns. This is a small town and that means the roads only sort of make sense, everyone shops at the same grocery store, and the mayor (and everyone important for that matter) has Sunday brunch at the same place.
Peach orchards and cotton fields scattered around the city certainly add to the charm. I am, of course, a co-packing nerd and had to grill the man managing the peach sorting line how they run their number twos and make sure the food bank had a slot in the line. They do, don't worry.Okay, an event bus ride and stories of Mobile will have to come in a bit.
6.28.2011
Me blind, shall SEE!
I got my first pair of glasses when I was in the fifth grade. I don't remember the board being fuzzy or requesting a visit to the eye doctor, just that I got my glasses a few days before our school's outdoor ed week at Camp Orkila. By the time I got home from camp, my brand new lenses were all scratched up. Its only looking back that I realize how huge those glasses were. Thanks a lot, mom.I got contacts in the fifth grade too, but didn't wear them much until 7th grade, when my best friend who I was trying with all my little 12 year old heart to keep up with through the first and most awkward stages of puberty ditched her glasses for a more mature (that's ma-toor, not matchur) look. I realized that swimming in contacts was cake as soon as we went on family vacation to Mexico with a family friend-boy that I was crushing on. He was two years older and I wouldn't be caught dead on the beach in those monster goggles. Kathryn and Cam weren''t in glasses and neither again would I be.
Until last week, for four days, as directed by my eye doctor (now, what's the difference between an optometrist and ophthamologist?). After 16 years of hating my bad eyes, I finally cracked and ordered myself some laser eye surgery. This week reminded me of how much I for real hate wearing glasses, all the temple squeezing and nose marking going on, with blurry periphery and glasses falling off my face all the time, made all the more pathetic since my most up-to-date prescriptioned pair (the much more fashionable red, square frame, left) is missing its left ear stem and the one with that's not falling to pieces has a five years old prescription and a shape I'm not sure what I was thinking when I ordered (it's kind of a cross between an oval and a trapezoid if you can picture it).I was always a contacts girl, ever since I was peer pressured into them at least. I was hard core with gas permeable (hard) lenses until late high school when I realized that the only reason to wear hard lenses is to keep your vision from getting worse (by holding the cornea in place), and my vision was worsening regardless. Hard lenses also last for just about ever, which would have saved me (or my parents rather) some money if I didn't keep losing mine and having to replace them at $100 bucks a pop. So I've been a softy since then, which has gone mostly problem free, except for the occasional torn lens, which is really only a problem when it happens while driving, or riding along in a tuk tuk at 60mph in Cambodia, as has been the case on a few occasions.
But now all that's over. Near-sighted no more. Thanks to Clearly Lasik, a boo ya BizX discount through my dad, and whichever crazy scientist invented PRK technology. I'm officially just plain old glorious sighted. All it took was six minutes (three minutes an eye) and a probably way over-paid doctor who works four days a month (I was the 24th out of 25 surgeries on my day, and the second highest prescription! -7.5 in both eyes. Beat that!), but seriously the nicest guy and most positive staff that could be possible.I spent almost 2 days straight sleeping, mostly lounging (or... dropping it like it's hot) in sweet outfits like this one. Always with my razor shades, way to big for my face but blocking out the light to meet my needs. But after 2.5 days of recovery, I'm not really light sensitive or all that dry eyed anymore. I'm still only up to 20/25 but that's street legal and it's supposed to increasingly improve over time.
A lifetime of paying for glasses I don't wear, contacts that need to be maintained every day and thrown out every two weeks (orrr three... :)), not being able to see the clock when I wake up or my shampoo when I shower. That mulchy feeling in your eyes if happen to sleep in your contacts. Being able to see the contact rim in photos. A new weirdo optometrist every year. Mini-stress sessions while trying to decipher the letter board at the smallest row or deciding if option or two is clearer when they look almost exactly the same or maybe your eyes are just watering or your eyelashes are bumping the screen and messing up the diagnosis. A hundred thousand contact cases given to you for free, but never when you need them.
So. Over.
6.14.2011
Welcome to the family
Soundtrack: These Boots are Made For Walking by Nancy Sinatra (or a jammin cover by Ella Fitzgerald or smoking (slash a little creepy) by The Legendary Tiger Man)
To my new white cowboy boots with dazzling embroidery and Italian leather knee high boots with a perfect gold buckle:
Welcome to the family. You'll fit right in.
I'm not really a shopper, but I have three weaknesses: dresses, coats, and boots. (And maybe plain v-neck tees that go with just about everything, but I'm not really ready to admit that yet. Nor have I amassed a collection big enough to give me away.) Everything else in my closet wears until it's threadbare. I've been putting off buying new jeans and bras for months. Don't even get me started on tennis shoes. Not even jewelry does it for me (unless I steal it from my much more stylish than me mother of course).
For dresses I love to window shop (mostly online), impulse buying on a very rare occasion. For coats, I research long and well for a good, warm investment, few and far between. Boots, well boots just come to me.
Here's a candid family photo (left to right, back to front), including new additions:
Three sturdy weather boots:
I can't seem to get on board with those bondage looking sandal boots that were crazy big last year and I hope they are going away. I have a secret wish for sassy thigh highs but will never in a million years buy them.
It's a happy family of footwear that makes each drizzly, snowy, or sunny day a joy. Oh, glorious boots, so functional and stylish, making a statement while keeping my feet toasty. The only sad thing about summer coming is fewer days to wear my boots.
To my new white cowboy boots with dazzling embroidery and Italian leather knee high boots with a perfect gold buckle:
Welcome to the family. You'll fit right in.I'm not really a shopper, but I have three weaknesses: dresses, coats, and boots. (And maybe plain v-neck tees that go with just about everything, but I'm not really ready to admit that yet. Nor have I amassed a collection big enough to give me away.) Everything else in my closet wears until it's threadbare. I've been putting off buying new jeans and bras for months. Don't even get me started on tennis shoes. Not even jewelry does it for me (unless I steal it from my much more stylish than me mother of course).
For dresses I love to window shop (mostly online), impulse buying on a very rare occasion. For coats, I research long and well for a good, warm investment, few and far between. Boots, well boots just come to me.
Here's a candid family photo (left to right, back to front), including new additions:
Three sturdy weather boots:- Warm and fuzzy Uggs [fake-o from China last Christmas]
- Snug and happy Sperry rain boots [SUPER EXTRA clearance at Nordstrom. $25]
- All-purpose grey boots that match everything and can be worn in or out of pants or with dresses, in the snow or rain or on a sunny day [impulse bought at Marshall's. $40.]
- Brown zip-up heels [my first pair of boots purchased from the only vintage shop in Provo, Coal Umbrella. $30.]
- Sleek black to dress up or dress down, depending on the occasion [Christmas, from the lady Knudsons]
- Italian leather knee high boots with a perfect gold buckle [Georgetown' 'Trailer park' fair. $14.]
- Short, ruffled, suede boots, dainty and tan [For Christmas, from my sister-in-law]
- Red [I asked my mom for hers years ago, then proceeded to unsuccessfully try to steal them from her until she finally bought me these babies for Christmas last year]
- White [Georgetown' 'Trailer park' fair. $24.]
I can't seem to get on board with those bondage looking sandal boots that were crazy big last year and I hope they are going away. I have a secret wish for sassy thigh highs but will never in a million years buy them.
It's a happy family of footwear that makes each drizzly, snowy, or sunny day a joy. Oh, glorious boots, so functional and stylish, making a statement while keeping my feet toasty. The only sad thing about summer coming is fewer days to wear my boots.
6.09.2011
Oh me of little faith
Soundtrack: Doubting Thomas by Nickel Creek
Last August, my Bishop recommended me to be a temple worker. Essentially this means a weekly six hour stint at the temple, helping out as needed. I love the idea of volunteering my spare time in the most peaceful place on earth every week. But at the time, there were several reasons why I didn't feel like it was for me. And that was that.
About a month ago, I popped into the temple on a whim and got one of those overtake your heart and brain reminders that that recommendation is still on the table. I thought a lot about it that morning and ended up talking to a member of the temple presidency about it before I left. When I was considering being a missionary, I had had a similar ambiguous "think about it" impression and when I finally talked to my bishop about it, there was no question what I should do. God wanted me to be a missionary. That confirmation came instantly and I really only twice questioned the decision ever again. Once when I realized that the guy who I was dating at the time [and wanted to marry] was most definitely going to get married while I was gone, and again when I first got to Thailand and realized that Thai is hard, 100 degrees is hot, and being a missionary is really hard. Both times, I looked back at that initial conversation with my bishop and remembered the certainty I felt. Of course I want to fill out my papers. God wants me to be a missionary and there is no reason I wouldn't follow that call.
I was hoping that I would get a similar strong feeling one way or the other of DO THIS, or DON'T in my conversation with the temple counselor and his wife. They talked about how much the temple needs and appreciates young people volunteering their time and I could let them know when works best for me. Didn't sound or feel like a call from God to me.
Well, at least not that I paid attention to. I called my dad on my way home and talked it out with him. Talked to a couple friends who are currently temple workers, picked the brains of plenty other close friends since then, talked to my current bishop again. It's several weeks later now and with every conversation I have about whether or not I should be a temple worker, the impression is the same: the temple doesn't necessarily need you right now, but you need the temple.
I'm groaning now (out loud) as I write this because I'm really having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I know that being a temple worker will the best thing for me right now. For the same reasons being a missionary was the best thing I could ever do. For the same reasons that proper sacrifice brings us happiness. Because God knows us, and what we need. I know. I know!
So why am I having such a hard time with just doing it?
Among other things, I have serious issues committing my time, especially such a large and regular chunk as that. Pathetic, I know, but six hours a week somehow feels like a lot. I aimed to pop in to the temple today, and ended up accidentally falling asleep in my bed instead. Oops!
Thomas was an Apostle who wanted to feel Christ's wounds after He was resurrected before being convinced that it was in fact Jesus Christ in front of him. He was dubbed 'Doubting Thomas' for his lack of faith and follow-through. How's that for a legacy?
There is a positive spin (thank you Christianity for always looking for that). After seeing proof, Jesus blessed him for his testimony, and added "Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." According to Wikipedia, he was also called Thomas the Believer.
Sometimes it's hard to believe. Sometimes it's hard to remember the miracles I've experienced and confirmations I've received. It's hard to want to make the sacrifices that produce faith.
I don't want to be a Doubting Thomas. I echo Nickel Creek in the lament, "Please give me time to decipher the signs. Please forgive me for time that I've wasted... I'm a Doubting Thomas. I'll take your promise, though I know nothing safe. Oh me of little faith."
I will be a temple worker, I just need a minute.
Last August, my Bishop recommended me to be a temple worker. Essentially this means a weekly six hour stint at the temple, helping out as needed. I love the idea of volunteering my spare time in the most peaceful place on earth every week. But at the time, there were several reasons why I didn't feel like it was for me. And that was that.
About a month ago, I popped into the temple on a whim and got one of those overtake your heart and brain reminders that that recommendation is still on the table. I thought a lot about it that morning and ended up talking to a member of the temple presidency about it before I left. When I was considering being a missionary, I had had a similar ambiguous "think about it" impression and when I finally talked to my bishop about it, there was no question what I should do. God wanted me to be a missionary. That confirmation came instantly and I really only twice questioned the decision ever again. Once when I realized that the guy who I was dating at the time [and wanted to marry] was most definitely going to get married while I was gone, and again when I first got to Thailand and realized that Thai is hard, 100 degrees is hot, and being a missionary is really hard. Both times, I looked back at that initial conversation with my bishop and remembered the certainty I felt. Of course I want to fill out my papers. God wants me to be a missionary and there is no reason I wouldn't follow that call.
I was hoping that I would get a similar strong feeling one way or the other of DO THIS, or DON'T in my conversation with the temple counselor and his wife. They talked about how much the temple needs and appreciates young people volunteering their time and I could let them know when works best for me. Didn't sound or feel like a call from God to me.
Well, at least not that I paid attention to. I called my dad on my way home and talked it out with him. Talked to a couple friends who are currently temple workers, picked the brains of plenty other close friends since then, talked to my current bishop again. It's several weeks later now and with every conversation I have about whether or not I should be a temple worker, the impression is the same: the temple doesn't necessarily need you right now, but you need the temple.
I'm groaning now (out loud) as I write this because I'm really having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I know that being a temple worker will the best thing for me right now. For the same reasons being a missionary was the best thing I could ever do. For the same reasons that proper sacrifice brings us happiness. Because God knows us, and what we need. I know. I know!
So why am I having such a hard time with just doing it?
Among other things, I have serious issues committing my time, especially such a large and regular chunk as that. Pathetic, I know, but six hours a week somehow feels like a lot. I aimed to pop in to the temple today, and ended up accidentally falling asleep in my bed instead. Oops!
Thomas was an Apostle who wanted to feel Christ's wounds after He was resurrected before being convinced that it was in fact Jesus Christ in front of him. He was dubbed 'Doubting Thomas' for his lack of faith and follow-through. How's that for a legacy?
There is a positive spin (thank you Christianity for always looking for that). After seeing proof, Jesus blessed him for his testimony, and added "Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." According to Wikipedia, he was also called Thomas the Believer.
Sometimes it's hard to believe. Sometimes it's hard to remember the miracles I've experienced and confirmations I've received. It's hard to want to make the sacrifices that produce faith.
I don't want to be a Doubting Thomas. I echo Nickel Creek in the lament, "Please give me time to decipher the signs. Please forgive me for time that I've wasted... I'm a Doubting Thomas. I'll take your promise, though I know nothing safe. Oh me of little faith."
I will be a temple worker, I just need a minute.
6.06.2011
I take it back. Life sucks.
Snotty sneezing, throaty wheezing, I'm coughing up a storm,
I'm stuck in bed with a whirling head, as is, with colds, the norm.
But on top of the pile of tissues and slime, my cold is just the first
most noticeable ailment, of a pitiful list, but certainly not the worst.
My back is red, and legs are too, since yesterday was warm and blue
so my skin is hot, and stinging a lot more strong and quick than I ever thought
a day at the lake and weeding my lot would have or should have ever brought.
Add in cramps from my monthly curse, which has symptoms that are much too diverse
and frankly, for me, a bit too perverse to discuss on a blog in rambling verse.
Sick and burned and ovulating, you can see why the day is blah and frustrating.
I'm ready to sleep, to forget all my pain. My brain can't sustain or maintain such a drain.
But first I'll just publish my rhyming complain
t.
I'm stuck in bed with a whirling head, as is, with colds, the norm.
But on top of the pile of tissues and slime, my cold is just the first
most noticeable ailment, of a pitiful list, but certainly not the worst.
My back is red, and legs are too, since yesterday was warm and blue
so my skin is hot, and stinging a lot more strong and quick than I ever thought
a day at the lake and weeding my lot would have or should have ever brought.
Add in cramps from my monthly curse, which has symptoms that are much too diverse
and frankly, for me, a bit too perverse to discuss on a blog in rambling verse.
Sick and burned and ovulating, you can see why the day is blah and frustrating.
I'm ready to sleep, to forget all my pain. My brain can't sustain or maintain such a drain.
But first I'll just publish my rhyming complain
t.
6.03.2011
Lemonade!
This photo was taken time-adjusted (i.e. I was sleeping several minutes before I took it, not while I took it. Great effect though, right?I'm just getting over a cold I either caught from my coworker, roommate, officemate or one of my donors (my favorite new food bank donor, btw, he's da bomb!). Or easily some other stranger who sneezed in my direction some time in the last week. But now I'm laying in my perfectly manicured back yard (thanks to Anya and her parents who power-washed away the wilderness of moss that covered the patio and my neighbor Ray, who mows for us every week, because, you know, that's what neighbors do. Neighbors apparently also fix your toilet, get you in locked doors, lend tools, and always wear overalls. A+ Ray for doing all of the above while maintaining a perfect Santa-like beard and twinkle in his eyes and not being creepy at all. A tough feat for anyone). Just woke up from the most glorious afternoon nap (this is the payoff for getting to work at 7 am). Loving my yard and my dried out nose.
Now, back to my book: The Legend of Colton Bryant. A dusty cowboy from Wyoming needs my attention.
I'm sweaty!
6.01.2011
Sade please
This song by Sade [Shaa day is not phonetic but it is correct] has been my 'take a deep breath remember to slow down, everything is going to be just fine' song of the week (not that I have one every week. Just most weeks).
On repeat.
I woke up from a dream 3 times in the last couple weeks with the end chorus in my head and would forget the lyrics as I came out of my morning fog so I couldn't identify the song. Pandora came to the rescue by playing it on my Tracy Chapman station (yes I have a Tracy Chapman station, don't you?).
It's just so flowing and smooth. You can hear in her voice burnt orange sunset and glittering berries (0:05) that the video portrays. Fern Gully (1:15) and what looks like a Salvador Dali painting (2:12). And btw, Sade looks like a Nigerian Maya Rudolph.
On repeat.
I woke up from a dream 3 times in the last couple weeks with the end chorus in my head and would forget the lyrics as I came out of my morning fog so I couldn't identify the song. Pandora came to the rescue by playing it on my Tracy Chapman station (yes I have a Tracy Chapman station, don't you?).
It's just so flowing and smooth. You can hear in her voice burnt orange sunset and glittering berries (0:05) that the video portrays. Fern Gully (1:15) and what looks like a Salvador Dali painting (2:12). And btw, Sade looks like a Nigerian Maya Rudolph.
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