I Really Can't Say

I have lots to say or lots to write. I just don't want to say any of it and jinx myself out of action at the moment. What action, you ask? I will tell you in a minute. In the meantime, 

I don't want to say:

• That I have a cold right now and have played the dramatic heroine to a fault for the last 24 hours--lying around on my couch, moaning piteously, crying abruptly and generally making myself even more miserable than necessary. 
• That I inherited said cold from one of the 32 relatives I just spent the weekend holed up with on our annual "cabin trip." Late-night movies, constant snacking, and too little sleep. And let me tell you, a roaring chest cold was worth the fun. 
• That my family has a love of nicknames that is unparalleled. And I made a list this weekend of a few that are used with wild abandon: Chardo, Clinny, Dude, Speed, Fatty, Jamie Jr., Snockley, Spook, Jorgito, Buggy, Rosen, Berfie, Dauwwin, Ruby, Bubba and SuperMave. And that's just a few. Now, can you guess which one is mine? 
• That my great, big, fat surprise is about to be unveiled. Except no one will really think it was such a surprise. Or that it is was so big. But let's just say it was a herculean effort for me. 
• That I really did stick to this allergy diet (remember no wheat, dairy, sugar, preservatives, peanuts, soy, corn or citrus--in case I haven't trumpeted that list enough yet) for the entire trip despite feeling magnetically drawn towards every can of Pringles and willing to make an unholy alliance with the Swedish fish. I didn't resist either. I just promised a future play date. 
• That despite all of my efforts to abstain, when I purchased some "all-natural" cough drops in the valley of my cold-induced zombie state yesterday, I thought I purchased the no-sugar ones. Only to suck down the entire bag in 18 hours and then discover that the number one ingredient on the bag: sugar. I'm hoping we can just pretend the little blip doesn't count against me on the two-month allergy-free diet thingy.
• That I really did have a genuine "fat" moment in the health food store the other day when I was hunting down some wheat-free bread. One sweet little Scottish lady started talking to me about her own search for the perfect gluten-free bread (she has celiac disease) and I was feeling the love and the sisterhood for a few minutes only for her to veer the conversation into how much weight I will lose if I stick with it and then I sat frozen in time for the next ten minutes while she waxed rhapsodic about how she lost 30 pounds and it CHANGED HER LIFE and I will obviously lose vast amounts of weight too. Which means she totally understands the boat I'm in and how my life WILL CHANGE FOREVER too. Needless, to say I took my little cruise-ship self and sailed as far away from her as I could all the while wishing desperately that I had retrofitted myself with weapons of mass destruction and could blow her little rowboat out of the water. 
• That my experiment in making olive cheese bread with brown rice flour bread and almond cheese did not equal the delights promised by the photo. And on to the next cooking adventure. 
• That a once-in-a-lifetime event did occur this past Sunday. My parents were treated to instrumental heaven when each of their eight children came together to a perform a song in their honor on the instruments we had learned in childhood: a tenor sax, a trumpet, an alto sax, a flute, 2 guitars, the piano and a violin. It lasted about two minutes and my mother was beaming the rest of the day. I think she realized that not every penny they spent on music lessons had been wasted. At least not if we could put that kind of smile on her face fifteen years later. 
• That my father is a true romantic. When I assisted him in ordering flowers for his and my mother's anniversary, he nearly gasped when I quoted him the price for 40 roses. And I had tried to dampen the blow by underestimating the cost. Yet, despite the gasp and the almost auditory scraping of his economic bones together, all that came out of his mouth was "Your mother is worth every penny." And my heart sang with renewed hope in true love that day. 
• That my gorgeous mother and my excellent father celebrated 40 years of marriage this past weekend. And we are the lucky, lucky fruit of that blessed union. 
• That I have very big test this week. And lots more studying to do. 
• That I've probably said too much already and should be in bed. Especially with this cold. 
• That having such a cold really does garner some great sympathy when you speak with a raspy, whispery voice, cough repeatedly and sneeze gratuitously on anyone within spitting distance. People leave you alone in such a condition. You can really get a lot of work done when they do that. 

So, what is the action I don't want to jinx myself out of that I referred to waaaaaay back at the beginning of this post? An action, I'm afraid my readers may have suspected would never materialize: A return to the Denmark posts! Yes, every excruciating detail and inside joke is about to be yours for the small price of waiting sooooo long for me to resume the story. You too can join in while my wild and wooly clan traverses the kingdom of the Danes and experiences this coastal, green, magical land for the first time. 

Day 5 is coming! 

Just one little caveat. As if there haven't been enough so far. First it was school, then my birthday, then my house was a mess, then I had a nervous breakdown, then I wanted to quit my job, then it was the day after my birthday, then I barely survived the one-two punch of finals and Christmas, then it was after Christmas, then I had to start this allergy-free thing, then I had to plan for the cabin trip and on and on and on. 

But I really do have a caveat despite all the previous excuses I have come up with. The test this week. I may not publish Day 5 until that is completed. If I don't, then you know I'm just acting the part of busy little beaver and trying to stay on task with my test (cross your fingers and your toes for that one) or if I do post Day 5 before this weekend you will know that I'm doing everything in my power to avoid studying for that test. And nothing takes up my time like combing minutely over a big blog post from the Denmark trip. 

So, to get you all fired up for the return of the Denmark Chronicles, here are the first four days for your perusing pleasure:

Day 1: Traveling
Day 2: Tivoli Gardens
Day 3: Copenhagen
Day 4: Part 1: Copenhagen Temple
Day 4: Part 2: Danish Saints

See you soon! And remember to cross your fingers and toes for one busy little beaver. 

It's Giveaway Time

RedRoko 

is having its 

very first giveaway 

for a Valentine prize! 

Don't miss out on this handmade gift. 

This year you can give valentines full of not only love but also great style. 

Conversation with a Six-Year-Old

JB was at my house yesterday and we had a little chat. As a six-year-old, she is doing her best to figure out the world and her place in it and all the anomalies that pop up in her life. I am an anomaly. I'm an adult, I'm out of college and I'm not married. Most of the other adults around her are married and have kids. I could tell her head was spinning with these realities as she came out with this particular gem the other day.

She was playing toys with her little brother and her cousin in my little living room/kitchen while I fixed them a snack. Space is tight so we have to maneuver around each other sometimes. JB seemed to be considering this issue when she spouted out this thought. 

JB: When you grow up and get big and never get married, you get to move into a tiny little apartment, not a house.

Me: Well, no, you could buy a house. I want to buy a house some day and then you will have lots more room to play when you come over. 

JB: Why don't you buy a house now?

Me: (sputtering just a bit) I'm not ready. 

JB: Lots of people get married and buy house.

Me: Yes, but not all people. 

JB: Why don't you just get married? 

Yes, why don't I? 

What's Lost is Found!

I lost my camera month ago when I took my sister and my niece to The Nutcracker. We had one of those fun, fancy outings where we went to lunch and went to the ballet and participated in the Sugar Plum party afterwards. It was a great day. Except that the camera has not been seen since that day. 

I've made phone calls, searched my car and begged and pleaded to find the camera. I feared that I dropped it in the snowbank along my driveway or that I misplaced it in all the hubbub of our big day. I've gone through my car no less than three times searching for it in every corner and crevice. 

Then things got really bad: I started dreaming about it. I would wake up from a dream so happy because I found my camera. It was in my hands again and I was taking pictures and uploading them recording the big events and daily minutia that made up my life. Only to realize that my discovery was a dream. 

Sunday after church, I was loading five kidkins into the car for our weekly after-church party at my house when I caught a glint of sunshine off something in the cubby of the passenger door. As I reached down and touched it, I nearly hyperventilated and started screaming--an act while not premeditated was NOT a good idea with five children around me. I started babbling incoherently: My camera! My camera! I found my camera! I've been praying about it! I've been praying about it! My prayers were answered. I found my camera! 

I felt like I had won the lottery. I knew I loved my camera. I knew that I missed it. But until you nearly burst into tears in front of the preschool crowd because you found your favorite, lost, digital appendage, you have no idea how much you missed said appendage. 

So for your delight and mine, I recharged the battery, loaded her up and snapped away the day I found it. It just happened to be Sunday dinner at the parents' house. Okay, with a few shots of my place too. 

This was the last photo on the camera taken from the back seat of the car on the way up to the ballet. Look at the wild socks. Any guess who?

My favorite little lamp that sits on the counter and makes me think "cottage" every time I look at it. 

I don't think I ever shared the new black linen cupboard that has now been residing at my house for several months. I break into a smile every time I look at it. It expands the shelf space of my bathroom by, oh, let's see, 200%? 

Pillows on the couch. I've got to find new pillows--or, gasp! make new pillows--but the pillow effect is a must for the couch. 

The kitchen is clean. It's not been so clean the last week with all my cooking adventures, but when it is clean, I like to record it. For posterity, that is. For posterity that doesn't exist yet, but if they ever do, I'm hoping they will like my cooking. Or at least know how to properly admire my kitchen when it is clean. 

Miss P. She's one of the reasons cooking has been fun. She hung out with me the other night and we made cookies. She said next we are going to attempt pie. I say attempt is an appropriate verb because pie is not yet something in my repertoire. She assured me she would assist me. 

Mr. K. with a rubik's cube. I hated those things as a kid. Never figured mine out. I finally just pulled the whole thing apart and put it back together manually with all the right colors. Then I never touched it again. I'm not much of a puzzler. 

Oh, she loves having her picture taken. Yes, she does. She'd much rather be on the other side of the camera but I caught her anyway. She and Cissy were discussing important and crucial things pertaining to Redroko. You visited it lately? You should. Exciting things are happening over there. 

Miss Belle. Lovely dress from mama's recent trip to China. Prepping for her role as big sister and working on her ABCs. Smart little cookie, that one. 

Cute too. 

Who dat? 

Uncle Rus in one of his many moments of glory at the Sunday dinner table. 

Mattie--I think this is a particularly good shot of him. Great smile. I think we were talking about our trip to the cabin at the time and that always makes everybody smile. 

Little Mr. A. He was sick, sick, sick. Seemed to hit him after they showed up. He wasn't his usual rambunctious self and just wanted to sit in mama's lap and cuddle. 

Aunt Diana. The yellow paper in her hands was for notes we were writing to her missionary daughter, Lauren. Lauren, we hope you feel our love out there. 

So after five weeks and one day, the camera has returned to its rightful place inside my purse. You can bet I'll be even more diligent about its location from here on out. At least I'm not particularly interested in crying in front of the kidkins any time soon. It scared them. 

Working the Work

Today was one of those days. I woke up with a knot in my stomach and wished the day was over before it began. I had a big project at work with a roaring deadline that was going to be tedious and difficult with undetermined parameters of misery to inflict on me.

I wished the whole drive to work that I had pushed myself out the door an hour earlier, if only for the fact that I could be an hour closer to the end of this awful project. The last several days have been a string of headaches, issues and decisions between school and work. You know, one of those weeks.

I had three bags of things to carry in to my office, so I parked in fifteen-minute parking, carried in my load and then immediately got absorbed in the big project and promptly forgot my car. Only to remember two hours and one parking ticket later. For which I used up my entire storehouse of faux swear words: Dang it! Oh, my heck! I can't freakin' believe this! Shoot!

Yes, one of those days.

What do you do but plunge in and face it, right? Or at least that is what I kept telling myself. My modus operandi in the past has been to curl up in the fetal position and scream "I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do this day! I don't want this headache!" which often leads only to me having to deal with the headache the next day or the next or the next. Eventually it bites. And the bite only gets bigger. And bigger. AND BIGGER.

I've had enough of those bites, thank you very much.

So, now I bite back. In smallish ways like with lots of exclamation-point-filled emails to coworkers and even more moaning and groaning in private in my office. I'm not quite past the temper tantrum stage even if I don't lay myself out on the ground and wail away with my fists pounding the floor.   

Work, I'm just beginning to realize, is often untidy, undefined and unending. Work takes work. I've never been much of a "put your shoulder to the wheel" kind of gal. I've been more of the "let me ride in the wagon" type. I've been thoroughly convinced since I was a child that if reincarnation exists then I was a pharoah's daughter in a previous life because I'm all about lounging around all day in a pretty room with someone fanning me nonstop and someone else feeding me grapes.

It's an attitude I've only recently realized may not serve me well. At least when it comes to days like this one. This kind of day doesn't respond well to calls for bigger fans and more grapes. This day doesn't like it at all. It barks back "Grow up. Get your own fan! Get your own grapevine!" to which I have no response because I don't know how to grow a potted plant let alone my own grapevine. See, more work.

This kind of day teaches me though that work doesn't just go away because I want it to depart. It plants itself firmly in my gut and digs itself deeply into my psyche and refuses to leave until I get down and dirty and make decisions, define parameters, and delegate when necessary. And often I have to do so with an imperfect set of data in front of me. In other words, I'm going to make bad decisions simply because all the facts are not in front of me. I'm going to screw up. I'm going to regret some of my choices. But thems is just the breaks, folks. Thems is the breaks. 

Could someone please tattoo that on my forehead, so I'll remember? Mostly, I try to forget it. Like right now, when I have this awful itch to call for grapes and a fan. And someone else to do all the heavy lifting in my life.  

What's for Dinner Now?

I'm doing an allergy-elimination diet for the next two months on my doctor's recommendation. I got tested for some food allergies/intolerances and it came up with a long and lovely list of potential baddies that I get to now abstain from for the next several weeks. The doc said to try it for two to six months but I say let's begin at the beginning and see where I land after eight or nine weeks.

That list of baddies includes: wheat, oats, soy, corn, peanuts, cane sugar, beet sugar, high-fructose corn syrup, MSG, preservatives and all dairy--you know, milk, cheese,  yogurt and the like.  

My response to all the good news? 

Is water the only thing left? 

I've done deprivation before and deprivation and I, well, we don't tango. I cry "uncle" when the going gets tough. I just don't like the restrictions. You even mention the word diet around here and I plunge myself head first into a vat of milk chocolate and swim for my life. 

So, here am I. Holding myself back from the edge of chocolate nirvana and attempting to eliminate all these foods for a few weeks. 

At the end of two months, I get to pick one eliminated food item and add it back into my diet for a day and then I get to wait three more days to see if I have any negative reactions to it. If not, then the food is considered okay. If I do have a reaction to it, then that food stays on the baddie list. Then I repeat that cycle for each food item. 

So, excuse me if I moan and whine and kick the floor a bit as I do this thing for the next few weeks. It's really not so bad, right? I get to eat as many veggies as I want. I get to eat almost every fruit on the planet. And chicken, fish, turkey and steak are all just fine. It's really just anything that comes in a box, bag, package, wrapper, container, can, bottle or drive-thru window that I need to stay away from. Which is really what I should be doing anyway. 

So good bye for now pb&j sandwiches, popcorn, tortillas, cheese, yogurt, chips, candy, dessert, bread, pasta, crackers, soymilk and oatmeal. Parting is such sweet sorrow. May it be but a short separation. Or if not, may I take it with good grace and a smile. 

Or if not, can I least figure out what to make for dinner and may it be goooooood. 

Tidbits and Teasers

Here are some things I came across in the last few days that I've either just enjoyed or they have made me think.

CJane's latest entry about her sister NieNie. If you've been following this story, like me, you will know that CJane (Courtney) took over her sister's blog, the NieNie Dialogues, this past summer when NieNie and her husband were severely injured in a plane crash. Before that Courtney had been writing about her struggles with infertility. She's gained quite a readership in the process of both of these stories. In this latest entry she addresses the evolution of her blog and how she began writing for her sister when NieNie was so badly injured. Then Courtney shares the exciting news that her sister is ready to take over her own blog again next week and begin telling her story now after the accident. I think it is a sweet, tender piece about the love between sisters and how no matter the cost, we do whatever we can when someone we love is hurting.

DietGirl's guest post on Refuse to Regain. Shauna Reid from Diet Girl started an extraordinary journey in 2001 when she began to lose weight. Over the period of four or five years, Shauna chronicled that journey on her blog as she proceeded to lose over half her body weight or a total of 175 pounds. She was one of the first famous weight loss bloggers and she ended up writing a book about her story. She's an Aussie girl living in Scotland and I love her use of terms like "knackered" and "mucking" and "wobbly bits." And while I enjoy Shauna's writing, this guest post about the reality of maintenance has got to be one of the most valuable pieces I've ever read. So many people out there are writing about the process of losing weight, but very few of them are dealing with the harsh realities once the euphoria of the weight loss wore off. Shauna addresses the realities. This is exactly the kind of stuff I've been wanting to read. I lost a bunch of weight three years ago and then a year later I regained all of it. I've been a bit gun-shy since then because I don't want to repeat the emotional fall-out I experienced on that journey. Shauna is the first sensible voice I've heard with regards to the long-term journey.

Science Friday podcast on how to stick to New Year's resolutions. They interview psychologist John Norcross who talks about how to succeed with New Year's resolutions. I think the podcast is excellent alone for the tidbit that 71% of people will succeed with their resolution if they report at least three times to a friend or family member regarding their goal. Dr. Norcross has other ideas and insights about how to really attain your resolutions this year.

Just a little inspiration for your Friday. I know they all lent me some insight.

School Ties

School has started.

And so has my stress level.

'Nuff said?

The euphoria of the new year has dissipated. It's cold outside. The bank balance is much lower after Christmas. And I haven't been given any more magic pills from work.

It's time to buckle down, return all those DVDs to my intern, put my head down and go to work.

Wish me luck.

Out of My Mouth

Three comments overheard today coming out of my mouth:

I LOVE my car.
Admittedly, I say this often, but I really, really love my 4WD on days like today. I even do donuts in the snow--every time I get behind the wheel in weather like this.

I had a great day at work!
Miracle, indeed. Despite 14 headache-inducing problems and long, long to-do list, I was completely energized by everything today. Please, could someone feed me this kind of magic pill every day?

I need to make him/her cinnamon rolls.
I don't make cinnamon rolls. But my mother does. I think I said this in her presence hoping she would do it for me so I could offer it to two very nice people who earned a bit of sainthood today.

• The first is some unknown neighbor who cleared two feet of snow off the very big, very wide driveway in front of my house. We now have snow mounds the size of small mountains on each side of the driveway. You, whoever you are, are a prince among men (or a princess among women). If I were your fairy godmother I would grant you 100 wishes instead of just a measly little three. You deserve every one of them. Bless you, you good-hearted, hard-working, too-thoughtful person.
  
• The second is for my intern at work. She and I had a cozy chat yesterday as we cleared out some boxes in my office. And in the midst of that little chat, I discovered someone who loves my current obsession more than me. She owns all five seasons. And then loaned me all five. God bless America. And give my intern anything she wants. FOREVER. She just made my day, my week, my month. I think she needs a raise.

This day was definitely a keeper.

P.S. Plus, I got to celebrate this cutie's birthday. It was the frosting on the cake of my day.

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What a Way to Begin

I love the new year because it is full of possibilities, hope and the joy of new beginnings. Fresh beginnings. Beginnings that could mark the day that I overcame a bad habit, accomplished a long-wished-for goal, or started doing life just a little bit better.

Today reminded me why I'm so very, very bad at new beginnings.

I wanted to go to bed early last night, but I didn't.

I wanted to get up early this morning, but I didn't (except technically when I rolled over at 4:00AM and burrowed further under the covers).

I wanted to get out the door on time, but I didn't.

I wanted to eat better, but I didn't. (Although, not eating the frosting on that first piece of cake--I call that a step in the right direction.)

I wanted my new computer set up at work, but it isn't.

I wanted my new iPod all set up with my calendar, to-do list, and email, but it isn't.

I wanted my house clean, my car clean, my laundry done, my bathroom scrubbed, my diet begun, my exercise routine down, a new job, my first house, totally debt-free bank balance, and me rockin' a bikini body.

All without lifting my pinkie finger. If only my fairy godmother had come through for me.

It was a nice list, a good list, a list worth noting. At least in my mind, if not in the actual, physical reality of the world.

And once again, I'm reminded that setting 20 exceedingly difficult goals for the new year gets me in the exact predicament I so loathe: me warding off the beginnings of a panic attack.

Well, I guess I can't say that I'm bad at all beginnings. At least not of the anxiety-disordered kind.

Happy New Year to me!

What about the rest of you? What New Year's goals do you have? Are they recent goals or goals that have been sitting on your plate for several years now? How are you planning on accomplishing those goals? In one year from now what do you most want to have accomplished in 2009?

Remember, a goal unwritten is only a wish! So, let's hear it, people.

2008: Reflections on a Blog

I've been browsing my archives and reflecting on the past year and feeling grateful, pleased and happy that I've been in the blog world over a year now. I started this blog a bit tentatively because I wasn't clear about my voice or the purpose of my blog. Well, there is nothing like writing several times a month to help you figure out your voice and your purpose. I think I'm growing more and more into my own voice and I feel much more clear about my purpose. It is exactly what my header says--Writing my story: a cornucopia of the loves that make me write. The loves that I've written about most this year include: travel, family, interior design, books and movies, school and then the all-encompassing "daily" label that covers a multitude of topics that I just happen to be thinking about on that day.

This year has had its ups and downs and several highlights. For me those highlights include the family trip to Denmark, a friend's wedding and another friend's long, summer visit, starting school again, re-organizing my house, getting furniture restored or adding new pieces to my collection, and celebrating birthdays, holidays and every day with good friends and family. And really, one of my favorite parts of the whole year has been the chance to write so much and interact with friends and readers on the Internet. It has been my favorite hobby this whole year. I've always written in journals and notebooks and in little asides that litter my hard drive and my bookshelves but the immediacy of writing and actually having someone or anyone read that writing is like the ambrosia of the gods. Too yummy.

I've put together a list of my favorite posts this year. Thank you, readers and lurkers and bloggers alike who've read, perused and inspired me this year to catalog, define, and elucidate the hills and valleys that have charted my course these past months. You've made this ride amazing.


Call Me Miss Potter, If You Please
". . . The character of Miss Beatrix Potter. A quiet, somewhat homely, refined woman who has been under the tight scrutiny of her mismanaging mother for all of her adult life, but who lives an active artistic life with her painting and writing. I want to be Miss Potter. I don't want the mother, or the strict Victorian society, but I do want the countryside of the Lake District, the constant drawing of nature, and the writing of books. If anything embodies my secret desires this is it--to live the artistic life."


Hold My Hand, Forever
"My mother came here as a bride at 21, a California girl used to sand clutching her flat belly. They settled on a little farm where she learned how to irrigate, drive a tractor, and chase stray bulls from the garden on a Sunday afternoon in her heels. She birthed six babies through sixteen years on that dusty acreage west of town. All because one Saturday afternoon while watching a football game and drinking root beers, a dark-haired, earnest cowboy named Ralph held her hand and she never wanted him to let go."


The Born Business
"I think that birth is such a mind-altering and perspective-changing experience that we need to give women every opportunity, every advantage, and every option available to them to make their birthing experiences positive and empowering. And that is where I think a movie like The Business of Being Born is a great introduction to the discussion."


The After-Easter Sale
"How much chocolate is too much chocolate? I mean, really. Two bags? Four? Eight? I'm even burping chocolate. (Note to self: marshmallow bunnies don't taste better the second time around.)"

Isn't that Nice?
"It was soon my turn to have my purchases rung up. The cashier started by apologizing. He was so sweet and so young and I was so wicked and impatient. And then, that trick of my mother’s kicked in: Despite my anger and my impatience, I plastered my oh-so-sincere smile across my face and turned on the sweet.

'Oh, that’s okay. I’m sure it was frustrating for you too. You were so kind to help her out like that. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been so accommodating.' More like I would have turned cashier-kamikaze and head butted her out of my line after scanning her items three extra times."

Chocolate Choices
"You see the people of the world can be divided into two very important categories: Those Who Love Icing and Those Who Hate Icing. And I am a long-time, card-carrying member of the first group. I've always judged a cake by its icing. . . . And this cake, this cake of Sam's? It has the best frosting I have ever tasted in my life. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I might do illegal acts if this frosting were the pay off."


What I Miss About Having Company
"And of course, the talking. The discussions that ranged over five days. The particular question that my friend asked me about an old, old problem and I didn't have an answer, which made me see the issue in an entirely new light. The airing of opinions and refining of tastes that occurred as we shared and explored an array of topics. The great long conversation of our friendship that has stretched across many years, many states, and many emotions."

Denmark Day 1
"The gate agent had just taken my bag and Spencer's bag because there was no room left in the overhead compartments of the very full plane. That look of concern on Spencer's face reads something like this: "Why did that NORTHWEST gate agent not give me a claim ticket for my bag? Why do they insist that they CAN'T gate check my bag? How is my bag supposed to arrive in Copenhagen when the gate agent (read: wing nut) ripped the bags out of my hands without so much as asking my name? Why don't I have a claim ticket again?" (read: someone didn't do HIS job. Same someone who will insist 14 days later that it was EVERYONE else's fault but his that our luggage takes nearly 10 days to be located. Same someone who will not answer our very expensive international calls until we have called him a total of 23 times. Yep, just remember. Don't ever let a NORTHWEST gate agent take your bags from you. They will fall into a dark abyss that only said wing nut will be able to locate. Because he is the ONLY ONE in the UNIVERSE who knows the claim ticket number. And no airline, airport, or lost luggage agent will begin to assist you without first asking, "What is your claim ticket number?" You mean the one I NEVER RECEIVED?)"


Denmark Day 3
"The sign at the pier on Gammel Strand where we exited our harbor tour [says Havenerundfart]. You see the last four letters on that sign? Well, that one tiny little word in Danish means "speed" or "momentum" or "rate" or "velocity" and is on many, many signs throughout the country. (And yes, the Danish meaning only added emphasis to the English meaning.) Let's just say that one little word inspired hours and hours and hours of hilarity on this trip. Especially when Rus would do things like mispronounce the sign below to say something the equivalent of "Have you a fun f**t?"


Denmark Day 4: Part 2
"But one chair went unoccupied. The boys weren't about to take it from one of the girls and the girls thought they would be more comfortable on the floor than one of the bigger boys. Julie was the closest girl to the unoccupied chair and she was protesting and desisting from claiming it with great good humor. That is until the mother ship, Jamie, decided the matter by barking the order, 'Julie, get up in that chair.' To which Julie's body responded with a frightening speed, while her face registered total shock."

The Not-So Secret
"I stink at secrets. Always have and likely always will. At least secrets about myself. From the time I was three years old and experienced the horror of having the longest-calf-needle-in-America plunged into my backside by my seven-year-old brother who was chasing me and laughing wickedly at my terror of said needle."


Tagged: Joys and Fears in My Life
"I'm easily startled. This has something to do with my ability to get quickly absorbed by whatever is in front of me. Please never, never walk up behind me (or beside me, or really, even in front of me) without sounding some kind of alarm or notice or warning. Fog horns work best. If you do walk up without warning me, be prepared to defend yourself. I've been known to utter a shriek so high-pitched your ear drums will split. Then I will begin to flail wildly in your direction and I take no prisoners. (Think Jackie Chan meets Baloo the Bear and you will have the right idea of what a terrifying spectacle you will behold). I nearly took my boss out a few months ago when he approached my desk suddenly and with a booming voice. The black eye was with him for about three weeks."

How Do You Do It?
"Then the pressure starts to build and either more balls get thrown in the rotation or I have to increase the speed that I throw the balls in order to get everything done. Then it starts to get ugly. I start dropping balls everywhere, throwing them wildly, and looking like a crazy person as I try to keep things under control until eventually I can't track any of the balls or the direction they are flying and I put my hands down in defeat and drop everything. Then I curl up in a corner and wish I could die."

Back to Life, Back to Reality
"The native landscape here can be strong and vibrant with rich browns, bold oranges, and startling shots of green. But today it seems parched and withering after the green softness of coastal Denmark. Today I'm seeing with new eyes an old place that I love. And that place isn't winning."

Here's the Dish
"Maybe that is why I've been avoiding, delaying, and running from the implications. I've been really unsure for a long time where I am, if I'm settled and what my life looks like. I've been in a giant holding pattern waiting for the next big thing to come along: my fabulous life as a writer in New York, my adventurous life as deep sea diver in Alaska, my neo-spiritual life as hiking guide in the mountains of New Mexico. Something or anything different than the job I work, the body I have, and the indecision that continues to mount in my life."

Love to Order
"Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy? My order would go something like this: tall, dark and handsome; spiritual, but hold the fanatical; funny, but hold the flatulence jokes; intelligent, but hold the ego; with a side order of will-take-me-to-any-show-ballet-or-theater-without-gritting-his-teeth."


The Buggy Ride
"And that high-pitched shriek, she'd been shrieking in the back of her throat? Well, it turned in to a full-blown panic attack when we hit the Great Cloud. Still keeping her mouth shut and her sunglasses on, and still managing to keep the Polaris on the road, Amy began a frantic tango of survival, the likes of which I have never been privy to witness in this life and hope to never see in the next."

The Lawn Chronicles
"Truly I began to wonder what he was thinking. Until this morning that is, when I realized that Mr. Twenty-Two wasn't lazy, ineffecient, too busy, or lacking in a responsibility gene. He was making a fashion statement. For what our lawn is now sporting is a mullet. We are business in the front, and party in the back."

Grandmother
"I think this year has been especially hard for me because I keep expecting that I'm going to make a trip up to Burley to see them and she will have chili on the stove when I arrive and we will sit on the blue "divan" in the living room and catch up on the news. Then I will go to sleep in the pink bedroom upstairs and wake up in the morning to the smell of popping bacon and sit in the little breakfast room and eat Apple Jacks with half and half."

Why Chocolate Doesn't Do the Trick During a Week Like This
"I must thrive on anxiety for as much as I milk it and coax it and welcome it into my home and heart. It is like a lover who courts and woos me with the constant plying of attention and devotion and proclamations of undying commitment. I can't let go of it. And it certainly seems enamored with me. It is not a mutually agreeable relationship but it is the most long-term relationship I've been in to date. And sometimes misery as your only company must satisfy as company indeed."

The One Where I Reveal My Retroactive Tendencies

I'm doing some clean up on the blog for the new year. Really, I've just been scouring my archives looking at old posts and trying to decide what this year was all about. In the process, I came across several drafts of things that I've written over the past few months that I just had not finished and posted. So, I finished them. Let's just say I was in the mood. I was bitten by the writing bug for a little while. I was in the zone. I was rocking the written word.

I'm so full of it.

I just don't know how else to tell you that I finished up a bunch of unfinished posts and posted them. And I didn't make it easy for anyone. I just posted them to the day they were originally written. Is that cheating? Oh, don't tell me if it is. I like it that way. I have a very big hang-up for all things chronological and I just couldn't handle taking them out of chronological order.

So I'm listing those entries here. For all three of my readers to read. Thank you for attendance at this blog today. You know and I know that it is all about my audience.

Most of these entries are very short. But The Buggy Ride--very, very long. And rather detailed. And the one I'm really looking for some feedback on. Really, I'd love to hear what you think on any of them, but the buggy story--well, let's just say it stewed and stewed in my brain for a long time and I rewrote it and I'm still not sure I got it just right.

The Buggy Ride

Talk to Me

Gems from the Peanut Gallery

Just One

The One Where I Think Deep Thoughts

Here's to cleaning closets, setting goals for the year, and restarting on our ideal path in life. Housekeeping--even of the blog kind--is exhilarating when it's all done. I hope you find something useful in my purging.

Catch Up: Fall 2008

Just a little catch up on things this fall. I'm still working on the Denmark posts too. (Don't you remember I told you that I wouldn't finish those until Christmas. See, past Christmas and I'm still working on it.)

Here are some photos that remind me of fun moments in the last few months. 

This is the Sunday of our Primary program. Since several of the n&ns are in the ward, Nana asked them to sing on of her favorite songs from the program for her. And all the Primary-age kids had to join in, even two of our nursery-age babies. 

Side note: I'd name all the kids for you but I keep vacillating between naming them and using their initials because this is a public blog right now. And they are not my children. There's so many of them though that I've had to start numbering their initials like D1 and D2. Maybe I should just give them fake names? Or go with their real names? I'd love some insight here. 

Then this was sleepover night with the girls. G, C, and JB. They were so excited to spend the night and I'm taking advantage of that as long as it lasts. JB had been pestering me for weeks to nail down the day of the sleepover, so we finally settled on a night and had ourselves a total girls' night. 

First, there was the tea party. On my very best tea set. We chatted and ate and pretended we were the finest ladies in the land. I think next time we will add hats and scarves to the mix to really up our style quotient. 

Then we got the beds set up and put on Annie. This is one of my favorite movies from childhood so I love that the girls love it too. Of course, we played with Polly Pockets as well. Then everyone fell asleep snuggled down deep in their sleeping bags. 

The next morning we went to breakfast. Last year, I took JB and G to breakfast when they slept over and that was the part they remembered the most. So, JB told me that this year we had to go out to breakfast and dinner because last year was so much fun. Well, we kept the breakfast tradition but I convinced her to let us start the tea party tradition as well. All in all, I think we had a successful little party. 

And finally, this is Miss E. Or Miss Belle. She and I spent an evening together recently watching Finding Nemo, driving her dashing pink car, playing music, building blocks and reading books. She's a keeper. Full of energy and opinions and fun. She's at a great stage right now where she can communicate through signs and words and this night she started calling me by name. E'ee. That's the version of my name to the toddler crowd. When I saw her the next day she remembered and called me E'ee again. I love this stage when you become recognizable to them.

So, just a few highlights from my photo cache. This helps to remind me that I'm lucky to have all these little people around me.   

Christmases of Yesteryear

I found a few photos of Christmases past and they cracked me up enough and made me nostalgic enough that I thought I would share a few of them.

I believe this is Christmas 1977. I don't remember that couch but I certainly remember that shopping cart. It carried many a baby doll when I went "shopping" and it trucked lots of treasures around the house for me. 

This is my pink quilt that my Grandmother made for me when I was a little girl. I believe this is around Christmas 1978. I don't remember much of my life before this pink quilt. It has been on every childhood bed that I've slept in and it now sits in the top of my closet and is the first blanket that I pull down on a cold night, or when I'm watching a movie or if someone is sleeping over. And believe it or not, it still is in excellent condition. 

Christmas Eve 1978 and I think we are re-enacting the nativity. Rus is the donkey, Adam is Joseph, I got the part of Mary and I'm really not sure what Ric is doing in the background. Maybe he is the narrator? 

Christmas 1981, I believe. Mom is putting Megan into the high chair at Grandmother's house. That high chair is still in very active use at Mom and Dad's house every Sunday for family dinner. Look at Grandmother's beautiful table. This table and this house hold some of my very first and favorite memories of Christmas. Grandmother always knew how to throw a great party. 

We skip a few years to our last Christmas in Burley in 1985. Every Christmas Eve we gathered at Grandmother and Granddad's house for a Christmas Eve program. Every family had to perform or sing or play an instrument. Rus is on trumpet, Ric on tenor sax and Adam on alto sax. 

Megan and I singing something. Mom used to have all of us sing and perform a lot when we were younger. She's at the piano. I love Meg's open mouth. She was really getting into this song. 

I believe this is Christmas 1986. If I think about the "Burley years" of my life this is about the age I imagine everyone. Megan and Amy Ellen are just little pipsqueaks while Rus and Ric were early teenagers. Grandmother once again outdid herself this year with a beautiful table. I love her red apron too. She always sat on the little loveseat at that end of the table and Granddad sat at that the head of the table. She set the table with her china, crystal goblets and pretty silverware. It was always such a production but so appreciated. I learned early how to enjoy beauty. 

So just a couple of memories this Christmas season. Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas this year full of fond memories and sweet joys. 

Soon

I'm sitting here listening to Christmas music, watching the snow fall outside, and connecting to the world on my home computer. I feel grateful and nostalgic and exactly as I want to feel as Christmas approaches. Never mind that I still have 947 things to complete and won't likely get them all done even if I do forget about sleeping for the next 72 hours. It's Christmas! Time to enjoy friends and family and good health and time together.

I can't wait for Christmas to come. 

Why I'll Be Eating Roast Chicken Soon

My life has taken on a new hue of unbridled excitement. The Internet has returned to my home to grace me with its presence. Bless you Internet. I love you. I've missed you. I now know what I do without you. That list includes whining, moaning, groaning and complaining every nanosecond that you are away from me. And I've become very, very accomplished at this list. 

I've done things in the past 24 hours at home that I have not done in a month like look up phone numbers, print recipes (finally I can try out that new roast chicken recipe), write on my blog, read my favorite blogs and even listen to music. You know, normal stuff. Stuff that I've taken for granted in the past. Stuff that revolves around a little ethernet cable, a wireless G router, and a certain kind of magic that I truly appreciate. And I can do all of it again in the comfort of my favorite yellow chair or sitting at my writing desk while I watch the snow fall in big, fat flakes outside my window. 

Santa just dropped off his first gift of the season this year and it came with that cherry on top that I asked for a few days ago. Yes!

Why Chocolate Doesn't Do the Trick During a Week Like This

Still no Internet. I know you are as upset by this news as I am. My most fervent Christmas wish of late is that the Internet will return to grace my life with its presence. I can only hope. I'd like to believe I'm not addicted to it, but I would be lying and we all know where lying takes you. (Pssst! H-E-double hockey sticks for the untaught among us.)

It is Friday night, late, and I FINALLY took my final. The anxiety level in my life has decreased from ULTRA HIGH AND COMPLETELY UNBEARABLE to INTENSE BUT BEARABLE. I must thrive on anxiety for as much as I milk it and coax it and welcome it into my home and heart. It is like a lover who courts and woos me with the constant plying of attention and devotion and proclamations of undying commitment. I can't let go of it. And it certainly seems enamored with me. It is not a mutually agreeable relationship but it is the most long-term relationship I've been in to date. And sometimes misery as your only company must satisfy as company indeed.

Despite the conclusions I will come to later in this paragraph, I am not lacking in the intelligence department. I'm not stupid. But I certainly enter a wild and weird vortex of high anxiety when it comes to taking tests or writing papers. I enter the paralyzing grip of perfectionism thinking that every word must be perfect and every paragraph pristine and every thought vetted at the highest levels of national, regional and personal, emotional security before it can be graded. I can map out a thousand ways in my brain that I could have or should have or would have done it differently if I only had more time. Those thousands of detailed maps overtake my brain so that actually learning material or writing material takes a back seat to how I actually could work the material into a better form if I could only get rid of the anxiety and focus on the material for longer than intervals of a half a second every three hours between naps, email, errands, work, phone calls, bills, or absolutely any other task that can distract me from thinking about said material long enough that I don't hyperventilate. (That was probably a run-on sentence of abhorrent length, but I will not correct it. I will not, I will not, I will not.)

Eventually I'm so worn out from trying to avoid the anxiety, that I succumb to mediocrity and turn in half-thought papers and take tests poorly. And once again I sail quietly through life with a full brain, a grieving heart, and hiding my light under a bushel. Or should I say, I'm a magician at turning a simple test into a life-or-death drama for the ages. It takes all kinds of people to make this world go 'round. And then some of us are just round people. Round people with high anxiety levels that even a double chocolate super brownie sundae can't ease.

And you ask, why then are you going back to school?

I have no idea.

My Life and Times without the Internet

I've been without the Internet for THREE weeks at home. I'd gotten in a bad way before that with not posting as often, and now I'm in a really bad way. My life consists of work, school, church and no Internet. I didn't realize how addicted I was until the Internet was unceremoniously cut off at my house. I'm still waiting for it to get fixed. And waiting. And waiting.

I knew I depended on the Internet, but seriously this is ridiculous. Here are some of the ways my life has been affected by not having the Internet:

1. Could not cook the roast chicken recipe I wanted to try because my only source for the recipe was online.
2. Don't check my bank balance at all. (Yikes!)
3. Have to wait to make phone calls at work because I use the Internet as my phone book too.
4. Had to write a term paper at my office or at my parents' house because I needed the Internet to do research, get email, and compile all the pieces and parts from my group.
5. Can't watch old episodes of my current obsession
6. Can't check my calendar and to-do list at home because they are attached to my gmail account
7. Can't read everyone else's excellent blogs
8. Can't get my lessons ready for Primary without hitting lds.org.

Yes, that is the state of my life. When it initially went out, I got a bad feeling and knew that it would likely be at least two weeks before I saw it again. I've pushed myself to be patient. Unfortunately, I'm waiting on other's timelines and not my own. All I can say is:

I want my Internet baaaaaaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkkkkkk!

Pretty please, with a cherry on top?

What's Up, Pussycat?

I'm feeling the need for tickling my funnybone lately. I don't have much to say on health, interior decor, relationships or school. Or maybe I have so much to say that it is all a jumble inside and thus, the quiet solitude the blog has been experiencing.

Well, solitude, no more. And on to the REALLY important things in life.



Air guitar competition. Who's the best? Who's the worst? What do you think?

Me? I just wish I had the panache to look that good doing something this funny. I've really gotta up the style quotient around my place.

Check out this clip from my favorite current obsession. It's what is making me laugh lately. And while this sort of humor may spike towards the juvenile . . . well, let's just say it does and leave it at that. I plead "no contest."

Start your votes. Can you guess who won mine?

The One Where I Think Deep Thoughts

Do you ever notice that your thought patterns go in cycles like so much of the rest of the world? You know, the moon, the sun, the tides, the days, the months, the years. Cycles. Round and round and round they go and where they go--well, let's just say that sometimes you don't want to know. 

Except I'm going to tell you. 

That's just the kind of girl I am. A lover, not a hater. The only problem is the love is going pretty strong right now. 

That's right. Cycles. Somebody shoot me to the moon. 'Cause I've found my sun and my stars. The world is exploding. 

And now I suspect why the cheshire cat was grinning so widely. He had to be in love. 

And I so want to be too. I'm just not telling with whom.