Found a Reason to Blog

Hello blog, I've neglected you. But I have a plan to keep you alive. Read on.

It is my birthday. Again. They seem to come more frequently these days. Sometimes years go by and I've wondered what have I done this past year to improve myself or progress? I decided to do something different to commemorate my 34th year so I have resolved to accomplish 34 goals in 2012. That's 2.8 goals a month, which means that will be 2.8 blog posts a month because I will blog about each goal I accomplish. I've been thinking of goals for a couple weeks now and this is what I've come up with. It's kind of convenient with my birthday and the new year so close together. I can't think of a 34th goal, but decided I could keep that open for the time being for either one of you few readers to suggest one for me or for me to fill in as I go along. 

Here are my goals. If you can/want to help me with any of them, it would be greatly appreciated :)

1      Bake a loaf of bread from scratch
2      Make someone’s day
3      Read all the books people have loaned me
4      Compost
5      Make a quilt
6      Publish an article
7      Memorize a piano piece
8      Take some photographs that I actually want to print and put on my wall
9      Make a get-well package for a sick friend
10    Visit the DUP Museum up by the Capitol
11    Sew shades for my windows
12    Get all my unframed artwork framed
13    Ride a bike to work
14    File Away EVERYTHING
15    Call a friend I haven’t talked to for over a year just to say hi.
16    Eat vegan for one week   
17    Look presentable for work every day for a week (skirt and makeup)
18    Mail a letter to Grandma Durham
19    Send a thank you note/email for every gift/meal someone buys/gives me
20    Make a book of my blog from the beginning
21    Take all my nieces and nephew on a special outing for each of their birthdays
22    Prepare for Sunday School as if I were the one teaching the lesson (just once)
23    Keep an indoor plant for longer than a month
24    Implement a pilot program at work and see it through to success
25    Buy season tickets to something
26    Take some friends to San Diego
27    Learn to swim proper laps
28    Organize a Durham cousin getaway -- we’ve been talking about it for awhile.
29    Play the piano at Canyon Creek for Grandma
30    Visit a state I’ve never been to
31    Try a personal shopper
32    Complete an awesome DIY project.
33    Arrange for someone to give me a tour of the Leonardo and the Natural History Museum
34    ?

So stay tuned for January. I'll post about the first 2-3 goals I complete!

A Fresh Coat of Paint Can Make Even a Lazy Person Look Organized

You know how there are some people that like to keep everything? Magazines, bills, programs, postcards, wedding invitations, etc...well, I like to throw things away. I do. I love it. In fact I love throwing things away just as much as I love keeping them. Let me explain:

I like to simplify. Unfortunately, on more than one occasion this has gotten me in trouble. I might have thrown away important documents or even documents of interest that I’ve looked for later and couldn’t find. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t just throw things away willy nilly. I’ll keep them for awhile, but after awhile longer, they hit the trash bin.

The great purge usually occurs after I’ve let things build up in piles, or I’ve thrown it in drawers, set them on shelves, or (and this is really bad) hid them from myself by slipping them between books on my bookshelves. I know. It’s a wonder I can find anything sometimes. Maybe this is why I like to rearrange my room so much. By taking everything off shelves and putting them back on, I’m bound to find something I was looking for last year. But then it’s usually too late to need so I throw it away. Or put it back on the shelf.

A few months ago I had a stroke of insight as to why I let things build up in piles, lose them or simply can’t see them amidst the chaos. It’s because I hate filing. I do, I hate it. I hate it at work, I hate it at home. I have a file box at home, but even my file box isn’t that organized -- I’m not sure if I went to one of my files I’d find what I was looking for, which is ironic because I am a very clean and organized person. I am a big proponent of mis en place -- I don’t like messes, I don’t like piles sitting on tables or counters -- which is why I like to throw things away. So now, what we have is a vicious cycle I submit myself to. Filing isn’t fun. BUT I found a way to make it fun: Get a filing cabinet and make it cute. That’s how simple I am. If I have something darling to organize stuff in, I’m MUCH more likely to put it in there.

Did you know that filing cabinets are way expensive? Especially for the nice ones that are weighted correctly and have doors that open well? Well, they are. I went to IKEA a few times, Crate and Barrell, Office Max...it wasn’t looking good. So I went to Craigslist. SCORE! I got a $200 file cabinet for $35.

So now I can file away warranties, bills, brochures, programs, postcards, birthday cards, wedding invitations, talks I've given and lessons I've taught, and all those other things I sometimes wish I had but throw away because they clutter up my space.

This was my Saturday project. The cabinet was actually in pretty good shape (I kind of wish it looked more trashy so I could have a more dramatic before and after picture) but I wanted to paint it anyway. My vision started out much more high concept than it turned out. The idea was to paint a gradient, with the strongest saturated color at the bottom and then as the drawers went up, the colors would get lighter so it resembled a series of paint chips or Pantone colors. But, alas, the stores available to me did not have that many options when it came to colors. So I just chose a color palette I liked and went with it. What do you think? Right now I just have white primer on the outside, should I paint it another color or keep it white?

Bonus Point for whomever can identify the Post Title's Reference :)

Melt Down

What does it mean if you have a dream that someone pointed their finger at you or gestured with their arm or something and caused you to fall down a hole -- the sensation was that of falling down a hole, but really you were kind of melting like the Wicked Witch of the West and just couldn't get up?

That was my dream last night. I was at a buffet table. It was something casual, something outside. There was a guy with me who could tell this other blonde guy was making me uncomfortable. The blonde guy kept inching closer towards me weaving around me as I tried to mind my own business and make my way down the buffet table. He didn't say anything, he just creeped me out. And the more uncomfortable I got, the closer he got. The guy I was with tried to stay close to me (didn't try hard enough if you ask me) but the creepy guy finally looked at me, waved his arm and cast me to the ground. It was a horrifying feeling.

I was trying to figure out what caused this dream. I did have a distressing thing happen to me before I went to bed and that was the realization that I am going to be poor. I should have seen this coming when I accepted a government job years ago, but I don't want to be poor. I have been reveling in relatively low rent for some time and enjoying having money at my disposal. I've been lucky. But recently I decided it was time for me to buy a house. I was feeling good about it for awhile. My friend who just bought a house told me about all her ups and downs during the process and how she went through a grieving period. You grieve the cushy savings you're about to hand over as a down payment. You grieve the disposable income you're going to soon be spending on a mortgage...

So I hit that point last night when I opened up my mint.com account and began itemizing the mindless expenses I didn't itemize before: yoga classes, haircuts, I forgot all about auto insurance... I started to freak out and was afraid maybe I couldn't afford a house after all. I saw all my money going down a hole and never coming back. It was scary. It was wicked witch of the west scary.

Look how cute these melting witch drinks are though:

First Days and Escorts

I don’t remember my first day of first grade, but I remember my second first day of first grade. I was six years old, and my family had just moved from Orem to Sandy. My new school was called Sunrise Elementary (photo courtesy of my sister). My mom took me to the administration office where they then took me to meet Mrs. Richardson, my first grade teacher.

School had already started so my teacher took me to an empty desk and told me to sit down and she would come find me later. The classrooms were much different than what I was used to. Each grade at Sunrise had it’s own giant room with four quadrants. Each quadrant was a separate class "room" and then there was a giant common area in the middle. Instead of four walls and a door, each class had just three walls. I sat down, not really listening to what was going on in class, but noticing how I could see inside two other classrooms from where I was sitting. Neither of the students sitting next to me really talked to me or acknowledged me. They just worked on their assignment, which I suppose they were expected to do, so I didn’t take it too personally.

After about ten minutes of sitting patiently, waiting to be told what to do or introduced to someone who could show me what to do, a loud bell rang. Immediately, every student in my classroom (and the other three classrooms) grabbed an orange, green, or yellow bin that was suspended under their desk in a wire tray, stood up and headed for either a different classroom or a different seat. I sat there, confused and a little alarmed. One boy walked right up to my desk, stopped and stared.

“What?” I said. But he just stood there and stared, waiting for me to do something.
“What??” I repeated. But he remained standing, as if he expected me to read his mind.

Mrs. Richardson finally came running to me, flailing her arms a little as if she’d forgotten all about me and realized I didn’t know that the bell meant it was time for “rotations”. I didn’t have an orange, green, or yellow bin like the other kids, and I didn’t know that this silent student who was standing and staring was waiting for me to move because my seat was in fact his seat for the next class. She pulled me aside and explained things to me, gave me an orange “tote tray” with some paper, crayons, pencils and glue and told me not to worry about where to go. They’d figure that out later.

It was a long first day of new things and new people in a new environment. At the end of the day I was so excited to go home and be with all things familiar. I went to the playground where my mom said she’d come pick me up, but she wasn’t there. I waited there for about ten minutes and still, no Mom. All the students had walked home and the only sounds I could hear were cars driving down the distant streets. The quiet was disconcerting and I began to cry until a teacher found me. She wasn’t my teacher, but she was nice and asked me what was wrong. I told her between sobs that my mom was supposed to come get me and I didn’t know where she was and this was a new school and I didn’t know how to get home. It wasn’t long before my mom came running around the corner, relieved to find me. She was a little late but apparently there was also a miscommunication about where we were to meet.

Thinking back on this I realize even though I’m technically a grown-up, I still haven’t mastered new situations with new people, especially when I’m left to myself. I get anxious and uncomfortable when I don’t understand what’s going on and I am sometimes shy to ask questions.

It’s funny, I also remember my first day at church when we moved to Sandy. After Sacrament Meeting my parents handed me over to the bishop who led me to Sunday School. He took me into the gymnasium where my class was and introduced me to a girl named Mary. He told Mary my name was Laura, I was new and she was to be my friend and show me exactly where to go. She nodded at him, and then smiled at me. After class she held my hand and took me to Primary and sat by me. What a difference a friend made; someone to escort me through strange, new things and to answer all my questions.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about escorts. We were talking in Relief Society one day about how important escorts are in the gospel and how we aren’t meant to go through difficult and new things by ourselves. When we first make our way through the temple, we bring an escort with us so we aren’t confused and alone. And from what I’ve read and discussed with other members of my church is that we are also given an escort when we move on from this life and enter the next; someone to make us feel comfortable and at home so we aren’t scared and alone.

New places and new things can be scary. Sometimes we need someone to ask questions, sometimes we need someone to show us what comes next, and sometimes it’s just nice to have someone to sit with and talk to so you don't have time to cry before your Mommy comes to pick you up.

The Rough Patch

"You need to understand, owning a Vitamix is like having a relationship with a person." At least that's what the customer service lady said on the phone this morning when I called to tell her I was concerned about my machine.

I've had my Vitamix for about a month now. It was working like a dream until about a week ago when I tried to make a smoothie and the contents in the blender stopped moving. I was taken a little aback. "This isn't the Vitamix I know," I thought to myself, "what's wrong?" It eventually mixed everything just fine, but it didn't work as well as I thought it should.

And that's the problem. As with human relationships, unmet expectations freak us out a little bit. Everyone has a different reaction when things don't go as expected. Some (like one of my roommates) avoid the situation and leave it alone because they don't want to deal with another mishap. Others (like me) try to figure out what's going on by spending as much time with it as I can, testing different scenarios to see if it was just a one time behavioral blip. That's not how I handle personal relationships by the way in case you were wondering. But with the Vitamix, I was frustrated when I wasn't home with it throwing fruit and juice and ice in there to see what was up. And for some reason it was important that no one else was around. I needed alone time with the Vitamix so we could talk it out and see what the issue was.

I knew the Vitamix worked best when a certain order was observed: liquid first, dry ingredients, and then frozen ingredients and ice on top. I was so confused because the Vitamix is incredibly powerful. The motor is built to run forever, I couldn't have done anything wrong. I have a friend with a Vitamix who told me last week how she likes to test its strength so sometimes she'll throw something in there like an entire apple just to see what it will do. I don't have that kind of gall, but her machine still runs fine she says.

I decided it was time to turn to the Vitamix people for advice. This is what I learned: according to customer service, the Vitamix is built to blend on high, not low. So the motor wants to go from 1 to 10 in three seconds and then run on the highest speed possible. It wants to work hard. I wasn't always letting it work hard. Sometimes I thought that 6 or 8 was good enough, but apparently that taxes the blades.

So the Vitamix and I have exited the rough patch. It was such a dream for awhile that I expected perfection, and when I didn't get it I figured something must have gone awry. But I learned as long as I observe the appropriate order, and not hold it back from it's power potential we should get along just fine. Nothing is perfect -- not even the Vitamix. But it's pretty darn close.

For the Kids

It was 2003 and I was in a bookstore with my cousin Katie in Covent Garden. I watched her buy a children’s book as she told me she likes to buy books for her unborn children when she travels. I don’t know if she still does that, but I thought it was a lovely concept and adopted the idea myself. I love the purity of message in children’s books and the illustrations are always fun too.

So I came home from that London trip with this book. I’ve only read a little bit of it, but it’s adorable. I love Paddington Bear and the connection with Paddington Station.



In 2004 I jumped at the last minute opportunity to go to New Zealand with some art students and their professor who is a friend of mine. We stayed in a small sea town called Ohope and there wasn’t much to do except walk around the beach and explore the little shops along the one street they had in "town". I found this little gem:

It’s about a bird who is looking for a nest. She tries and fails at finding a home until she rips an umbrella off that poor man in the clothes that clash. It's by a New Zealand author.

In May 2005 I went to Boston with my friends Maria, Mike and Ricky. We spent a day in Cambridge where there was a darling little bookstore. I found this tiny version of a story I only knew from a song on a video my mom had when I was little. The video was several Maurice Sendak stories put to music and sung by Carole King. This story is about Pierre who doesn’t care -- about anything. His apathy eventually gets the best of him. Consider the lion on the cover a foreshadowing. I had to buy it for nostalgic reasons because my sister and I would watch this video over and over again. We could sing this whole story to you if you like.

Unfortunately I didn’t date this book on the inside like the others. But I know it's from London because the price on the back is in pounds and the author dedicates it to “Mum” and Dad. I want to say I bought it at the British Library because I picture that gift shop when I picture myself first picking up this book. It’s about a girl named Greta (later nicknamed Cinderella). Anyway. I love the illustrations and the 1920’s setting of the story.

I must have taken a break from this tradition for awhile because the next date I have is for Alex and Lulu in 2009. I bought this at the Tate Museum in London. I thought it was a sweet story about two people (well, a dog and a cat that talk and wear clothes) who are very different. They like different things, they do things differently, they like different activities...and Alex starts to get concerned about how different they are and it begins to bug him until he explodes one day and says they’re too different, how can they be best friends when they are opposites. Lulu explains that different doesn’t mean opposite and then they talk about all the things they like to do together and that’s what matters. It ends “Alex and Lulu. Chalk and cheese. Best of friends.” Can someone tell me what the expression chalk and cheese means? If it means anything at all...

Next on that trip is this edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. My mother actually bought this for me because she saw me looking at it in the gift shop at Christ Church when we visited Oxford. Lewis Carroll went to school there so they really play up the Alice in Wonderland gift items in the shop. Worked on us.

Next (same trip) is this book I bought in Durham. You’re probably familiar with all the Little Miss and Mr. books. I remember them from when I was a kid. I bought about three figuring I’d give them away. I gave Little Miss Busy to my friend Linda for her birthday last year but I still have Little Miss Dotty. I think I’ll keep her. Small things are super cute to me, but in May I walked into a children's store in Boise with my friend and saw giant versions of these books. I thought it was pretty cool.

In September 2010 my friend Emily posted on Facebook that she wanted to go to the Grand Canyon and asked who wanted to go. I was one of about 8 people who tagged along. This book is based on the poem/song “There was an old woman who swallowed fly” and then she swallowed a spider to catch the fly, a bird to catch the spider and then subsequent nonsense continues on for several verses. I bought this because it was appropriate to the landscape and I liked the way the coyote looks more and more possessed with everything he swallows.

In April 2011 I went to Houston for the first time with my dad and my sister. We went to the Johnson Space Center one morning and I spotted this cute board book in the gift shop. It’s about a little girl who just loves the moon and wants to be able to play with it. She asks her dad to please get the moon for her. So he takes a tall ladder to a very high mountain and climbs until he reaches the moon. He tells the moon that his daughter would like to play with him. The moon says he’s much too big, but he is getting smaller and he can be taken down when he’s small enough. When the father takes the moon to his daughter she dances with it but it keeps getting smaller until it disappears. But the very next night a sliver of it appears in the sky again until it gets bigger and bigger and bigger again. Cute story. For some reason I got a little teary when I read it the first time. I wanted to buy a copy for every dad I knew. But I didn't. Nice, painterly illustrations and some of the pages fold out.


My most recent acquisition is this book from my trip to San Francisco with my mom last month.  It's about Larry the dog who gets lost in San Francisco. Apparently he gets lost in a lot of cities, but he makes the most of it as he visits all the important sites. The book does a good job of giving you historical facts about the city and its landmarks.

So that’s 10 books! I don’t know where my next exciting destination is, but I hope to find a good book to commemorate it.

What a Girl Wants is What a Girl Needs

Sometimes, when I feel like nothing is going my way and people don’t treat me right, I decide to treat myself right. I was feeling this way earlier in the spring, and that’s when I decided if I wanted something I was going to give it to myself. I wasn't going to hold off. I was just going to get it.

Sounds pretty self indulgent, I know. But if you know me, you know I deny myself all sorts of things. I’m disciplined. I’m disciplined with my diet, I’m disciplined with my purchases…I was going to say I’m disciplined with my time and with my exercise but that couldn’t be further from the truth. So let’s stick with diet and purchases. Well…I’m still a cautious consumer. I've needed the following for months now: new shoes, new glasses, new contacts and windshield wiper fluid. I did get some shoes. Let's stick with diet.

What I eat and what I buy go hand in hand much of the time because I like groceries -- and restaurants. I hate wasting food. Just last week I was making a smoothie, using the last of my almond milk, the last of my spinach and I was so satisfied with not wasting this food I actually said out loud, “There’s something so satisfying about using the last of my food.” What I’m saying is if I want a hamburger, but I have stuff at home to make a sandwich, I make a sandwich. If I want some ice cream (which is rare) I usually think, nah, I don’t need that. And sometimes, if I’m craving fresh vegetables – yes that happens – I’ll eat frozen ones because I already bought them and they’re in the freezer. 99.9% of the time it ends in disappointment.

So the past few months I’ve been answering my cravings when they hit. And it has been awesome. I don’t drink a lot of soda, but when I think, “I want a Dr. Pepper” I give myself one (it’s maybe twice a month). And when I drink it, it brings me so much joy I can’t even begin to explain.

Last week this little practice was most evident. I don’t crave things a lot, but last week I had all sorts of cravings. On Tuesday, all I could think of that morning was how I wanted a margherita pizza. Sette Bello was a couple blocks away and that’s all I thought about for two hours. When lunch time came, I hopped in the car, picked up a pizza, came back to my office and ate the ENTIRE thing – and I’m a little person. I’ve downed a whole pizza before, but I remember feeling sick afterwards. After I ate all 1000 calories or whatever I felt great. So satisfied – not full, but done. The difference? Before I wasn't craving it. I just ate it.

That's when I decided if my body is craving something it probably means I need it. So. That afternoon, I was craving ice cream. I didn’t want frozen yogurt, I wanted ice cream. On my way home, I took a detour through the Arctic Circle Drive-Thru. The cashier tried to tempt me into getting a large ice cream, but I just needed a small. She also tried to tempt me into ordering some onion rings or fries, but I was craving one thing and one thing only: ice cream. And that’s what I got. And it was delightful.

On Friday I was walking around downtown. I felt hungry and thought about what I wanted and BAM! My brain came up with a French Dip sandwich from Robins Nest. That thought at that time was like the best idea I’ve ever heard. Unfortunately Robins Nest closed 20 minutes before I got there. Next best thing was a bratwurst from Siegfrieds which was on the walk home. Don't worry, the next night I scored a French Dip at Normandie Cafe. Craving cured.

Aside: Ever since I started being a weekday vegetarian (about 3 months ago), I’ve been content eating salads, fruits, vegetables, whole grains, dairy, fish (I don’t count that as meat, criticize me later) etc. I don’t want meat that much. But when I do want meat, I want beef. Chicken or turkey? Boo. No, I want roast beef or steak. Interesting huh? Maybe I’ll post my thoughts about that diet in the future.

You know what, forget about that being an aside, I think it is totally related. This is what I believe. I believe if you are eating healthy, and you are eating good, whole foods, cravings are good because you crave good things. I haven’t craved candy, or chocolate (ok, soda) fried food or anything like that (that doesn't mean I never eat it though).What I'm saying is you should give your body what it wants because it’s probably telling you that's what it needs.

There. That’s all I have to say.

Yet Another List

I finished my lesson for church today early, so I thought I would revisit this much neglected blog of mine. When I don't have the energy for narrative, I make a list.

Every now and then I’ll have a good, long Google conversation with my friend Mike. I don’t know why, but talking to him reminded me of a post he put up on his blog awhile ago with a list of things that, depending on how many on the list you can answer “yes” to, will tell you how good a friend you are of his. I was able to answer more than half of them in the affirmative.

I enjoy a good narcissistic exercise every now and then so last night as I was enjoying one of my favorite Saturday night activities, I thought of my own list:

1.  You can tell me what I was referring to as one of my favorite Saturday night activities.
2.  You’ve come with me on a weekend getaway or a summer vacation.
3.  I’ve introduced you to 2+ of my family members.
4.  I’ve invited you over for dinner.
5.  I’ve asked for your input on a talk or lesson and you were responsive and helpful.
6.  You’ve come to visit me at work, whether during the work day or for Gallery Stroll.
7.  I’ve obsessed about something in front of you and you still talk to me.
8.  You’ve come to more than one of my concerts.
9.  I’ve stayed up talking to you past my bedtime.
10. I cried in front of you and didn’t feel like I needed to apologize for being stupid or silly.
11. You told me I was pretty (sometimes I’m easy)
12. You still read this blog.

Here’s the break down:

If you can claim 6+ items, we are Very Good Friends.
If you can claim 4+ items, we are Mostly Friends.
If you can claim 2+ items, we are Kinda Friends.

*Disclaimer: the validity of this exercise is inconsequential and shouldn't be taken too seriously. But if you happen to do really well, I will take a respective amount of pleasure in that.

Why I Hate Doing Art Returns for High School Students

The worst is when they were seniors last year when we borrowed their artwork so at this point they're either away at college, walking around Brazil, or their contact information has changed.

Ring Ring

Me: Hi could I speak to Mariah?
Voice: She doesn't live here
Me: Oh...do you know who Mariah is?
Voice: Yeah she's my sister
Me: Oh, ok. I have a painting of hers that she probably would like back. Can I have her new number?
Voice: I don't know what it is.
Me: You don't have her number?
Voice: Well, it's somewhere around here, but I don't know where it is.
Me: (irritated pause) OK, how would you suggest I get a hold of her?
Voice: Well, I could give you my mom's number and she could give you her number and you could call her, or I could get your number and give it to Mariah sometime when I see her.
Me: Yeah, let's do the first one.

The Lisa List

This is going up late because my weekend was GO GO GO with virtually no breaks. I even slept in until 11:30 on Sunday I was so tired.

Anyway, my little sister turned 30 on Friday! It’s so weird to see her turn 30. Mostly because I still feel like I’m 25.

Time to list all the things I love about having Lisa as a sister:

1. She is SO much fun to talk to. I’m not a phone talker, but I can talk to Lisa on the phone for a long time.
2. She is very creative, always thinking up new things to make for her home and new recipes to try.
3. She is excellent with that camera.
4. ...and the camera LOVES her.
5. I have more inside jokes with her than I do with anyone else. Some things we say we’ve been saying for so long I forgot where they came from.
6. As a mother she has been through a lot and has had superhuman patience with Jack and his HLHS. I don’t know how she survived the summer of 2009.
7. She has great taste in music, in clothes and in food and I use her as my barometer.
8. She’s a great travel companion.
9. She’s very well rounded and likes to do a lot of things.
10. Even when I feel like I want to be alone, I don't mind having her around. I can only say that about a few people.

Love you Leese! 30 looks good on you.

"Dirty" Little Rascal

If you've read my blog for over a year you probably remember me posting about my garden. Last year I was fortunate enough to share a plot at a community garden here in downtown SLC. Getting a plot is a long process and very political. My friend didn't really have money to devote to a garden last year so she let me use her plot. I spent a lot of money building a square foot garden and installed it in the plot. This year she decided she wanted her plot again so I thought I better go retrieve my garden bed. The other day I drove over there to pick it up and this is what I find:

  

Someone stole my garden! And judging from the plaster hand print and the Dora the Explorer watering can, the culprit is a freaking kid! They took out my tiles I had as stepping stones and replaced them. They uprooted my herbs, leaving the lavender and a couple green onions.

All I could think to do was take a picture. So I did. I emailed my friend who loaned me the plot and asked her what happened. She said she switched plots, but no one had our old plot yet. I, of course, begged to differ. After several email exchanges and consults with the person in charge of the garden, I got an email from the new plot renter who told me I was welcome to disassemble my garden bed but I should not "disrupt the soil". 

Excuse me, but I spent $60 on that soil. It is a magical blend of fertilizer, peat moss and vermiculite that will nurture and cultivate anything you plant. So I will disrupt it if I damn well please.

I tried to uproot my lavender but it had cut its way through the weed guard fabric and taken root well beneath the raised bed so it was there to stay. I decided the garden should stay there, the house I currently live in does not have a yard conducive to a garden anyway. So all I could do was claim the two green onions that had grown back from last year and walk away.

I did spot a ginormous worm and took a picture. I've never seen a worm this long before:

 

Something came over me and I picked it up -- even though every time I pick up a worm I squeal/scream until I set it down again. They shrink when you pick them up.

So much for the garden this year. I was honestly considering not doing it again because the plot is under a tree and doesn't get a lot of sunshine anyway. But it was worth it for the tomatoes and the lettuce. And the spinach and basil. And parsley.

Maybe I just like orange

I know I make no sense sometimes.

Some people think I’m a health food snob, and I can understand why. I do eat healthy. I talk a lot about the green smoothies I make for breakfast. I like to eat fish whenever possible, I only drink organic milk and I buy expensive cheese. I prefer to buy local products and I only buy eggs when I know the hens are hormone-free, eat organic feed, run around on a happy farm and are hugged every day.

I never buy soda, I rarely order fries, and I don’t eat Pop Tarts because I believe any kind of frosting that doesn’t melt at 425 degrees Fahrenheit was manufactured by Satan himself.

So a couple hours ago when I walked into my coworker’s office and spotted a little bag of Cheetos and exclaimed “Cheetos! Can I have these?” I don’t know how to explain myself. Cheese is not bright orange nor is it powdery, but something in my brain or my tastebuds doesn’t care because not only do I love Cheetos, I love Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with all it’s bright orange powderiness.

My eating and food purchasing habits are flexible I suppose. And that’s not a bad thing. Although I only buy organic chicken myself, I’ll eat whatever chicken you feed me. Although I always opt for salad instead of fries, I actually really like French fries. I never buy soda, but if you’re sitting next to me with a glass of soda (especially if it's Dr. Pepper) I’ll take a sip. Sometimes without asking.

Man these Cheetos are good.

Lower Bells

The weather was gorgeous today. And I think it's the only gorgeous day we get for a little while. I probably appreciated it all the more because all the days leading up to it were cold. I don't mind cloudy, I'm just sick of cold.

I attended the funeral of a friend today who died after being caught in an avalanche in Spring City. He was a photographer and intense outdoorsman and would have thought it really lame that so many people spent a day like today inside at his funeral, so I decided I could honor him by going on a little hike in the afternoon. I hiked Lower Bells which is just off Wasatch Boulevard by my parents' house in Sandy.  It's a super short and easy hike, but it made me realize how out of shape I am right now.

I took some photos with my little camera.

I only met Garrett last October, but it didn't take long to see that he was an amazing guy. He moved into my ward on Capitol Hill with his newlywed wife Molly. In November I was released from my calling as Gospel Doctrine Instructor and put into the Young Women Presidency. When the bishop asked me who I thought would be a good replacement for me in the Sunday School, Garrett was the first name I mentioned. The bishop smiled and said, "He, uh...yeah he's an interesting guy."

Molly and I served in the YW Presidency. She and Garrett really made me feel at home in the ward which is funny because I had been there longer than they had. Garrett invited me over for lunch one Sunday after church which I thought was really nice because I'm usually the one inviting people over. I feel bad I didn't take the chance to return the favor.

For the past month or so he taught our "teacher improvement course" in Sunday School. I guess the bishop finally realized how much he could teach us.

His wife of only 8 months gave an amazing talk today. Garrett was always traveling for work, shooting photographs all around the world. I think he was gone just about every other weekend. The last time I saw him was two weeks ago at a church activity raising money for the young men and women. Molly and I were hurriedly preparing food in the kitchen. She asked me if I would finish everything so she could go eat with her husband. I'm glad I did.

I Have a New Happy Place

I make no secret of the fact that I love grocery shopping. I do. I love it. Sometimes I prefer to go by myself so I can peruse the aisles as many times as I want without being rushed. I've even been known to go grocery shopping for people who hate it. While it makes them tense and anxious, it calms me and sometimes energizes me.

However, not every grocery store is created equal. In May of 2009 I flew into London to stay with my parents who were teaching there at the time. They were on a train returning back to London from somewhere, so I dropped my luggage off in their flat (oh man, I really want to go back) and headed outside towards Kensington. Where did I go first? Whole Foods. It's not like I'd never been to Whole Foods before it's just that the store in Kensington is the most celestial of all the Whole Foods kingdoms in the land. They have a station where you can mix your own granola, they have a café and bistro upstairs where you can get crepes, paninis, soups, anything. The layout, design and merchandising appeals to me I suppose. But what impresses me most, is at the top of the stairs, just by the bistro is a glass door that says “art department” on it. Inside you can watch all the graphic designers at work. Any place of business that highlights the importance of art in their success wins me over. So I bought a scone for me, some flowers for my mom (it was Mother's Day), and sat down in the lounge and enjoyed myself as I looked out at the double-decker buses and taxis passing by. I visited that Whole Foods often during my three week stay.

Salt Lake City is lucky enough to have a couple Whole Foods within a reasonable proximity. I go there on occasion. It’s nothing like the Kensington Whole Foods, and apparently nothing like the one in Park City (a friend told me they have an oatmeal bar for breakfast which I would definitely enjoy).

A couple years ago I visited the new Harmon’s down by IKEA. I heard all sorts of wonderful things about it: how big it was, the little café upstairs, the gelato bar…so I had to go see it for myself.

I walked in bright eyed and bushy tailed with my little cart (I like the little carts) and looked around like I had just stepped into Disneyland, not sure where I should go first. I walked over to the deli section where I saw a man giving away samples of cheese. He was light and jolly and friendly to everyone who walked by. It took me a minute before I thought, "Hey, I know that guy!" I was surprised because it was a man I would normally describe as a curmudgeon of sorts, but here, at Harmon’s he’s happy. And how could you be anything but happy, bringing people joy by introducing them to mouthwatering cheeses. I envied him a little.

I longed for a Harmon’s closer to my home in downtown SLC. If I’m ever driving in Holladay or Sandy, I always do some shopping at Harmon’s. I guess I prefer to support local businesses; I like that they sell local products (even though most grocery stores have that offering these days).

But I have a new happy place. Maybe it’s because the downtown Harmon’s isn’t here yet, and it’s true I have not yet been to the new Whole Foods at Trolley, but my loyalties have divided.

On Tuesday I shopped at the new Sunflower Market on 200 South and 700 East. It was advertised as having it's "grand" opening on Wednesday, but I did a slow drive by a week earlier and on the doors I saw a sign that read “sneak preview” on Tuesday. So after work, I snuck in.

Now, I shop at Sunflower Market often, but I normally drive to Murray to do it. So, the fact that SM is now 5 minutes from my home is point number one. They get another point for having the “half carts” as I like to call them. Maybe it’s because I don’t have an entire family to shop for, but I love not having to push a giant cart around a grocery store. It’s a perfect size for Laura and there’s a nice little slot for my purse.

Sunflower Market is a chain in the western states, but they sell local produce and other products. My favorite thing about this place is their emphasis on produce. It’s mostly all about the produce. They sell high quality fruits and vegetables for much less than you would find at Smith’s, Harmon’s and (especially) Whole Foods. You can get a head of green leaf lettuce for 99 cents. Smith’s price? $2.49.

Also if you hit the sales right you can get raw almonds for $3.99 lb, dark chocolate covered almonds for $4.99 lb, organic steel cut oats for 89 cents a lb, and all sorts of other great bulk items. I also stocked up on strawberries for 88 cents a lb. which was awesome. They have a new sale each Wednesday that you can have emailed to you weekly. The flyer also lists all the fruits and vegetables which are currently in season.

Maybe it’s because food makes me so happy – especially good quality and nutritious food, but I’ll probably be going to the giant Smith’s a lot less and the little Sunflower Market a lot more. Tonight I need to pick up some fennel, an onion and a red pepper so I can make this:

Early Bird Special at Canyon Creek

Up until Saturday afternoon, I hadn’t visited Grandma since Christmas Eve. My days off fill up pretty fast sometimes, but this past weekend I was free. Last time I saw Grandma I brought her soup. She was at lunch when I came by so I brought it to her table in the dining hall. She accidentally spilled it all over and felt SO bad. I told her I’d bring her soup again, and so the other day I made some mushroom and barley soup, hopped in my car and drove myself to Canyon Creek.

When I walked into her room, she was laying down on the bed and told me to come join her. This picture is of her asking me questions such as "Who are you dating these days? What makes you happy?" and "Where's your father?" She asked if I wanted to join her downstairs for dinner. For some reason I said "sure!" like it was the best idea I've heard in a long time.

And it was.

On the way down we ran into other residents, and some nurses that work there. Everyone greeted Grandma with a “Hi sweetie!” “Hi Betty!” “Hi cute thing!” and that annoyed Grandma to no end. It was so weird. This little nurse said, “Hi sweet Betty” and then before Grandma could interject, the nurse beat her to the punch and said “Oh, stop that!” This scowl came across Grandma’s face like I’ve never seen.

“Grandma, what’s wrong?”
“They always say, ‘Hi Betty, How are you Betty? Good to see you Betty!”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Betty is such a common name.”
(Me laughing), “You don’t like your name?”
“I think Elizabeth is nicer, don’t you?”
“Is Elizabeth your full name?”
“No. Laura is a nice name. There’s a whole movie about a girl named Laura”

And then she started to sing the theme song to the 1944 murder mystery.

We sat down to dinner and realized I couldn’t order anything because I didn’t have a meal card, nor did I want to buy one (I wasn’t hungry). But they gave me a Dr. Pepper. Grandma briefed me on all the ladies that would be joining us at the table up in her room. She told me all about Maureen, Charlotte, Edith and Carol. Edith is in love with Shane, their physical therapist and she is 96, but she looks younger than Grandma (91). Charlotte is from Georgia, and Carol lives off scrambled eggs and Coke.

I sat at Maureen’s place because she was gone. Carol and Charlotte joined us eventually.

Grandma ordered the soup.
Charlotte ordered a hot dog.
Carol ordered scrambled eggs and a Coke.

Apparently Carol always orders a Coke at the table and then one to go so she can drink it up in her room and stay awake for Craig Ferguson. “If you ever have indigestion, drink a Coke,” Carol said as she fished the ice out of her cup with a fork and put it in an empty cup (much like another person I know). I told her I prefer Dr. Pepper. Carol agreed it was tastier. Grandma started to talk about how Dr. Pepper is better for you than Coke...that discussion went on for awhile.

Then we talked about Craig Ferguson. Carol formulated a detailed argument about why he was funny that eventually satisfied Grandma.

After about 10 minutes of conversation Grandma finally tasted her soup. She took two bites and then sent it back. Then she went on and on about the soup I brought her last time I came. “Did you know, Laura brought me some soup, and I spilled it all over the table.” The ladies seemed familiar with the story. So familiar in fact that they could tell it back in better detail than Grandma could. Then Grandma told Carol that I brought her some mushroom and barley soup. “Doesn’t that sound delicious?” she asked, to which Carol replied “No, it sounds awful. I don’t like barley and I don’t like mushrooms.”

We talked about Charlotte a little bit (she was sitting at the table, but she wasn’t so talkative). Apparently Charlotte and her husband moved to Hercules, Utah (didn’t know there was such a place) because her husband was going to work on the atomic bomb. “And then they had six nuclear kids” Carol said.

But most of the conversation was centered around the less than satisfactory food they serve at Canyon Creek. They complained about the chef and how he is cheap and doesn’t know how to cook. He always serves cake with a dollop of jam on top and no one at that table likes cake.

It wasn’t long before the waiter brought out dessert. Tonight it was little saucers with a scoop of chocolate chip ice cream. Grandma, Carol and Charlotte, to my surprise, all picked up their forks to eat the ice cream. Charlotte, after saying virtually nothing for the past 45 minutes says, “Does anyone have a blow torch?” That's when Grandma started to laugh so hard tears streamed down her face. “You see, they scoop out the ice cream,” (ten seconds of laughter), “and then they put it back in the freezer” (laughing), “and then...and then he takes it out and gives it to us when it’s hard as a rock.” They all started chipping away at the ice cream with their forks and ate two or three little shavings at a time.

During dessert Grandma and Carol talked about healthy food, vs. unhealthy food. Grandma got a little impatient and looked at Carol to say, “Just because you married a doctor doesn’t mean you have all the answers.” Carol’s response is what earned her my favorite person of the week award:

“I’ve never used that as an excuse.”

Edith, who eventually joined us at the table didn’t touch her ice cream. She told the waiter she didn’t want it. The waiter took it away and my grandma said to him, “Well, are you just going to waste that?”

“No, we have a freezer we can put it in for tomorrow.”

I'm definitely doing this again.

Laura's Line

You may have heard Google has listed my office phone number and address for just about every state government service imaginable. I've gone through phases of the many stages when it comes to dealing with this: denial, frustration, anger, acceptance. After a couple days of having fun with it, I've looped back into avoidance. I just don't answer my phone.

But if you've stepped into my office at any given time the past couple months you might have overheard me say the following:

Hey Kiley, after listening to your message I suggest you have your boyfriend take a paternity test before you put his name on the birth certificate. Oh, and you got the wrong number.

Hmm...you know, I’m actually not sure how you get a business license. I hear you can do it online. When you find out will you call me back and let me know?

What’s softy base?

We don’t offer any anger management classes here, but did you see the movie Anger Management? It sucked right?

Hi, so...you’re getting married tomorrow...and you need a marriage license today? First: congratulations. Second: How long have you known this guy...

You saw a cute dog on KSL? A female terrior? Aww...sorry, you have the wrong number. My sister is looking for a dog. Did you have a dog growing up? I had a Lhasa Apso.

Yes, please hold while I look up “quit claim deed” so I can better pretend to assist you.

How long have you had the restraining order out on your ex husband?

Sorry, this isn’t the West Jordan pregnancy hotline.

You want me to calibrate your ice truck meters?

Hey, sorry about your cattle. I don’t have them.

Okay, okay. I need you to calm down. Did you see the person who threw away your stuff? Oh she’s your friend? Man, that sucks.

Hi Rob, I don’t know what it means to shorten the barrel on your shotgun, but I’m going to say it’s highly illegal. And please, stay away from me and my family.

Last Dream Sequence Sunday

All right. This is the last one. This dream wasn't mine, but it was my mom's. Noteworthy. Mostly it's the dialogue that was funny.

Sunday, April 22, 2001

Saturday I went with my mom to Gardner Hall to help her set up for the fundraiser. I hadn't talked to her for awhile. Here is a consolidated recap of one of our conversations:

"Laura Honey, can I borrow your credit card to buy something online?"

"Sure, whad'ya wanna buy?"

"I want to adopt a turtle."

"What?"

"I saw this thing on TV where you can pay $25 to adopt these turtles that are endangered species. They send you a packet with a picture of your turtle. They have little satellites on them so you can watch what your turtle does and where he goes on the website."

"Mom...these people are making so much money."

"No, it's the endangered species people. Besides, didn't I tell you about the turtle dreams I've been having?"

"You're having turtle dreams?"

"Yes. Last week I had a dream I found this huge shell. You know how I find shells at the beach and then put them in the sun to dry? And sometimes they have creatures living inside them still? And then they shrivel up and die? Well the turtle was shriveling up inside this big shell I found. It was so sad. You know how E.T. was when he was sick? It was like that.

And then the other night I had a dream that all these turtles and crabs crawled in the house from the basement. They were everywhere. You and I were chasing them out with brooms. We could see them through the glass doors and they wanted to come in so badly. The next day, I saw the turtle ad on TV so I feel like I need to do something about the endangered turtles."

I Like You...but it's a secret.

That is one classy yam.

I’m sitting here, cutting and pasting Valentines I plan to give to some friends in my neighborhood. My first instinct when delivering these is to set them on the porch, ring the doorbell and then run like hell.

That’s what we did when we were little, right? Why did we do that? Even my mom would somehow find a way to sneak out of the house, set up little presents on the door step, ring the doorbell and then run inside before her kids were the wiser. One time I was at my parents' house (I think I was 24) and heard a knock on the door leading out to the garage from the family room where I was sitting. I opened the door, looked down and saw some Valentines treats. Then I looked to my left to find my mom, back pressed up against the wall, fists up to her face, hoping I wouldn't see her.

Where did this idea of doorbell ditching come from? Don’t get me wrong, it was totally fun. But for some reason we just didn’t want to face the person and say, “Happy Valentine's Day. This is for you because I like you.”

So, to those of you who still read this blog of mine, Happy Valentine's Day! Go ahead and leave an anonymous comment (it’s the equivalent of a doorbell ditch). It's a Valentine's Day tradition so it's cool.

Dream Sequence Sunday

Sometimes I have NO idea why my subconscious comes up with this stuff.

Sunday, October 14, 2001

It was General Conference or something. My whole family was there in the auditorium (bizarre aspect #1). My dad whispered to me that Bruce Willis was here because he's a mormon now. Everyone in the auditorium was whispering about it and looking for him in the crowd. I thought I spotted him. Then he got up and walked toward the stage like he was going to speak to the whole congregation.

The next thing I remember was him walking up among the crowd with a microphone. Only now, he was Demi Moore and she was way overweight. She was just walking up and down the aisles, talking to people with the microphone like she was a talk show host or something.

Dream Sequence Sunday

I'm curious as to what prompted this dream. Maybe I was tired of watching people's kids or something.

Sunday, October 14, 2001

The first thing I remember is being outside with Marni trying to buy tickets for an Incubus concert. I think we were with Shawn and Bri, who already had tickets. This old lady walked by me selling tickets. She wasn't scalping them or anything, she was an official salesperson -- I could tell because of her tee shirt. She sold me two tickets, but they had NURSERY written in big letters on them. I didn't really worry about it until we tried to get to our seats and the usher told us that our tickets were for the nursery where all the concert goers leave their kids. I was so upset that this happened again (apparently this had happened before). So Marni and I sat on the very last row up at the top in the back, while Bri and Shawn got the good seats.

I walked around trying to get a better seat but the place was packed. Andrew from KRCL said before that I could stand with him by his door (he was an usher that night) but when I found him he was at the very top back door.