Land of Lauralot

#30: Mahalo

2012-01-16T11:39:00.000-07:00

Usually when I think of a goal, I think of a lot of time, preparation and effort on my part. But lucky for me, my dad made visiting a new state this year easy for me.

For the past few years my dad has surprised my sister and me with an all-expense paid trip -- usually 4-5 days. The trip is one of his business trips. Last year it was Houston, the year before it was Chicago, but this year it was Waikiki! I've NEVER been to Hawaii before so I was really excited. We didn't have a lot of anticipation time this year, as the location is revealed on Christmas morning. So we had two weeks to get stoked for Hawaii.

Of course we had a fabulous time. Didn't get to do everything we wanted, but as Dad says...gotta leave something for next time.

Found a Reason to Blog

2011-12-30T12:48:00.002-07:00

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

2011-10-23T09:20:00.008-06:00

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

2011-10-19T21:20:00.012-06:00

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

2011-08-28T10:40:00.006-06:00

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

2011-08-08T23:34:00.005-06:00

"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

2011-07-19T23:08:00.011-06:00

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

2011-07-13T15:58:00.007-06:00

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

2011-07-03T12:02:00.003-06:00

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

2011-06-29T15:11:00.002-06:00

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

2011-05-23T08:44:00.005-06:00

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:

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.
She is very creative, always thinking up new things to make for her home and new recipes to try.
She is excellent with that camera.
...and the camera LOVES her.
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.
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.
She has great taste in music, in clothes and in food and I use her as my barometer.
She’s a great travel companion.
She’s very well rounded and likes to do a lot of things.
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

2011-04-20T22:03:00.009-06:00

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

2011-04-14T10:32:00.010-06:00

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

2011-04-01T20:41:00.006-06:00

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

2011-03-17T12:42:00.024-06:00

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

2011-03-01T20:47:00.011-07:00

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

2011-02-24T11:38:00.006-07:00

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

2011-02-20T08:22:00.002-07:00

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.

2011-02-14T17:22:00.011-07:00

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

2011-02-13T09:10:00.002-07:00

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

2011-02-06T06:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Zoom Zoom!…and Whoo Whoo!

2011-02-02T15:51:00.018-07:00

Earning a degree in art history required that I spend countless hours studying images, objects and symbols. If an object didn’t have an obvious meaning, my task was to assign a meaning to it and prove its validity. As a result, I think just about everything I do, everything I create, every object I welcome into my home and every gift I give is deliberate. It has to have some substance behind it, otherwise it is empty. And empty is NOT me.

Up until a week ago, I had only owned one car in my life: a ’98 Chevy Prizm. It was an inexpensive car because I bought it as a poor college grad with a part time job. It simply got me from here to there and kept me warm/cool on the way. It was fine. Cars were never anything I really cared about. I didn’t buy it for any other reason than the fact that if I wanted to have a job and earn money, I needed a way to get there. I wasn’t in any financial position to be picky. Thus, the car wasn’t representative of me in any way (except for my practicality). And because the car didn’t mean anything substantial to me, I didn’t necessarily love it. Our relationship was an empty one.

If there’s one thing I did love about my Prizm, it was that I didn’t care about it. Well, for the first 5 years I did care about its condition. The first day I got it, my dad backed into it – that was a little alarming. But after awhile, when I knew the car and I weren’t going to be together forever, I stopped worrying about things that might happen to it. There’s a lot of freedom in not caring about something. The hubcap flew off one day; Meh. My sister backed into it one night; Whoops, don’t worry about it. The fabric on the ceiling started to come undone -- whatever, it’s fine.

Now that I have a new car, it’s time to start caring again. I’m not saying the Mazda and I are MFEO, but it’s definitely more “me” than the Chevy Prizm. As I test drove cars, I mostly went by my gut feeling; if it didn’t feel like me, it got cut from the running (also if the seller was insincere and creepy). This is the only car I drove that felt like me -- it was a good feeling. Oddly enough, several people told me they couldn’t see me in this car. Granted, most of them didn’t know me very well. But if they were basing their understanding of “me” by the current car I drove, I could understand their reasoning.

For the past week, driving has been a lot more fun than it used to be. But now that I actually have a relationship with my car, I have to treat it with more respect. Unlike the Prizm, this purchase was more about choosing a car I thought was cute and fun to drive than it was about needing a car. The Mazda 3 hatchback isn't the nicest car out there, but it’s more than good enough for Laura.

The word “Mazda” derives from Ahura Mazda, the Avestan language name for a divinity that is the source of wisdom, intelligence and harmony. I trust this car will help me make wise decisions, complement the intelligence I possess and bring peace and harmony to me and anyone who comes along for a ride.

The current logo for Mazda was redesigned in 1997. The stylized “M” is meant to show how the company is stretching its wings for the future. The symbol also implies wings in flight and is sometimes referred to as the “owl” logo.

Because purchasing this car was a deliberate choice and actually means something to me, my tendency is to make a connection with it. I am now going to tap into my art history training and attempt to draw every connection imaginable between me and what I (and the internet) know to be true about owls.

Owls are nocturnal.
Lately, I have been known to be nocturnal.

Owls are inner-knowing, have psychic ability and intuition.
I often pretend like I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I usually do. I’ve also been known to have premonition dreams.

Owls are seers and keepers of souls transitioning from one plane of existence to another.
I have married off several roommates and ushered others into a new place in their life.

Owls are the messengers of secrets.
I know so many secrets I forget who I’m not supposed to tell what.

Owls have heightened senses and are always aware of their surroundings
I get cold easily. I’m also very sensitive to my environment. Ask my roommates. I can tell if something has moved, changed, or if it’s filthy. And I’ve always been really good at that game where you show me a tray of objects and then take them away and ask me to list what I saw.

Owls have a way of seeing through pretence.
Totally.

In conclusion, the Mazda and I are a good fit. I hope we have many happy and trouble free years together. We’ll have to give you a ride sometime.

Dream Sequence Sunday

2011-01-30T07:30:00.000-07:00

I thought this one appropriate for this week, since I just got a new car.

Monday, November 5, 2001

I was going out of town on vacation and for some reason Andy needed to borrow my car. So I said he could, because I wasn't going to need it. I come back from vacation and I go to his house to get my car (he was living in Draper with his family). I go to their front yard and he's out front with my car and my dad's car was there too (apparently I let him use that one as well. I'm so generous). Only my car was trashed. It was filthy, it had little dents all over and scratches. He didn't seem too apologetic, but he acknowledged that it was his fault.

I didn't act too upset, maybe because I was just in shock at how bad my car looked. I asked him what happened and he said he took it on a road trip to South America. I remember thinking, "Did I tell you that you could take it on a road trip?" Anyway, my dad's car was beat up too, but not as bad as mine. I think he let his sister use my dad's. Like I said, I didn't get real mad, and I didn't seem to expect him to pay for it because I thought, "This is going to cost me a lot of money."

He took me home in my car and I told him to bring my dad's car later. He told me not to tell his dad about this because he'd get real mad at him.

Dream Sequence Sunday

2011-01-23T07:00:00.005-07:00

It is not my intention to publish these exclusively for the next 6 weeks. Hopefully I'll find something to write about during the week.

Judging from the date of this journal entry, it was right before I moved back home with about $400 to my name. The closing scene kills me because only in my subconscious would I behave that way. But the rest totally sounds like me.

Thursday, September 28, 2000

I was getting ready to go back to BYU. I had a full schedule and I had no idea what my classes were, but I was printing it out. School started the next day, but I had all these other things to take care of. Erin wanted me to come work at Food For Thought again so I thought I could help her out in the mornings and afternoons when I wasn't in class. But when she sent me my work schedule, she had me working 38-40 hours a week. So that stressed me out. Plus, it came with a note saying how glad she was to have me back and how much she needed me.

Also, for some reason I felt I needed to work part time at the bank. So I go to the bank (where I used to work apparently) and the women there (who was my old YW President) had told the boss not to hire me again because she didn't get along with me (which is strange because she always loved me). Anyway, so that made me way mad. I remember someone I was with holding me back because I was yelling at her.

Somehow I was supposed to do all this and drive down to Provo with my mom's car. Who knew how she'd get around.

Dream Sequence Sunday

2011-01-16T10:45:00.000-07:00

I've been sifting through my old journals lately. For about 5 years I wrote almost every day. A couple things stood out to me as I skimmed through my entries. First: I've been on a LOT of blind dates. Second: I recorded most of my dreams. I should do that again. So for the next little while, I'll be posting a dream once a week. Straight from my journal. Not all of them of course. After all, blogs are for things you're only slightly ashamed of.

Thursday, March 15, 2001

For some reason, 'NSYNC was recording an album at my house. My whole family was there and we all thought it was pretty cool. Lance was talking to me during their breaks. Somehow, word got out that they were at our house so when we found out that reporters from all over were coming, we decided to escape to the cabin. So we took about 5 cars up there. I went separately in my car. I got delayed on some detour so I lost track of everybody.

When I got there (by the way, it did NOT look like our cabin) there were weird people there with stone-cold faces. Some girl let me in like she was expecting me. I felt like Dorothy when she first enters Oz. About 3 girls were watching TV on the couch. The phone rang and when I answered it a voice said, "Is Angie there? This is Leah." So out loud I say, "Angie?" Just then one of the girls on the couch turns around and says, "I'm Angie." Only it was my friend Marni. I looked at her like, "What are you doing?" and she looked at me like, "Laura, play along. You make one false move and we die." And then I looked at the other people, the whole time thinking "What have you done with 'NSYNC?"

That's all I remember.

On Quitting...and self importance

2011-01-10T15:59:00.013-07:00

A few years ago my mom took me to lunch at Biaggi’s. She told me she was quitting her job with the virtuoso series at the University because she didn't care about it that much anymore and she wanted to focus on being a grandma. I wondered how she could do that because she had started that series – she’d put her heart and soul into it. At first I saw it as a baby she birthed and now she was just abandoning it. But she seemed totally cool with it. And so I thought, “Good for you.”

A colleague called me today to tell me she was proud of me. Why is she proud of me? Because as of January 1, I resigned as Program Director and left her alone to deal with the Gallery Stroll. Well, that’s my perspective. I was dreading the "I quit" meeting. Fortunately this person really cares about me so the conversation was virtually painless. She said she’s proud of me for following my heart rather than enduring something that was weighing me down. I know I torture myself to some degree by enduring undesirable situations (because I'm strong, I can handle it), but this past year I think I really did a number on myself. She told me I had been sighing a lot lately and taking breaks before answering questions she asked me. I had NO idea I did that.

I kind of feel bad for anyone who’s had to deal with me since September – maybe even July. I feel like I’ve been scattered, distracted and selfish. I don’t think I let it seep into my behavior too much (I just spelled behavior with a “u” until spell check got me) but come late September I think my brain had just about had it and told my body “you take it from here.” Instead of shutting down and going into a deep hibernation my body opted for “fight or flight” (probably because my brain gave up its voting rights) and I’ve been awake for about 3 months now. OK, not really. But for a couple weeks I thought not sleeping was killing me. Unfortunately I had no one to fight and nowhere to flee. I remember lying on the floor one Sunday morning, resentfully awake but equally disengaged in anything going on around me. I was aware enough to acknowledge an infomercial about stress and simplifying your life that was on TV before the Sunday morning session of General Conference. After several minutes of passive listening I looked up to my roommate Annie and said, “I think I’m going to quit the Gallery Stroll.” I don’t remember what she said because I was completely self absorbed at the time, but what was going through my mind was “How can I simplify my life and focus on the things that really matter to me right now?”

I thought back to my lunch with Mom as I contemplated quitting something I had nurtured back to health, something I developed and grew for the past eight years. I wasn’t so much worried about what would happen to the organization if I left, it would be fine without me, but it has become a large part of who I am and a lot of the people I know identify me with that organization. I guess one of my fears was that's why people liked me.

For the past three years (wow, that long) I’ve been part of a discussion group. We talk about important things as well as inane ideas – whatever the group fancies and plans for.

One of our discussions was about the Great Depression. The Depression was difficult for those who lost their jobs not only financially, but because back then, your occupation was your identity. When your life’s work is what supports your family and determines how people view you and how you view yourself, and then you lose that, I can see how it devastated many individuals. Today things are a little different. Many people have 3 or 4 jobs, or they change jobs every 5-10 years.

Before our group opens a discussion we go around the room and introduce ourselves (we get newbies all the time). The month following the Depression topic I paid close attention to how people introduced themselves. They always said their name and what they did for a living. The next month I suggested we not mention our occupation, but share what’s currently on our mind or what we’re passionate about. Instead of polite follow up questions and nods of approval the room came to life with genuine excitement as people shared their current interests, obsessions and passions. It’s amazing how you get to know a person more intimately when you ask them what they truly care about rather than how they make their money. I may not remember what everyone does for a living, but I know Mark was having nightmares about zombies, Brian was obsessed with raw milk, and Spence was in love with the clouds. Last month, I couldn't stop thinking about everything I wanted to mix into fudge.

A lot of these people I sit and talk with once a month have prestigious degrees. They have a lot of influence and high impact projects they do for work. I used to be intimidated by them. But now that I see more about who they truly are, I know they’re not necessarily what they seem. Their accomplishments don’t make them who they are – it’s their loves and passions, their insecurities and nightmares. And that’s why I love them.

So I’m excited about quitting the Gallery Stroll. It has delighted me long enough (that’s for you, Mom). Hopefully I’ll be sighing less and smiling more. I’m on a bit of a spree as I quit one of my church callings last week and I still have to quit one other side job.

Sigh. I feel better already.

Cousins

2011-01-02T20:06:00.009-07:00

I just counted all the days in December I was with my family and I got 12. Those are official, countable events, not just drop bys. That's a lot by the way. That's at least 3 days a week. Fortunately, my family not only loves each other, we genuinely like each other. Even the in-laws. We got lucky there. Speaking of in-laws, only one of the girls in the picture above isn't a cousin, and that's because she married my brother. If you don't know my family, there's no way you can pick her out. She blends right in with the Christensen cousins.

Most of my cousins live in the Salt Lake Valley so I get to see them year round, but others either returned after living far away or visited for the holidays.

I was lucky enough to have cousins my age that I grew up with. We were not only cousins, we were friends. We took ballet classes together, we went to each others birthday parties and we played at each others houses (see here and here).

I didn't really have any good friends until college. The friends I had in high school were just people to hang out with. I didn't feel like they really knew me or understood me or had much in common with me. So cousins were good for me. I always had friends around.

It's fun getting older and getting to know some of my younger cousins on the same level that I knew my "peer" cousins growing up. Just yesterday I got together with my cousins Liz and Sam for breakfast. Sam is several years younger than I am but now that she's an adult it's fun to see her get married, how much she's accomplished with work and just her character. I'm proud of her and I'm glad she and her husband still live close.

Last Monday we had a Durham Christmas Party at my Aunt Linda's house. I actually considered not going because I felt like I'd had a lot of family togetherness. But mostly because I'd had a pretty bad day and thought I didn't want to see anybody. But I went and was immediately greeted by one of my cousins and I immediately thought, "Oh yeah, I really love these guys." I was put into a better mood instantaneously. And then we sat down and had a casual dinner. I sat by my cousin Monica (see below).

Monica is one of my oldest cousins on my dad's side. We're about 8 or 9 years apart so I didn't really know her growing up, but now that we're both grown up, it's been fun to talk to her. This picture is of us on a bus in London. We were both tagalongs with the Utah Chamber Artists Tour (I came with my mom, she came with her sister) so we got to spend a lot of time together while the choir rehearsed. The trip wouldn't have been the same without her there.

We had such a great time at that party just talking to each other. I'm so blessed to have wonderful, talented, intelligent, and fun people as relatives. We talked about having a cousin getaway. I hope we do that.

Remember when sitcoms would get lazy and instead of writing a new episode they'd throw together a retrospective? They'd pick a theme and then find all the clips that fit that theme. That's kind of what I did for the first hour I sat at my computer. You probably wouldn't have noticed, but in the right column, I revised my personal picks and added a few other categories because when I don't feel like writing on my blog, I visit memory lane and read old posts. I wasn't going to post anything new but I forced myself because one of my 2011 goals is to blog more and facebook less. I need to get back into writing, I'm out of practice. If my posts are boring for awhile, it's because I'm making myself do this.

*I will say one good thing about Facebook: It's helped me get to know some of my older cousins (and their spouses) that I didn't really get to know when I was little. Now we have more specific questions to ask each other when we do get together.

Things That Make Me Smile

2010-12-22T11:59:00.007-07:00

A photographer currently showing at my gallery sent me this photograph that he took, simply because he thought I'd like it. I love that, and I love this.

Besides the fact that it's a great photograph (color, composition, etc), I like the context. The construction downtown is a constant complaint of city dwellers and those who visit downtown. Besides the few detours and the limited parking, it hasn't really bothered me, I'm excited for the end result.

What I love about this photo is the way the city is attempting to make downtown a pleasurable experience for the pedestrian in the meantime. I know there's usually money motivating the city and the Downtown Alliance to "dress up downtown" (I should know, I go to the meetings every month), but it still makes me smile.

Here are some other things I've seen recently that make me smile:

People humming along to choirs singing Christmas carols
A guy running up to a door so he can open it for the lady a few yards ahead of them
People smiling as they read a text message
Little kids holding hands as they cross the street
When a guy moves to the street facing side of the sidewalk as he’s walking with a girl – to protect her from traffic
People shoveling off the snow covering the car next to theirs while they’re at it
Thank you cards in the mail
People with a full grocery cart allowing the person behind them to cut ahead and purchase their one item.

Yes, LAURA, there is a Parking Santa Claus

2010-12-07T10:41:00.005-07:00

From: Laura Durham
Sent: Monday, December 06, 2010 2:36 PM
To: UCS Appeals
Subject: Dear Parking Santa:

I wish to appeal my parking ticket.

You should understand my only grounds for appeal is the fact that I didn't pay attention and I put my 2 quarters in the meter NEXT to my car. The meter that already had 20 minutes on it for the white SUV. I don't know what I was thinking, except the fact that I needed to run into Gardner Hall as fast as I could and deliver something for a concert tonight. You see, I'm a volunteer, and I took an hour off from work to make this delivery.

When I jumped out of my car with my 2 quarters I brought for this exact parking occasion, I felt very prepared and at perfect ease for having enough time to make my delivery. So when I climbed back into my car I was shocked to see the ticket on my windshield -- until I realized what happened.

I'm not expecting much, but I thought I would try. It would make my holiday season to not have to pay for being a volunteer. But if you can't do anything for me, I'll consider this $15 a Christmas present to the owner of the car next to me who might have gotten my ticket had I not fed its meter.

Merry Christmas,

Laura

>>> UCS Appeals 12/07/10 8:03 AM >>>

Good Morning Laura,

Would you send me your ticket information and license plate number so I can check into this further?

Thanks,

Suzy//Appeals

From: Laura Durham [ldurham@utah.gov]
Sent: Tuesday, December 07, 2010 8:21 AM
To: UCS Appeals
Subject: RE: Dear Parking Santa:

Sure Suzy,

My ticket number is 1310003472.

Kind Officer #32
Lot L35 Row 1 Presidents Circle (I got an excellent spot)

Time Issued 13:38
Meter #79

My license number is xxx xxx

APPEALS RESPONSE

University of Utah
Commuter Services

APPROVED No further action is required on your behalf.

Your appeal to waive the meter violation is granted. Because this is your first citation I have changed it to a warning.

Have a great day,

Suzy//Appeals

I WILL have a great day :)

Wow, I never even thought of trying to appeal a parking ticket before. Looks like it pays to be on the "nice" list. Who says meter maids are the worst of all, having hearts that are two sizes too small? That was me. I take it back. My heart grew three sizes today. I have the positivity of *ten* Lauras, plus two!

Cioccolato

2010-11-15T21:19:00.012-07:00

I love dessert. I love eating dessert. I love making dessert. I love ordering dessert.

And 9 times out of 10, when I eat/make/order dessert, it's chocolate. For the longest time, dessert wasn't dessert unless it was chocolate. For awhile I've been trying to branch out and try new things, but my heart is still drawn to chocolate.

I've been living in downtown Salt Lake City for the past 6 years and I've eaten at a lot of restaurants and bakeries. I recently went to My Dough Girl (I had a free cookie card) and I got my favorite cookie -- the Margo. The Margo was the first cookie I bought there, but since then I decided to give the other cookies a try. But after my second Margo I decided I have a favorite and I should be loyal to it.

Here is a list of my favorite (chocolate) things you can find in Salt Lake City:

The Margo -- My Dough Girl

Is that cookie sitting next to lettuce? Is that supposed to be a garnish? Oh, wait...it's probably mint. Yeah, that's what it is. Whew. So I was sold on the Margo because it combines chocolate with two of my favorite chocolate side-kicks: cinnamon and mint. You might have heard me say everything is better with cinnamon. I love it. I put it on my yogurt, I put it in my hot chocolate, oatmeal, applesauce, mmm...cinnamon. I also love chocolate and mint. Chocolate mint brownies are easily the first thing I grab for if I'm presented with an array of pastries at a party or reception. But if a plate of Margos were sitting there as well, I'd take a Margo for sure.

Bittersweet Chocolate Pudding -- Cafe Trio

My sister recommended this dessert to me. By the way, none of the pictures beginning with this one belong specifically to the restaurant I attribute them to. I just got them on Google. Anyway, the bittersweet chocolate pudding was the most delicious pudding I've ever had. And I don't really like pudding. But it was blissfully rich, creamy and decadent. And it came with biscotti.

Raspberry Chocolate Gelato -- Dolcetti's

I have actually never been to Dolcetti's, and I've never paid for their gelato, but the owner is an artist friend of mine. I've had samples of his gelato on several occasions. He comes to my discussion group. Our November discussion was at his home and he provided gelato for everyone. I wasn't feeling well and didn't really feel like eating ice cream, but I decided to have a taste of the raspberry chocolate. It was glorious, and I will happily pay for an actual serving the next chance I get.

Molten Chocolate Lava Cake -- Faustina

On Saturday night, several of us girls went with Annie to a carefree dinner at Faustina -- a final dinner of sorts before she gets married this weekend. I not only had a delicious meal (gorgonzola stuffed beef tenderloin) but I splurged again on dessert. I loved every super rich bite of it before I could eat no more. This is in my top three desserts. I decided that after my best meal ever at the Chart House in Virginia.

So I covered cakes, cookies, ice cream and pudding. There's a gaping hole here for hot chocolate. I may fill that hole after the annual "Daddy Lights Tour" where my dad leads a family caravan around the city to see the best Christmas lights before we retire at the surprise location where the "best" hot chocolate is. Past hot chocolate spots have included The Garden Restaurant, Starbucks, The Cocoa Cafe (closed down), The Nordstrom Cafe, and Aunt Suzi and Jill's house. Both of my aunts merely provided a location for my dad to make Laura Bush's hot chocolate recipe (funny, I know). It's actually really tasty. I attribute it to the orange zest and of course, the cinnamon. Oh, and salt! You have to have salt. It can't be too sweet or you're missing out on chocolate in it's purest sense. There's something about salted chocolate that is irresistible.

"Flats are for quitters"

2010-11-11T11:39:00.007-07:00

I remember working at the LRC at BYU. I typically wore shoes with a bit of a heel. One day I came in tennis shoes and everyone was shocked at how short I was. I felt like I had been living a lie. I usually wear heels to church, but a few weeks ago I wore some black flats and when I got up to teach Sunday School, I found myself standing on my tippy toes to look over the podium. I felt like a little girl.

I love wearing heels, I like feeling taller and they’re good for my posture (and make walking uphill and stairs easier) but something has happened. I don’t know whether it’s current fashion trends or ten hour work days that make flats more appealing.

I do know that once I started working ten hour days I was in denial about putting shoes on that early in the morning. It would be snowing outside, I would be wearing nice slacks and I would be walking around in flip flops as I ate my breakfast at 6:30 AM. I ended up just wearing them to work sometimes (don't worry, I kept some nicer shoes at my desk).

Earlier this spring I bought those yellow Steve Madden flats you see pictured above. I had no idea I'd end up wearing them as much as I did -- at least two days a week -- even if they didn’t really match my outfit. I didn’t care. They were as easy as flip flops making them a good alternative. So I decided to buy them in red to give the yellow pair a break. And now you’ll usually see me wearing red or yellow flats. They’re just so dang comfy.

You may remember my purple wedges from before. They’re not EXACTLY flats, but they’re flattish. My sister recently told me all my shoes are the same. They’re not. I just wear my flats lately. According to 30 Rock’s Avery Jessup, that makes me a quitter.

And then this past Monday came and I found myself walking around in my yellow flats in cold, wet slushy snow and I realized the weather is dictating a turn in what I should be wearing on my feet -- something that maybe raises them above the wet ground a little more. I’m going to have to pick up my feet and give other shoes a try.

Anyone have boot recommendations?

This is Halloween

2010-10-22T15:51:00.014-06:00

If you have not been to my house or talked to me in the past month, you probably haven't heard about my Halloween tree. I love my Halloween tree. It all started back in September when I was walking home from church and saw a dead branch that had fallen from a tree along the street. I literally stood there for 2 or 3 minutes and stared at it thinking, "I want this branch." I seriously thought if I didn't take it home with me right then and there someone else would come along and take it because it was the coolest dead branch I had ever seen. It would be perfect to hang little ghosts and bats on for Halloween and put outside my door. I don't have a picture of it, so you'll have to come to my house and see it.

Anyway. I had so much fun making the bats that I decided to take the craft on the road and make them with my friend's first grade class. I try to visit Miss Sorens on's Class once a year -- usually in the fall. I love her class because the kids tell me I'm pretty and give me hugs just because I'm there. Plus, every time I go we sing (Kristi's lucky enough to have a piano in her classroom and she teaches them all sorts of songs).

So this morning we made bats -- and ghosts for those who wanted to be different.

First you trace the bat:

Then you cut it out:

Then you glue a clothespin:

And put another bat cutout on top and, TA DA! You can clip that bat wherever you want.

Kristi has her class all decorated for Halloween and almost didn't let them take their bats home because they'd look so cute in the classroom, but in the end, they were allowed to put them in their cubbies.

This is Kristi getting the class ready to watch Rigoletto before singing time. Maybe it puts them in the singing mood.

One of my favorite parts is the question and answer period where today I got questions such as:

Why is your hair different colors?
(I got it highlighted a couple weeks ago)

Do you like science?

Do you do science?
(I asked them if they thought I was a scientist because I was wearing glasses to which they all replied "yes" and nodded).

Where do you work? and my favorite...

Why do you work?

Most of these kids are minorities and English is their second language. Some of the kids asked Kristi if I was her sister because they thought we looked alike. Kristi said they think we look alike because we're both white.

Check out Miss Sorenson's blog.

Trick or Treat

2010-10-11T17:43:00.004-06:00

A FB friend posted this today and I couldn't resist. I'm going to have to buy a Clark Bar and a Twix so they can have it out...

I'm just as surprised as you are that Boston Baked Beans made it that far. Necco wafers didn't stand a chance though.

And honestly, I have no idea what an Abba-Zabba or a Zero Bar is. But I hate Good & Plentys so I figured a Zero Bar had to be better than candy coated black licorice.

If you want to do your own: http://www.azcentral.com/ic/pdf/candy-bracket.pdf

Grandma's House

2010-09-23T17:22:00.014-06:00

I got a call at 7:37 this morning. Unfortunately, with my work schedule that’s not a bad time to reach me.

“Laura?"
“Hi Grandma.”
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m just on my way out.”
“You know that furry scarf I gave you?”
“Yes."
“I shouldn’t have given that to you.”
“OK.”
“I can give you another scarf for it.”
“Grandma you don’t have to buy it from me, you can just have it back.”
“No, no, I want you to have something else.”

Grandma actually gave me several things last night. She called me last week to ask if I wanted a chair. I told her I would come check it out.

In a couple weeks my 90 year-old grandmother is moving out of her house and into an assisted living facility. It’s a little sad because she’s lived in that house my entire life. It’s “Grandma’s House”. When I walked in last night it smelled like her house and I immediately started to miss that smell.

Unfortunately the chair she was talking about is way too big for my house. She tried to give me a couple other chairs but they’re too big too. I asked if I could have the smaller rocking chair but she said someone else already asked if they could have it. I guess I arrived kind of late in the game. Most things already had beneficiaries. Grandma made it very clear that my father gets the Doug Snow painting and Carter gets the piano. In fact, she makes that clear every time I talk to her. I don't really like claiming things of hers right now anyway. She's still here. When I was little and my great grandma Eddith was alive, she would have us put our names on things in her house all the time. It felt funny. And after she died it was all arbitrary. I don't think I saw anything I put my name on anyway.

Grandma Durham continued to walk me around her house telling me who gets what. I admired a small table over by her sliding glass doors.

"This is nice" I said,
"Oh, I think that's from that one place. You know the funny store where you put things in boxes."

Somehow I knew exactly what she meant. "IKEA?"

"Yes! IJEA," she said.

We went into her kitchen where she gave me some food because I came straight from work. I had some nuts, yogurt and cheese. I meant to write that in order to express the random food she feeds me, but as I finished typing that I realized it isn't much different than what I would feed myself at home if I didn't feel like making an actual meal. I told her I was tired and couldn't stay very long. And then she began to tell me a story.

It was a story about a man who takes her on walks. And how he told her that his mother died. Apparently he was Catholic -- an irrelevant detail, but most of them are. She asked how he was doing and he said he would be fine. She was concerned at his lack of emotion over the whole thing. I think my mind started to wander, but when I came back she said something about a woman who never laughed and never cried.

"And do you know where she ended up?" Grandma asked,
"A mental facility?" I ventured.
"A mental facility. Now you can go."

Is Grandma trying to send me a message? Does she think I never cry? I immediately stopped asking myself questions and before I could go I found myself looking at scarves.

She tried to give me several but I turned them down. I did choose one that I might wear. Grandma called it "quiet but elegant." I also got a scarf with race cars on it. Why? I don't know. At this point I had abandoned the thought of "usefulness" and began to consider the fact that it's nice to have something of Grandma's and it's nice to have costume accessories.

"Do you like nightgowns?" she asked.
"No, not really."
"That's too bad because I have a lot of really nice nightgowns. But girls your age just wear tee shirts to bed don't they."
"Yeah..."

I began looking through her nightgowns because she was so proud of them.

"Oh, that one is a Christian Dior. I bought that when I thought I was going to marry Phil Richards. Remember Phil Richards?"

As we walked out into the hallway I noticed what looked like an old photograph on the wall by her bedroom.

"Who are they?" I asked
"That is my mother and her niece when they were little girls. Do you like that?"
"Yes, I do."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know, I guess I like old photographs."
"Take it."
"OK."
"Do you think it will be worth something some day or something?"
"It's worth something to me right now."
"Aren't you cute."

Yes, yes I am. I have no idea where I'm going to put it. Not in a public space in my house -- that has been established. Because of the Victorian nature of the photograph what with the white dresses, blank, emotionless expressions, it is a little eerie if looked at in the wrong light. One of my roommates expressed if she sees it at night she'll think they're ghosts that used to live in this house. Somehow I understand. So Hettie Pearl Turnbow Divers and her niece will have to stay in my room where I know they're not ghosts.

Grandma asked if I collected Lladros, which I don't. But I do collect angels.

Grandma told me I could have her angel Lladro. And then she told me the story that comes with it. So here's the story, almost verbatim:

"There once was a man who lived close by. When he was very ill I would go over there and say to his wife 'Get out of here!' and then she would leave and I would read to him. I read St. Petersburg to him. And do you know what he told his wife? He told his wife, 'When I die, I want Betty to have this angel, because she's my angel."

I told Grandma I would happily take the angel. And I would call her Betty (after her). And that just tickled her to no end. I knew it would.

Bad Scores

2010-09-15T22:20:00.018-06:00

I love film music. I own many, many soundtracks, some of which are to movies I've never seen and have no intention of seeing, but I own them because I'm familiar with the composer and can bet that it's going to be good music.

Some of my favorite film composers:

Elmer Bernstein (To Kill a Mockingbird, The Age of Innocence)

Alexandre Desplat (The Painted Veil, The Ghost Writer, The Queen)

Patrick Doyle (Sense and Sensibility, Much Ado About Nothing, Gosford Park)

James Newton Howard (All of M. Night Shyamalan's movies, King Kong, The Dark Knight)

In fact, if you ever want to do something nice for me, buy me a good soundtrack for my collection :)

It's amazing what a good score can do for a movie. And what makes a score "good" (for me) is music that was clearly recorded with a live orchestra (that's the only way James Newton Howard does it) and it tells a story along with the writing. It doesn't intrude on or distract from the scene, but it enhances it. If the score is good, it's something you'll want to listen to over and over again, independent of the movie it was written for.

You know how some movies are re-released with additional scenes or they're digitally remastered or a studio recolored an old black and white film? People pay money to go back to the theatre and see these movies again with their "upgrades." What I'm wondering is if people would go back and see a movie if it was re-scored. Because I'm telling you, there are some good movies out there that did not budget for an original score -- at least a good one.

Let me give you some examples of a couple movies I love that deserve better music:

1) The Princess Bride (by Mark Knopfler)

Some if it's OK and suited to the Fairy Tale aspect of the story, but the synthesizer drives me nuts, especially toward the end of the movie.

2) A Few Good Men (by Mark Shaiman)

First of all, I looked it up and the CD only has 10 tracks, so Shaiman didn't write a whole lot for this movie. And the music seems really dated. I don't know if it's the composer's fault or 1992's fault. There's this one scene in particular where the music makes me roll my eyes. It's where Tom Cruise goes after Demi Moore who stormed out and started walking in the rain. He tries to convince her to get in the car and then this stupid music comes out of nowhere. It's forced and it's ridiculous.

I'm not sure how expensive it would be, or if it would be worth it to re-release movies with better music, but I would buy a ticket.

Here are some examples of some of my favorite film scores:

(FYI, my favorite track from The Village is this one)

I love that Patrick Doyle wrote a piano piece for this movie. And he uses it as an actual piano piece but it also adds to the mood and the story.

Last but not least, the music that accompanies the opening credits to my favorite movie. Not only is the music beautiful, everything about this movie is beautiful. I wish I could find the actual opening credits, but I can't.

Anyone else have favorite film scores you'd recommend (I have about 25)? Or movies with terrible ones that you'd like to see re-scored?

Oh, and if you want a CD of selections from all my favorite movie soundtracks, I have a playlist I can burn for you.

A Lesson on Efficiency (Distraction)

2010-08-21T18:51:00.007-06:00

Things I’ve completed in the last 2.5 hours since I sat down at my computer with the intention to work on my Sunday School lesson (in sequential order):

1. Straightened my hair
2. Watched an episode of Veronica Mars
3. Thumbed through a Real Simple magazine
4. Looked at pictures of the wedding dress Annie picked out
5. Downloaded the soundtrack to “Unbreakable”
6. Contacted a friend I haven’t seen for 4 years
7. Put a topcoat on my toenails that I painted yesterday morning
8. Realized I’ve only eaten one real meal a day all weekend
9. Ate a pickle and a wheel of cheese
10. Posted on my blog

Needy

2010-08-10T17:38:00.009-06:00

Coming back to work after being away for awhile is hard. Especially in the summer when I can wake up and say, "I really don't NEED to be at work today." You see, things tend to slow down in the summer, and I work much better when I'm busy. Yet I have to be here ten freakin hours a day.

Lately I've had little vacations that exposed me to a workless life which made coming back to the office even harder. I've spoiled myself the past little while with mini vacations. Driving back from California on Sunday I would look out the window and say, "Let's stay in Vegas" and then, "Why don't we just spend the night in St. George" or, "Anyone want to check into a hotel in Cedar City and see a play?"

I even planned ahead for my unwillingness to return to work and scheduled an ALL DAY Adobe Illustrator class for myself on my first day back (yesterday) so I wouldn't have to go to the office right after my vacation. But putting off the inevitable only lasts so long, so this morning I had no choice but to pull into the back of my building and prepare for another day at work.

A couple weeks ago my bishop pulled me into his office to talk about my calling (I'm a Gospel Doctrine instructor). He made a random comment that I haven't really thought about until today. He told me God has a way of providing you with what you need.

Because of the following, what I was expecting to be a hum drum day, wishing I wasn't here, was actually not so bad after all:

1. Lila reminded me that we had an appointment in the morning to tour the Jim Jones exhibit at O.C. Tanner. Even if there wasn't beautiful artwork to look at, I just loved walking around in that old building which is now O.C. Tanner's flagship store. If I couldn't have the building for myself, I'm glad someone with money got it so they could honor it's history and renovate it right.

2. We're in between exhibits right now and while I was gone yesterday Fletcher had been taking down the Design show in the gallery. One of my favorite things about my job is the people I get to see every day. Whether he's bringing me chocolate leftover from his committee meetings or pointing out that the only letters he left on the title wall were the ones that spell my name, Fletcher can always make me smile.

3. When you work with a lot of annoying artists with entitlement issues, you tend to stereotype them a bit. When you complain about how they never pick up their artwork you grow impatient. But today, a lady whose painting I've been holding onto for over a month came in with some cards she made as an apology for not picking up her work sooner. That was sweet.

4. Last but not least: I got a large envelope in my box today and inside was a certificate telling me I got an award for outstanding public service! A little ironic since I don't feel like my work has been outstanding lately (truthfully it's probably my attitude that hasn't been outstanding), but someone had to nominate me for this award. So the fact that someone in this state of Utah thinks I'm outstanding makes me feel good. AND I got two free tickets to my choice of production at Hale Center Theatre. I refuse to purchase tickets to Hale for reasons I'll explain if you want to ask me about it, but they do a good job so I'll take a free ticket. I think I want to see the Drowsy Chaperone...and I will be taking bribes for the other ticket.

I guess what I'm trying to say is on a day when I came in planning my escape, I got what I needed to make it through to 6 PM. Tomorrow should be OK too. I hate to wish the summer away, but I'm really looking forward to September when things pick up again.

That stupid apricot cost me $6

2010-08-09T11:59:00.006-06:00

Living in the “Marmalade District” on Apricot Avenue sounds all quaint and romantic until the apricots from the neighbor’s tree fall all over your driveway leaving a mushy mess. I came back from a 3 day vacation to find that my car has served as a shield for the driveway. I was able to remove most of them, but there were streaks of apricot on all my windows – not to mention one half baked apricot on the hood of my car that wouldn’t come off without me sacrificing the general cleanliness of my hands -- and I wasn’t willing to go back inside and get the proper supplies to remove it. I stood and thought that maybe it would come off in the wind, but then I looked at my watch and decided I had time to go through a car wash. I needed gas anyway.

I am generally opposed to drive-thru car washes for some reason I can’t explain. I prefer to do it myself with the hose and a bucket of sudsy water. The gas pump asked me what kind of car wash I wanted – only it didn’t tell me the difference in price and I had a hard time distinguishing which was more expensive “Super”, “Supreme” or “Premium”. I went with super; ironically, it sounded the least “super” out of all of them. I just wanted that stupid apricot off my hood.

I got my receipt and saw that my choice of car wash was $6. Is that expensive? I don’t know. Like I said, I usually wash mine myself (and don’t get me started on the “pre wash” buckets they have outside the automatic car washes. If you want me to pay you to wash my car, why are you asking me to do it myself before I go in? Geez).

I sat with anticipation inside the carwash, eyeing that apricot and waiting for the high pressure hoses to blow that sucker off my hood. Nope, it was holding strong. Dangit. “Maybe when I go through the dryer at the end it will shove that apricot off” I thought. Well, it kind of did. It got the majority of the fruit off, but now I have a streak of apricot flesh in it’s place. If I had time to take it off I would have, but I had to get to a class. And now, I am picturing the sun dehydrating that apricot into a nice strip of fruit leather on my car out in the unsheltered parking lot.

Looks like it’s going to be a battle to see who gets the unfortunate spot on the driveway for awhile.

(note: that picture above is not from my house. It's from Google)

Before I send them to the virtual landfill...

2010-07-12T09:39:00.012-06:00

I just got a notice that my mailbox is 91% full and I need to clean it out. I went to my "sent mail" folder which I often neglect when it comes to deleting emails and I have stuff from 2005. Wow. That was before I had a blog! And before I had a blog, all my good stories were told to my friend Ilene via email. I've saved these over the years because there's good material in here. Here are a couple stories I shared with Ilene that I think are worth retelling. Or at least remembering.

6/1/2005

St. George

Maria and I went to St. George this past weekend. Mic (EQP) invited a bunch of people down to his condo. While we were there we visited a friend from our ward and his development. It's going to be a golf course and it will have 3500 houses as well. It's going to be called "Ledges". Sounds a little suicidal to me. The name, not the development, I'm sure he'll be very successful. He's a retired lawyer. He's thirty three and he's retired. And so he made all these good investments and now he's super rich.

So we go down to Mic's condo and there are about 17 people staying at this place. There are three bedrooms and two bathrooms. It was crazy. But it was fun. When we first got there everyone was just kind of crammed in the living room watching the huge plasma screen. Mic was flipping through the channels when he finally landed on the end of Predator. I've never seen Predator, but it was all pretty predictable to me. Maria and I were kind of playing the hecklers along with some other girls. Mic was like, "Don't give it away!" and we're all, "Um, we've never seen this before it's just predictable." I said something like, "I would love to see the script for this movie; it probably consists of twelve lines." Finally Mic says, "Man, you can't watch movies like Predator with girls."

Silence for about 3 seconds...

Random girl: "I wonder what Predator's mother is like..."

Steve-O

Steve is the ward's executive secretary. He called me on Thursday wondering if he could drive down with me and Maria. I was like, "Sure" especially since he wanted to drive. Steve was hilarious. He didn't bring any CDs to listen to because he'd rather have conversations. So every now and then he'd give us a topic of discusison and we would discuss. We talked about nicknames and how he prefers that we just call him Steve. His mother calls him Steven so we shouldn't. His buddies call him Steve-O but we shouldn't because that will destroy any possibilty of a romantic relationship in the future. And then occasionally he would turn on the radio. We'd listen to music and then he'd turn the radio down and say, "OK, now it's time for some quiet and self-reflection...just enjoy the silence and think of new topics of discussion." And then periodically he would turn down the radio and say, "All right, I think it's time for another evaluation of the trip. How are we doing? Anyone hungry? Cold? Any complaints?" The best though was when an 80's ballad would come on the radio and he would snap his fingers out of rhythm.

Each time we hit Utah County on the way there and back, he would get all tense, impatient and testy. He hates Utah County and he says it stresses him out. Our favorite game was when we'd change to 100.3 FM to listen to "Delilah". This is the soft rock station and people call in with their sappy stories and problems and Delilah acts all understanding and plays their requests. We would tune in during a song and guess what story a caller told that prompted the request for that song. We decided to play this after listening to this lady tell a 8-10 minute story about something really lame and then she requested "In my Father's Eyes." We were all hypnotized by the lameness of the story, waiting to hear what lame song she wanted to request and after the song played for 5 seconds, Steve shut the radio off and said, "Well. We could have saved ourselves a bunch of time and just listened to that on my CD."

And then I laughed for a good five minutes.

I'll show you how my garden grows.

2010-07-05T13:41:00.021-06:00

I've had several friends / family ask how my garden is doing. Honestly, I'm worried about the brussel sprouts which seem to have been taken over by a disease or some sort of insect. I planted one plant inside my magic square and about 5 others outside the square, and the one inside the square is doing much better than the others. Way to go Mel's soil. I attribute it to you. So far I've harvested lettuce, spinach, cilantro, and broccoli. Oh, and LOTS of strawberries.

Below we have a little white blossom which I hope
will be a red bell pepper one day.

And here we have leeks that are growing
much more slowly than I expected.

My onions seem to be doing well. Sometimes I can't differentiate
between these and the leeks. Good thing I put a little sign.

I agree with what Ilene told me on the phone yesterday. Tomatoes are
the whole reason you plant a garden. Wait...Ilene I remember you being the roommate who didn't like tomatoes. Now I'm confused.

Red romaine. I love how I won't have to buy lettuce for the rest of
the season as long as I keep taking the outer leaves of my
romaine and it keeps growing up and up and up...

Mmm...strawberries. I have to admit, this strawberry patch
was in my plot before I got here.

Hey little buddy! You're the cutest bitty
corn cob I've ever seen.

This spinach. Man. I wish I could keep it around all season, but I think
it's season is coming to a close. I eat a lot of spinach -- okay,
I drink a lot of spinach. So this is one of the most
economical things I planted.

I don't know what I expected from my broccoli. I think I just expected more. I took one big bunch home before it started to flower and now whenever I'm at my garden I just pinch off these little shoots and I eat them while I'm there. Still good.

I planted this red leaf later in the season. I haven't really harvested any yet. I'll do that on Sunday when I feed guests who I promised a
"garden harvest meal." Mostly it will be a salad that I harvest.

The insects got some of my cabbage leaves, but I don't blame them.
They look delicious.

My parsley is finally catching on to the idea that
it's supposed to GROW.

ONE little lavender shoot. Maybe once I cut down the red romaine
it won't feel so dwarfed and it can work on it's confidence a little more.

Chloe, 7.5.5

2010-06-24T07:30:00.005-06:00

I can't believe Chloe is almost eight years old. Last month I noticed she's starting to look more and more like a kid -- more so than a "little kid". I guess she's getting taller and she's lost some of her baby fat.

Of all the girls, Chloe was the most conscious about getting her picture taken. She had specific places she wanted to be photographed and ideas about what she should do in the picture. She asked to see the photos on my camera's LCD as we went along. She told me she hates black and white because it makes her "look like the moon." For more Chloe-isms visit the left hand strip of her mom's blog.

Things I love about Chloe: she's creative, imaginative and sometimes she talks like a story book. Chloe likes crafts, outings, playing make-believe and baking. She likes the process of making food more than she likes to eat it though. I thought it would be fun to make some fresh lemonade. She was very excited to squeeze the lemons. I told her we were making strawberry lemonade and she told me she didn't like strawberries, but she had no objection to making strawberry lemonade. She just wouldn't drink any.

I was impressed with her ability to resolve what could have been the demise of the morning fashion show. Chloe, Piper and Sadie all had different ideas as to how it should be run, and they each ended up boycotting the whole idea, arms folded, lips pouted in their separate corners, until they could have it their way. I left them alone and Chloe came through with a compromise and the show went on.

Piper, 4.10.17

2010-06-23T07:30:00.003-06:00

I knew I wanted to get some good pictures of these girls, but I wasn't sure exactly how to do it. The idea I came up with was to have a fashion show. They got real excited about that -- especially Piper, who started planning her outfit when she was still in the bathtub. You can't tell from any of these pictures but she picked out a sporty black mini skirt with white stripes to go with her pink floral shirt. She also demanded accessories and a particular hair style. She knew exactly where she wanted that green ribbon, let me tell you.

Piper has the picture-taking "head tilt" down. She needed no direction. My favorite thing about Piper is how sweet she is. She told me she loved me about 6 times that day. I also love her curly hair, the things she says when she prays, and how willing she is to do what you ask -- even though she usually forgets about it the second she turns around.

Piper is a good big sister to Sadie and Tessa. She's also getting older and more hip to Chloe's big sister tactics. Chloe's reverse psychology has no effect on her these days and when Chloe stood up from our picnic blanket and tried to get Piper to come see something "really cool", Piper casually said, "You just want my good spot on the blanket."

I didn't even pick up on that one.

Sadie, 3.1.10

2010-06-22T07:55:00.003-06:00

I wanted to be consistent and make Sadie's portrait black and white like the other girls' but that strawberry blonde hair and those blue green eyes would not let me. They are irresistible.

Sadie did not like getting her picture taken. She kept asking me to stop, so I'm lucky I caught her by surprise otherwise she would make a sarcastic smile or whine and say, "Stop it Laura!" What I love most about Sadie is how excited she is to see me and how she runs up and gives me a big hug, looks at me, smiles, and then hugs me again and doesn't stop until I set her down.

She likes juice, Sun Chips, resting, and washing her own hair. Sadie and her older sister Piper aren't the same height, but they do share clothes. They also share a vocabulary as Sadie uses words Piper didn't when she was her age. I was particularly impressed with her correct use of the adverb "badly" when she was trying to emphasize how much she wanted some candy.

Sadie loves her big sisters and wants to do everything they do. She does not like walking though. We walked about three blocks to the park for a picnic the other day and after one block Sadie started to whine. She dropped her shoulders, hung her limbs as if they were dead, raised her pouty lips to the sky and exclaimed, "I'm tired! I don't want to walk anymore!" Next time I'll know to grab the double stroller.

Tessa, 1.1.5

2010-06-21T09:52:00.007-06:00

I spent almost 24 hours with my four nieces last Friday while their dad was at work and their mom was in Manhattan. I got some great pictures and I can't just do nothing with them, so I'm featuring all four of the "Belles" this week.

This is Tessa, she is the youngest. She LOVES getting her picture taken. She knew just what to do as soon as I pulled out my camera. She turned on and started smiling for me. She may have an acting/modeling career ahead of her. What I love most about Tessa is her little rosebud lips. They are so cute I can't even stand it. I was worried when I spent the night on Thursday that I would wake up to her crying and she would never stop because she is a total Mama's girl, but she was unbelievably well behaved. I picked her up and sat down with her at her mom's dressing table and let her look in the mirror while I brushed her hair and she was happy as a clam.

She loves being held, climbing on top of her sisters, dancing to whatever is playing on iTunes, and gnawing on apples. I handed her an apple at lunch just to see if she would hold it and she spent the next 30 minutes chewing on it. She would not let me pry that apple from her wicked superbaby grip.

While you were sleeping, I was walking. But I was also asleep.

2010-06-15T09:48:00.015-06:00

My newest Facebook friend is a girl who lived next door up until I was about 7 years old. She was kind of my first best friend and I played at her house a lot. My memories of her have mostly faded, but one remains very vividly, and that was the time I slept over at her house.

I don't remember how old I was, but I remember waking up in their bathroom in the middle of the night. I was in their upstairs bathroom which is odd, because we were sleeping downstairs, and the bathroom down there was much more accessible. When I woke up, I couldn't remember how I got there, which really frightened me. I stood up and went over to the door to find I had locked myself in. I began to cry and struggle with the doorknob, desperately trying to get out as if I was stranded somewhere and this door was the only way to return to civilization. It wasn't long before my friend's mom came to my rescue.

This sleep walking episode isn't an isolated one. Fortunately, sleepwalking is something that belongs only to my childhood. Of course, I don't remember any of this, and barely believe it. At least a few instances have been recounted to me by my brother, Carter. I asked him to retell the family fave:

"When I was 11 or 12 I would get left in charge of Laura and Lisa, who were 2 and 6 years younger than me, respectively. They were pretty good about going to bed at a decent hour and I would usually stay up until Mom and Dad got back.

One night the girls had gone to bed, and I was watching TV. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. This wasn't too unusual. Laura walked in. Okay. Fine. She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Something seemed to be a little "off" about all of this so my attention was on her and I forgot about whatever show I was watching. I observed her as she took a gallon of milk out of the fridge and set it on the counter. I had no idea where she was going with this. She then started unscrewing the lid off. The lid came off. The lid fell on the floor. Yet she kept unscrewing. And unscrewing. I wondered how long she could possibly stand there and mime unscrewing a milk cap. As my amusement turned to nervous disturbance, I asked her what she was doing, but I got no response. She just stared straight ahead with dead eyes and unscrewed the milk cap, which was long gone. So I jumped up and went over and took the milk from her and tried to break her trance. This seemed to do the trick, as she left the kitchen without saying a word.

I replaced the milk in the fridge and sat down. Then I heard the sound of running water in the bathroom. Nothing too weird there. But the water kept running. Minutes passed. So I ran over to find Laura in the bathroom, running water in the sink, and staring at it. Um. Okay. Realizing I was in the presence of psycho weirdness, I turned the water off and gently escorted her out of the bathroom. I watched her go back upstairs. There were no further incidents that night. But I mean, weird. Right?"

I don't know if Carter told me about this the next day or years later, but when he did he had me and Lisa rolling on the floor laughing. I guess it's true, I mean, you don't make this stuff up...do you? He actually omitted a detail -- which I appreciate, but I'm confident Lisa can fill you in on it if you want.

(image courtesy of Miriam Shenitzer)

Product Plugs 2010

2010-06-08T17:07:00.021-06:00

As I'm anxiously anticipating eating this for dinner tonight, I wanted to share one of my recent finds that I can't get enough of.

Buitoni All Natural Wild Mushroom Agnolotti. I'm not a big fan of packaged foods, but this ravioli is the BEST packaged pasta I've ever eaten and possibly better than any ravioli I've eaten at a restaurant EVER.

I'm not exaggerating. The first time I tried this I topped these sweet little squares of bliss with marinara. They were SO good, but I felt like the flavor of the marinara was intrusive on the divinity that was the crimini and portabello mushroom/cheese filling. So now I top them with a browned butter sage sauce that I make while they're boiling in the pot of water. Heaven is only $3.99 folks.

So this got me to thinking of all the other recent products I've been fortunate enough to add to my recommendation list. Here you go:

My coworker Lila introduced me to these. I bet she bought them at "The Store" because it's her favorite place to go and her favorite thing to talk about.

I don't eat a lot of crackers. But I do eat a lot of THESE crackers. I bought one of each expecting to like the Vermont white cheddar variety the best, but was surprised to favor the Wisconsin Colby. Go figure.

I don't have anything against milk, but I saw Almond Milk on sale at Sunflower Market one day and had to try it. I think I had to try it because I saw Dr. Oz talking about it on Oprah one day. I'm so impressionable.

Anyway, I really like it, and it has fewer calories than regular milk. I don't like it in my cereal however. I love it just plain, but it's perfect for my green smoothies. It doesn't separate like milk does. It's a dream. And now that I see they have chocolate almond milk from this picture, I'm going to have to track that down as well.

Those wheat thins have made an appearance in my cleverly cute and stylish lunchbox by Martha Stewart. It has three compartments and a little ice "shelf" to keep everything cold. Only one downside: no handle. That's ok though. I just throw it in my big bag on my way to work. This caters to my need for order and simple design. And cold food come lunchtime.

My dear friend Annie bought me this salad dressing emulsifier after she caught me eying it at Sur la Table one day (she's good). I was so excited. Not only does it perfectly blend salad dressings, it's like a toy so you just want to press down on that lever and spin the whatchamadinger inside all the time. I love it. You just pour the ingredients directly in the bottle and stick it in the fridge for when you want more later. This is perfect for me because I don't like most store bought dressings and they usually expire before I can eat it all anyway. Making your own salad dressing is cheaper and you can make as little or as much as you want.

Moving away from the food related products... I found a toner that I need to remember to stick to.

Target carries Boots brand stuff (a huge chain in England, at least). Target has gone all British with their Boots products and Liberty designed waste baskets and boxes. I love it. $7.99.

Whatever it is in this toner my skin is drinking up and loving. After I ran out of the first bottle I bought Neutrogena alcohol free toner for some reason. Probaly because I was at Smith's and it was cheap. My skin rebelled, but because I'm stupid and sometimes cheap, I had to wait until that was all gone before I bought new toner. I mean, it's toner. It's not like it's keeping me alive or anything. But it's keeping breakouts to a minimum and helping hydrate my pale, pale complexion.

Ready, Set, Hike!

2010-06-01T09:33:00.010-06:00

The name Laura essentially means “victory.” I double-checked that as I prepared to teach Gospel Doctrine on Sunday. We were discussing Naomi, Ruth and Hannah whose names bore great significance to their stories in the Old Testament.

I asked the class if anyone knew the meaning if their own name and if that knoweldge has affected their character or the way they live their lives. I was surprised when only two people knew what their name meant, and neither of them really cared. I guess I was expecting too much.

Laura comes from “Laurel” which means “crowned with laurels” which means “honored”, “victorious” or “leader of the group”. Honestly, knowing that hasn't really changed the way I live my life either.

Yesterday I was victorious but I was definitely not “leader of the group”.

My friend Mandi invited me to hike Grandeur Peak. It’s a four hour hike, and you summit the mountain. I like hiking, and I always feel good being outdoors, but I always hesitate to accept those invitations – especially from people who are clearly in better shape than I am. I don’t doubt that I can finish the hike – it’s just that it takes me longer to get there.

This is the same story with snowboarding, water-skiing, running…I usually only go with people if I feel safe and comfortable with them and trust they will be patient with me and not resent me for lagging behind or slowing them down (this is a Capricorn characteristic by the way).

I have some really good friends that I feel safe doing these things with, but I’m afraid I let this hold me back sometimes and I end up missing out on a lot of fun things because I don’t want to be the girl everyone has to wait for. Mandi was an awesome hiking companion. She waited for me when I needed to stop and catch my breath and she didn’t make me feel like I was holding her back (even though the last time she hiked this mountain she only had to stop twice).

Mandi told me the first time she hiked Granduer Peak she cried because she didn’t know what she was getting into. She wasn’t used to the elevation, she wasn’t used to the continual steep incline and she was with people who kept going and going and didn’t let her stop and hang back until she was ready.

There’s something to be said about pushing yourself even when you feel like your body can’t take it anymore. And I actually did pretty well -- much better than I feared. But I think there’s something equal to be said about being ready for something – ready to continue on (contemplate LOST finale here). And sometimes that can make all the difference.

With that said, here is a sample of what was running through my head during the hike:

Oh my gosh, we’re not even to the trail head and my legs are tired.

I was in better shape when I walked to work every day. Stupid government. Making me work at 7 – 6 so I don’t have time to walk anymore.

Was it easier to do this kind of thing ten years ago? Am I just feeling my age? (Down comes a wrinkly old Grandpa with a walking stick). Nope. That can’t be it.

Does everyone have a dog? Aren’t the doggies going to get tired?

I wonder if Mandi would hate me if I told her to just go ahead and I’ll see her up there.

That guy is carrying a 4 year old on his back? Oh man.

It’s a good thing it’s not blazing hot. I don’t think I would make it.

Why are my legs tired? I wonder if I could take tomorrow morning off. Yeah, I think I'll do that.

That guy is RUNNING. He’s running uphill.

The view at the top was gorgeous. And it felt really good. And I came to work on time this morning and I don't even feel that sore. I need to do this more often, and I'll get better. I need more people like Mandi, or maybe I just need to trust that more people are like Mandi.

Snowball fight. The snow felt really good.

Me pointing out nothing in particular because we were just posing.

Mandi actually fell a couple times, but this wasn't one of them.

So far...

2010-05-17T15:11:00.005-06:00

We'll see how the cantaloupe does. I've heard brussel sprouts are hard too. But like Ilene says, the square foot garden is magic -- nothing dies.

"Where are the tomatoes" you ask? They get a different spot in the garden. I don't know what variety I will plant yet. I'm thinking three different kinds.

Fair Food

2010-05-05T14:12:00.005-06:00

Up until today, the only place I could find a Navajo taco (unless I made them myself) was at the State Fair or the Utah Arts Festival.

I actually spotted “Navajo Hogan” on 33rd South about a year ago and didn’t get around to eating there until today. I think I tried to go there for dinner with friends and it was closed. Only open for lunch. Noted – only I’m rarely out in South Salt Lake in the middle of the day.

Well, today I was. And today was the day I got me a Navajo taco. Now, I talk about food a lot, and I talk about being a healthy eater and I like nice restaurants, but sometimes nostalgia is stronger than your more refined taste buds. Navajo tacos remind me of being a kid, being outside in the summer and family picnics. I don’t think I ever had a Navajo taco at a family picnic, but you know what I’m getting at.

The second I walked into Navajo Hogan I felt out of place. There were maybe 10 other people eating there. The customers were either truckers, 75 year old couples or Navajo. And everyone was very quiet. Suddenly I was conscious of the fact that I was wearing heels as I conspicuously clonked my way to the counter.

The owner was nice although he didn’t seem quite sure why I was there for some reason. I mentioned I had never been in before and so he went over the menu, being very specific about what vegetarians order and mentioned the special. I ordered the traditional, declined a drink and sat down at a little table. Typically when I get lunch all by myself I take it to go, but this past year I’ve taken to eating by myself at the establishment. I looked around a bit more at the people there and had a flashback of a diner in Fillmore where my family would always stop at for lunch when we took road trips to Southern Utah. Mmmm…grilled cheese…

The owner kept checking on me to see if I was OK. I think I was OK. He took a minute to go in the back and turn on some traditional Native American music. “Maybe he thinks I’m a food/restaurant critic” I thought. Awesome. That’s when I started writing a review of the restaurant in my head.

Not long after I heard a voice from the kitchen, “Traditional taco for the lady!”

“Oh” I jumped up, “That’s me.” But it was brought to me before I could step away from the table. The man told me where I could find a knife and a fork.

So let’s talk about the taco for a minute: when I make Navajo tacos I’ll use chili, kidney beans, cheddar, lettuce, tomatoes, sour cream, olives and salsa. This taco, although much gianter than I thought it would be had everything but sour cream, olives and salsa. Oh well. Good enough. I still ate about three fifths of the mammoth.

I looked around at what everyone else was eating. I tried to spot sour cream on people’s plates to see if I missed out on something. I watched the owner as he walked around, gathering people’s empty plates and throwing them away. He asked this one man how his baby was. The man was at least 60 years old. I assumed it was his grand-baby.

I kind of appreciated the fact that the food came with paper and plastic picnicware – made me feel like I was at the fair, only I paid $6 instead of $10.

When I couldn’t eat any more I took my plate to the trash can. To the left was a little cart with salsa. Dang. No sour cream though. I spotted the owner on my way back. “Come again!” he said.

Maybe I will.

My Grown Up Hut

2010-04-26T14:35:00.011-06:00

Ours was maybe the fourth or fifth house to be built on Littler Road in Sandy. When my family moved there in 1984, construction consumed the entire block. The lot next to our house was empty for years, and sometimes builders would toss their extra lumber and bricks over there.

I don’t remember when my sister Lisa and I first ventured to the empty lot next door, but at one point we walked over, picked up some wood and began “building” a hut. And then we decided to each build our own hut. Then we invited our cousin Liz over and she built a hut. We mapped out our territory; tapped into our inherent “gatherer” instincts and claimed lumber, rocks, bricks and whatever else we could find to make the space our own.

We created quite the community for ourselves. A common area served as an ampitheatre for town meetings and performances. The stage was made up of a large campaign sign for Steve Newton who ran for mayor or something. We might’ve even kept a piggy bank to pool our pennies to buy candy for a future occasion. We established a “rock store” where we could grab a rock or two during the construction of our huts. We called it the “Snooty Snotty Snyder Rock Store” (even at a young age we appreciated alliteration). The empty lot separated our house from the Snyders. I don’t remember why we didn’t like them. Lisa says it’s because they wouldn’t talk to us.

Our huts were designed for entertaining. We each had a central “fireplace” made of broken bricks. The bricks formed a circle surrounding twigs meant for a fire that we of course never made. And around the fireplace sat large rocks suitable for seating an appropriate number of guests.

We spent hours working on our huts. No hammering of nails took place; we just laid out boards where we wanted walls to be. We did dig and rake a lot. I remember digging in the dirt with a shovel to even out my little plot. It was hard work because that ground was chock-full of rocks. Every time one of us hit a rock we made an announcement to the others: “Wow, I hit a big one!” we’d call each other over to admire our new discovery and then to the rock store it would go.

The terrain was uneven and sagebrush sometimes got in the way of where we wanted a wall to be, but we worked with it. Once the huts were complete there wasn’t much to do besides remodel. We spent a lot of time visiting each others' hut and we held town meetings about ambitious projects that would never come to pass.

We called it “Sageville” and it was our home next door to home.

I don’t remember who it was that told me sagebrush could be brewed into tea. I had no interest in trying it, but the idea that Sageville produced a natural resource that could sustain its citizens pleased me.

Looking back I can see a quality in myself that carried through as I’ve grown older: my neurotic need to make things look pretty and establish order and cleanliness. I kept a garden rake out in my hut (much to my parent’s displeasure) because I liked the marks the rake left on the dirt when it was evened out and freshly turned. And if Dad was ever missing his little whisk broom, it’s because I had it in my hut to sweep dirt and gravel off the wood and rocks. I never kept my bedroom that clean, but my hut…that space was perfect, because even though I had the luxury of my own bedroom, somehow my hut was more…mine.

It’s interesting how kids have a need to delve into their imagination and create a world where they are independent – a world untouched by adult influence.

Years later more houses filled in empty lots, and eventually our huts were replaced by a real house. I might still have some toys or candy buried out there, who knows.

Even though my hut is gone, my desire to create personal spaces and craft something out of nothing remains. I still want some of the same things:

I want to create a beautiful space.
I want to take pride in producing something on my own.
I want to care for and tend to something that needs me.

So I built another hut:

This 4 x 4 square is not just dirt surrounded by lumber. In a few months it will be beautiful with colorful and wholesome fruits, vegetables, and herbs (now that I’m older and truly independent, I demand a return on my time and investment).

See how neat and tidy it is? The guy who came up with the square foot gardening system is even more neurotic than I am when it comes to clean lines and precision.

My plot is part of Wasatch Community Gardens, where I share a space with other gardeners.

We even have a common area where we hold important meetings about drip irrigation and stuff:

And not much different from the Snooty Snotty Snyder Rock Store, we keep a shed of tools that we share to maintain our gardens.

The produce I harvest from my new community will sustain me far better than a cup of tea from Sageville. Of course, if I want sage tea here I’ll have to grow the sage myself.

On Reading My Subconscious

2010-04-13T07:55:00.005-06:00

One of the many reasons I love having Annie around...

Me:

Annie? Were you just singing "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead"?

Annie:

No.

Me:

Then why do I have that song in my head?

Annie:

Because ten minutes ago you got a text message and your phone went "Ding Dong"

Going on Twenty...

2010-04-05T21:39:00.010-06:00

If you're wondering why this parking validation is laminated, read on.

I've had this validation for almost twenty years. Don't believe me? See image of the back of the card below:

To say that I have had it for almost twenty years is only half true because my dad has had it as well. We take turns having it -- or not having it. It all started the night he got it after parking at the Lion House for my cousin's wedding reception. Which cousin? I'm not sure. Any of you guys read this? Who got married on May 8, 1991? My guess is Michael.

I remember Dad handed it to me to keep track of, and I said, "No, I don't want it. You take it." And he said, "Lar...hold onto this" and I was like, "No, you." Not in a bratty way. It was all very playful. Trust me.

To make the LONG story extremely short...we've been trading it back and forth for the past twenty years. We've stuck it in sock drawers, pockets, etc. Some exchanges have been more extravagant than others. I remember two in particular:

I was in 8th grade. I was in choir class when someone delivered an envelope to Mr. Farley. He said, "Laura, this is for you." It was BYU stationary. I was a little startled, "What does BYU want with me?" I thought. "Did I do something extraordinary? Am I invited to something?" I opened the envelope with a little anxiety until this little validation fell out. Nice one.

Naturally, I had to return it to him somehow. My dad sang in the Tabernacle Choir at the time and my 7th grade English teacher also sang in the MoTab. I had an idea. I went to Mrs. Christensen's classroom and asked her to do me a favor by putting the card in his "box" where the choir members pick up their music before rehearsal. Apparently when she got there, he had already picked up his music, so instead (this is even better), she went to the row where he was sitting, handed it to the guy at the end and said, "Will you pass this down to Tom?" So I bet having this card passed down in the Tabernacle from baritone to baritone (is that what part Dad sings?) was pretty unexpected. I was proud of that one.

At what point this card was laminated, I'm not sure. I think he mailed it to me from some foreign country when he was gone on choir business or work business and it was laminated. Good thing. It would have been totally trashed by now.

The last time I gave it to him was last May when I stayed with him and my mom in London. Right before I flew out, I stuck it in his New English Hymnal which he referred to frequently.

I forgot about it until I pulled these cherry tomatoes from my fridge tonight to make a salad. He must have slipped the card in the baggie I had in their fridge the night before (I was instructed to bring a salad for Easter dinner). Yes, if I have 4 tomatoes leftover I will bring them home.

I don't remember seeing it in there when I threw the ziploc baggie in my "to go home" bag. Well played Dad. Well played.

Praise the Digital Age! i.e. I am cuter now than I was 10 years ago.

2010-03-30T12:09:00.014-06:00

In preparation for a yet to be published blog post, I was looking through ALL my old photographs Sunday afternoon. I found myself laughing out loud as I saw this sequence of pictures from 1995 when Lisa and I went to live with our parents in London.

I like to call this series: “Could Lisa be more bored?”

In all fairness, I don’t look too thrilled in this one either.

This one isn’t in London; it’s just on a family road trip. My guess is the South Dakota road trip. I can’t tell you where we are exactly, but I can tell you Dad made us stop because there was a plaque for him to read.

I also found this other picture that cracked me up because my roommate Mandi and I had a conversation earlier about how I don’t think I’m photogenic. I don’t think I’m a dumpy girl or anything, but the camera is not always my friend. Every now and then I’ll get lucky, and those are the pictures you see of me on Facebook, in my photo albums, etc.

This picture, however...I don’t know how the camera did it, but it made me look like I weighed 200 pounds. I mean, I have lost weight since college, but boy. I do not remember looking like that. I went to visit Ilene in Idaho last year (she’s the one on the ground) and we looked through old college photos and laughed as we agreed it’s no wonder we didn’t attract many suitors in college.

How I love the digital age so I can edit before anything is printed! I'll admit, I love that I kept this horrible, horrible photo.

Farewell Seychelles

2010-03-10T19:39:00.010-07:00

I've noticed articles of clothing that come into your life are often analogous to the people that come into your life. You never can truly predict what/who is going to stick around, what/who you're going to adore and end up sharing just about every day with. They often grow on you, or prove to be more compatible with you than you ever imagined.

You might see a cute pair of wedges at Nordstrom and think, "There's something about those I like. Are they me? I don't know. They really don't have much in common with my wardrobe. They'll stand out. Will I really be able to put them to use? Well, they're on sale. I'm going to give them a try."

And then you do and you wear them more than you ever thought you could. In fact you start buying things to go with those wedges because you love them so much -- those wedges are an essential part of any clothing purchase you make from there on out because that's how much you've grown to love them.

And so it was with my maroon Seychelles. The first wedges I ever owned -- and the first non black, brown or gray shoes I ever owned, really. They were cute, stylish; they made me appear taller than I actually was. I was surprised at how comfortable I was in them. Not just comfortable with how I looked, but with how I felt. I could walk and walk in them and my feet didn't resent me for it. In the beginning I kept it simple. I wore them with black pants, jeans and a white tee shirt, but then...then I got a little crazy (maybe a little lazy) and just put them on regardless of what other color I was wearing...and you know what? Miraculously it worked. It was as if all my clothes bowed to the dominance of the Seychelles and adjusted to make it work. The shoes had that kind of power. I never imagined how much value I would end up getting out of our years together (I'm actually wearing them in my blogger profile photo where I'm in Roman dancer pose).

But, alas...our time has come to an end. I blame myself. I was so anxious to begin our relationship that I didn't take any kind of cautionary measures to protect them from the elements. They were real leather, yet I didn't bother waterproofing them. I remember that first fateful morning when I wore them to work and then ran in the rain to get into my building. I knew I made a mistake.

That actually wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was a little over a year ago when I was in New York and as soon as I stepped outside after a night at the ballet, the downpour soaked my shoes and my feet inside my shoes as I ran a block to the nearest Starbucks for shelter. I think that was the turning point. That was when the soles began to warp. They dried and curled and hardened to a point where they no longer stayed put and they poked my heel when I walked in them. Yes, that was the turning point, but the tipping point was when I stepped in mud. As you can see from the picture, I didn't even try to wash it off. I knew it was time to let them go.

Farewell Seychelles.

Last Saturday afternoon I was at Macy's. I love shoes, but I don't buy them nearly as often as your average girl. In fact, I have more stories about how I almost bought something but ended up not. I would say I buy about 30% of the items I actually want to buy (although there's a jacket at Ann Taylor Loft that I must have. I'm more weak when it comes to jackets than shoes, believe it or not).

Anyway, I stopped in Macy's shoe department. I don't know what I was looking for. I rarely find anything good when I'm looking for something specific. And then these darlings caught my eye:

They're purple. Much like the maroon wedges that seduced me about four years ago, these purple wedges begged for me to give them a chance. Do I wear a lot of purple? No. Me, being the practical purchaser began to mentally inventory my wardrobe. My rule is I have to have at least three outfits that I can wear these shoes with to make them a wise investment. Fortunately, I'm a little boring and wear a lot of black and any color goes with black. I was still feeling insecure so I picture messaged three trustworthy advisers. Only two responded, but because I am my own Chief Executive Outfitter I made the decision to make the purchase.

They're a mid-height wedge. They're comfortable, they're simple, and now they're mine. Please don't judge me for buying something with Jessica Simpson's name on it.

Kids Meals

2010-03-03T12:25:00.003-07:00

I just got back from the Red Iguana and I feel a little sick. Not that I don’t like the Red Iguana, it’s just twice as much food as I’m used to eating.

I ordered the bean and cheese burritos smothered in mole negro and I had no idea the burritos were going to be that big. At least I have lunch for tomorrow.

So here’s what I’m thinking. I would like most restaurants to offer half portions at half the price. I know it’s never going to happen, I understand how the restaurant is getting more money out of giving us more food for a bigger price rather than half that amount of food for half the price. But I’m a little person and I don’t eat that much!

Lately I’ve been a big fan of kids meals. Not because I’m partial to macaroni, chicken fingers, grilled cheese sandwiches and quesadillas, but because it’s a Laura-sized portion at a decent price.

Here are my favorite places to get kids meals:

Subway: I don’t really like subway sandwiches, but you can build your own low fat sandwich (adult ½ sandwich), get apples or yogurt AND chocolate milk all for $3.99. I know! Can you believe it? Plus if I tell them I don’t need a toy they give me a cookie instead. I think it’s interesting how the company goes to all this trouble to make the kids menu healthier by giving them the apple/yogurt option as well as milk. The adult options are chips and soda. I don’t get it. Are only kids supposed to be healthy? Help me out here. I’m all about the kids meal at Subway now. I doubt I’ll order anything else. Plus, they don’t care that I’m an adult. There’s no “12 and under” stipulation.

Costa Vida: I don’t remember if there’s an age max for their kids meal, but for $3.99 you can have a quesadilla, an enchilada or taco with rice and beans and a soft drink. That’s a better price than the adult portion. And I don’t need an adult portion. OH and you get a cinnamon sugar tortilla for dessert. Please, there’s no contest here. Kids meal, all the way.

While we’re on this subject, why SHOULDN’T adults be allowed to order off the kids menu? Why is there an age restriction? I understand senior discounts because they’re not working or whatever (is that why?). I also understand reduced rates for kids at movies and other events. They’re kids, and it’s expensive to entertain a lot of kids in addition to the parents. But that is a different price for the same service. I don’t expect them to let me in for the kid price.

What I don’t understand is why a restaurant wouldn’t let an adult order off the kids menu when the product is a different one, priced proportionately. I don’t think they’re giving the kids a deal because they’re kids. I think they’re charging less because it’s less food. Am I wrong? Does anyone have any kind of data on profit margins for kids meals vs. normal menu items? I want less food and I want to pay less for it, what’s wrong with that? Are they afraid everyone is going to want smaller portions? Hmm…maybe that says something about what some people want doesn’t it? Wouldn’t they prefer that I eat all my food rather than tossing half of it because I don’t want to stuff myself and the food won’t keep well in the fridge?

I’d Friend Him.

2010-02-24T15:15:00.006-07:00

An idea occurred to me as I taught Gospel Doctrine last week. We’re studying the Old Testament this year – which is kind of a challenge because I think, in general, we Mormons are more used to New Testament and Book of Mormon stories.

The lesson was about Abraham and Lot and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Earlier in class we were talking about Facebook for some reason I can’t remember (I don’t remember half the things I talk about -- I might have summarized an episode of Leave it to Beaver as well).

I couldn’t help but think how fun it would be to follow Old Testament prophets on Facebook – and how much more I would learn -- granted the people who managed the profiles knew what they were doing. I could follow Moses and Abraham and Noah and their crazy adventures. Get updates on the flight into Egypt and see photos of how the big ark is coming along.

I'd enjoy reading the skeptics' comments (a.k.a. "murmerings") on their prophesies. Noah would invite me to become a fan of “there’s a flood coming so believe and repent of your sins” and Abraham would invite me to join the group “Help rescue Lot”.

Someone could set up a memorial page for poor Lot’s wife and we could all take surveys such as “would you have looked back?” to reveal our true personalities.

I’m sure the day to day updates would be a little dull. We’d hear about countless sheep dying and “more rain…still floating” but really, how less riveting is that then hearing about your forgotten high school friend’s youngest sleeping through the night three days in a row?

Clearly, the timeline would have to be altered to keep the story going. But I think I’m onto something here.

Forget “Living Scriptures”, if you really want the scriptures to come to life, put the people on your homepage every day. Think about how many of your “friends” you know way better than you intended, simply because snippets of their lives are broadcast to you several times a day. I guarantee you would learn a ton about the Old Testament without even thinking you were trying.

Rituals

2010-02-16T17:14:00.006-07:00

I have an airplane ritual:

I always request tomato juice – with a lime. And if I have a meal with it and there’s salt and pepper, I salt and pepper my tomato juice. This isn’t a normal drink for me – just an airplane drink. This has been my drink for the past 3 years or so. Before that, it was ginger ale. I looked forward to it like I couldn’t get ginger ale anywhere else. I think I moved to tomato juice when I became more health conscious. Sometimes, when in the mood, I'll revert back to ginger ale. But I don't think I've drunk anything else on a plane besides those two drinks.

Some people think rituals are constricting or a little obsessive-compulsive, but I love them. They give me comfort, balance and a sense of control. Devotion to my rituals somehow clarifies my relationship to myself. It’s not a superstition; it’s just a simple reminder that grounds me in a reassuring way. Participating in my tomato juice ritual makes me happy and optimistic when I travel and connects me to previous travel memories.

One ritual that has only recently become apparent to me is the music I listen to when preparing a talk for church. It’s usually a two-day activity (I put a lot of research, preparation and rewriting into my talks).

I wrote a talk several years ago about the hymn “Lead Kindly, Light.” I wrote that shortly after I purchased the soundtrack to The Painted Veil which I listened to the whole time I wrote.

A couple years ago I wrote a talk on “Mystery”. It was then that I finally realized listening to music while I write is a ritual for me – but it’s more than just listening to music.

As I began to write my Mystery talk, I was listening to my iTunes on shuffle but my focus just wasn’t there. I tried to listen to The Painted Veil music again, but it just brought back memories of my last talk. This is when it occurred to me: I needed new music. Something I’d never heard before – something I could devote this talk to. So I went to the iTunes store and looked up some of my favorite film music composers and decided on Alexandre Desplat’s Lust, Caution (never seen it, but I loved his score to The Painted Veil). Miraculously, I was able to relax, focus and write my talk.

I realized this ritual actually began way back in college when I would write art history papers. I had a tendency to designate certain music to the topic and I listened to that music over and over again as I did research, outlined and wrote until my paper was done.

It all started when I wrote a term paper on William Merritt Chase. I wrote this when I was a sophomore. My dad let me borrow the computer in his office to write my paper. I looked through the CDs on his shelf and chose Finzi’s Eclogue for Piano and Strings (go ahead, listen to it while you read the rest of this post). There’s more music on that CD but I had that 10 minute piece on repeat. It was pastoral and springy and I wrote my paper in April so it was fitting.

The next year I wrote a paper on Geertgen tot Sint Jans “Nativity” and for that paper I listened to the Little Women soundtrack over and over. Part of that story is Christmassy and I wrote that paper in November and December so it was fitting.

I actually love this ritual. I love it because having done this, I’ve assigned specific memories to specific music. I have a mental musical journal of my writing method and how I can escape ruts and blocks and come out with a product I am satisfied with and proud of. It gives me stability and continuity and helps me work more effectively. It gives me focus and control and shape to my process.

I love that simply believing this ritual will help, makes it help – which makes the ritual take on a power of its own. I find that when I have another writing project coming up, I actually look forward to it because I begin to plan for it – I plan for the music I will choose and that magically makes the task a lovable one.

I should develop more rituals – maybe they will make more tasks and projects lovable.

Things I Can't Seem to Remember

2010-02-01T14:27:00.008-07:00

I pride myself on my long term memory. If I hear bits of information that I think will be useful for me in the future, I remember them. I always remember that I owe people money (uh…if I owe you money, now is a good time to remind me). I remember what people said, I remember how they reacted to what I said, I remember what their mood was and I remember my meetings and appointments.

However, there are certain things I can’t seem to remember. Whether it’s because I just can’t convince myself they’re true or I simply let them slip my mind, I don’t know. But as it took me 20 minutes to get from 1300 East to 400 West today, I made a list in my head.

Going down 300 S. takes twice as long as any other street.
Chinese food makes me sick.
The code to my parents’ garage door.
Scooter’s not there anymore.
How to feed the paper if I want to print on the other side.
Not one of the pens in my drawer here actually works.
My scissors are lost.
I can’t draw like I used to.
Blogger doesn't work so well in Firefox.
I don’t own a ladle.
The password to my Rocky Mountain Power online account.
I don’t have a yoga mat at home. Just the one in my office.
Maria closes down the restrooms in my building for 2 hours each morning.
Mucinex makes me crazy.
NyQuil makes me groggy.
Kool-Aid is good.
One Tree Hill is still on the air.
I have a good job.
The light bulb in the basement is burnt out.
I can’t keep potted trees alive.
Extreme Home Makeover makes me cry.
There’s ice cream in the freezer.
Where I keep my passport.
I don’t like the pastries at Gourmandise
I love the food at Gourmandise.

Spinach Never Tasted So Good

2010-01-21T08:08:00.012-07:00

I'm officially addicted to the green smoothie. I know it sounds disgusting, but it is GOOD. My friend Carri introduced me to this. I think she started drinking it as a solution to not being a breakfast person. I am definitely a breakfast person. Even if I'm not hungry, I eat breakfast because that's just what I do.

Now I am not a fan of drinking your meals, but this smoothie isn't necessarily my entire meal. I like the idea of the green smoothie because I need more vegetables in my diet.

As far as vegetables go, I really like spinach, but a full spinach salad looks a little overwhelming. It's amazing how much spinach you can eat in one glass when you blend it into a drink and slurp it up with a straw.

I know what you're thinking...you don't like vegetable drinks. But if you use a green vegetable with a mild taste like spinach, you don't even know what you're drinking as long as you add the right ingredients.

When I asked Carri what was involved with the green smoothie, I loved her answer: "So you take a green like spinach or chard and then you throw in some lemon, include the rind if you want and then basically you add fruit until it tastes good."

Fortunately Santa gave me a blender for Christmas. Next to my clock radio it has been the most useful gift this year. I've thrown in several different ingredients to make this taste good. And I'm telling you it tastes GOOD. And it's magically energizing which is good for me in the morning (just call me Popeye). I don't drink this every day -- maybe 4 times a week. I usually make enough for two servings so I can drink one and then refrigerate the rest for the next morning (you're not supposed to let it keep for more than 24 hours).

I haven't ventured beyond spinach yet, but I think I'll try that once my bag is gone. So for two smoothies, the basic ingredients are your greens, half a lemon (I cut off the ends, slice it in half and cut off maybe half the rind. I don't mind the seeds). Here are my favorite additional ingredients:

for liquid (I use one or the other):

Almond milk

Carrot Juice -- so far my favorite

Coconut milk (haven't tried it yet, but I'm excited to).

banana
apples
pineapple
frozen mango
raspberries

My secret ingredient: cinnamon

Seriously, the cinnamon is awesome, but I like cinnamon (it aids in digestion, it is an anti-inflammatory and it has been known to improve brain function -- I read a lot). I almost always use a banana because it gives it a good texture. I tried using just mango once and it wasn't very sweet. Pineapple is the best for sweetness. It makes me feel good to know I've taken care of half my fresh fruits and vegetables before 8 AM.

Next time you're at my house, ask me to make you one. You'll love it.

Five Things

2010-01-16T17:36:00.007-07:00

Before I started the "Foods of Durham Past" series I talked about how that came from a conversation I had with my parents over dinner in Durham, England this past spring. We had another conversation that night where my dad talked about his list of things he called "5 Things you needed to know if you were going to date Tom" (his name is Tom).

That got me to thinking of my own list of 5 things I think people should probably know about me. This isn't THE 5 things, it's just 5. So here it is...more or less.

1. I like good, quality food. I'm not saying that you'll never see me eat McDonalds, or that I demand eating at expensive restaurants, I'm just saying I like to eat well, I like to eat healthy, and I know it costs more sometimes, but at this point in my life, it's worth it. I remember going to Rubio's with a bunch of friends and one of them looked at the prices, looked at the amount of food on people's plates at the surrounding tables and he took off. He came back not long after with a bag full of Taco Bell and basically said, "Check this out losers! Look what I got for four bucks!" OK, it was Clint. I love him to death, but he is the perfect example of what I am not when it comes to attitude toward food. The calorie to price ratio isn't what I'm interested in. I'm interested in pleasing my taste buds and having a good dining experience. I will pay more for a smaller portion of anything if it means it's going to taste better.

2. I love the theatre. This means plays, musicals, movies, whatever. But lets talk about plays and musicals. I'm interested in how others feel about this. I've sat in lousy seats at the theatre because it was too expensive otherwise...still worth it to go, but if you think about it, it's totally worth the extra money to have a good seat. You remember the experience more because you're closer to the action. The live performances are great, but the memories and images your brain captures are a big part of what make these experiences meaningful. Sometimes spending an extra $20 for a better seat isn't so much an extravagance as it sounds. More often than not you'll end up spending $20 on something stupid anyway (like a few meals at Wendy's). With movies, I don't care where we sit. I love movies. I try to see a lot of them. I never think going to a movie is a lame date. If you love movies, awesome. We'll get along. If you hate them...I don't know what we had to talk about in the first place (kidding). As far as plays and musicals go, if you're not into that kind of thing, I guess that's fine. Just understand I will go without you.

3. I need to travel. I love planning trips, I love thinking about trips, I usually have at least one trip in the works at all times. If you don't like to travel -- I will go without you.

4. The first three kind of make me sound high maintenance, but in fact I'm a homebody. It's my default. I am content just staying at home and cooking, cleaning things up, organizing things or just sitting on the couch watching TV. This doesn't mean I don't like to go out and do things. I love to go out and do things, but I typically need some nudging. This is why I don't live by myself. I like to surround myself with active people who do things and make me go with them. These people are good for me because they get me to do things I really want to do, but I'm naturally disinclined to do.

5. I love telling stories, but I haven't mastered the art of telling short versions. Most of my stories include details about who said what exactly and a lot of background. And, I'll admit some of my stories are boring and completely irrelevant. That usually doesn't stop me. You are welcome to though.

Here are some more that I didn't feel like explaining in detail:

I hate big parties packed with people I don't know.
I don't dance.
I love television and talk about it a lot.
I laugh a lot.
Sometimes I cry, but it's ok.
I have a hard time with flaky people.
I spend a lot of time with my family and I enjoy it -- Lis, this one is dedicated to Josh ;)
I like my alone time.
I'm kind of full of contradictions.
I'm ridiculously loyal. Even if you're mean to me. I kind of hate this.
A few people have told me I can be stubborn, which is funny because I always thought I was a pushover and let people take advantage of me and my willingness to concede. Maybe I've gotten more stubborn as a defense mechanism to avoid being manipulated and walked all over.

I'm also nice.

Background Pianist

2010-01-06T12:59:00.015-07:00

Of all the lessons I didn’t take regularly growing up, piano was the most useful. Everything I know about the piano I learned from my mom, my dad and my grandpa – a little because I think I went to his house a few times to take lessons. Most of the people I talk to acknowledge it is one of the best skills they acquired and thank their mother for making them stick with it -- even though they protested.

Fortunately, I didn’t need anyone to make me stick with it because I really enjoyed it. Even when I took violin lessons, I would get frustrated, put the violin away and practice the piano instead.

However, because I didn’t really take formal lessons, most of my piano skills are instinctual. I never learned music theory, what all the symbols mean, or proper fingering. And sometimes counting sets me back, but that’s OK. I know how to read music and if I practiced enough I could probably play most things.

Everyone who plays the piano and is a member of the LDS church knows if people find out you play, your calling is pretty much made sure for the rest of your life. You are the Primary or Relief Society pianist, the ward chorister or the ward choir accompanist. I really resented this in college because I wanted to know what it was like to be a teacher or serve on a committee or something, but I was always accompanying the congregation, the class or the choir. Always. My bishop even told me "If you play the piano, that's going to be your calling. That's just how it is. I remember looking at him, and at that moment, I decided next semester I wasn't going to put piano down under “skills” on my next membership application just to see what would happen. I was called to be a Relief Society teacher. That was a good semester.

Still, I loved to play the piano, it’s just that hymns were getting old (in fact that was the semester when I chose the most obscure hymns for the congregation to sing in our meetings. It was probably one of the more selfish things I've ever done. I didn't want to play "Count Your Blessings" ever again so I made everyone suffer through songs they've never heard just so I could play something different). When I moved to Portland after college, I discovered a piano in a big bank building across the street from where I temped. I don’t remember the details of how they decided to let me play their piano, but I rounded up some sheet music one day and played background for about an hour.

I’ll never be a concert pianist, but what I’m great at is background piano. And it’s not stressful at all because you’re not expecting people to listen. I’ve missed having a piano to play ever since I left the baby grand at my parents’ house, so I’m usually looking for other reasons to play the piano.

I volunteered at the LDS conference center to be a “watcher” for their annual International Book of Mormon exhibit. Basically I sat there and read for 3 hours and made sure people didn’t go down stairs or halls they weren’t supposed to. One day, the older missionary in charge of me said someone would be coming at noon to play the piano, but no one did. I REALLY wanted to go play the piano instead of just sitting there and watching people, but I wasn’t authorized. So I ended up inquiring with the person in charge of music, participated in an audition, he said I had “a nice touch” and now I am an official background pianist for the church buildings downtown (a people watcher no more). I have two basic locations: The Joseph Smith Memorial Building and the LDS Conference Center.

The JSMB is a more coveted location because it is more comfortable and homey, and there’s more traffic, and therefore, more people are there to listen – because, even though it’s nice to not have an actual captive audience, it’s nice to have a few people that care so you feel like you’re not there for nothing. It feels really good when people pass through, stop for a minute and then decide to sit down just to listen. That doesn’t really happen at the Conference Center because there isn’t really anywhere for them to sit down.

The piano sits in the lobby and I played there one night when there was a wedding reception in an adjacent room. A lot of the people from the wedding party came out and sat in the lobby to hear me play which was really nice. I’ve enjoyed some of the comments I get from people:

A father with his 9 year-old son, “That song is from Pride and Prejudice isn’t it?” Actually it was from Sense and Sensibility. Still, he knew his wife would be proud of him. I was.

The lady sitting at the registration desk in the room behind me, “Thank you so much for coming to play, it really adds to the atmosphere.” Aww. That’s always good to hear. It’s a volunteer job and often a thankless one.

An old man who works in the building came up and handed me a Hershey’s treasure candy. “Here, I thought you should have something.” Ah, he knows.

My first time playing at the Conference Center one of the elderly missionaries stopped me on my way to the piano and said, “You know what sounds really good? Phantom of the Opera.” Shoot. I didn’t have any Broadway with me. However, I did bring Les Mis the next time I played.

It’s funny because most people like to listen to music they’re familiar with – especially people who aren’t familiar with a lot of music. They feel really smart if you play something they've heard and they'll stick around and nod in approval. Last week I was playing the Gymnopédies by Erik Satie (dear Mom and Dad, I have your Satie piano book) and I noticed people begin to walk more slowly around the building and kind of sway to the back and forth rhythm. It was fun feeling like I had a little bit of control over these people, especially the kids. It was almost like they were my puppets.

One little boy, about 3 years old, just walked up to me and started to stare. Always flattering.

After that I played Gnossiennes No.1 and when I was finished a gentleman walked up to me and asked me what that piece was. “I have a recording of this on a CD at home, but I never knew what it was called,” he continued “It’s just lovely. It’s almost like, I don’t know, like it has a bunch of wrong notes in it, but somehow it works.” I understood what he meant, but I decided not to tell him that I hadn't practiced that piece very much so 20% of the notes I played were probably wrong.

I was also asked to play music outside the ticket office for people who were attending “Savior of the World”. I got there a little late and the crowds of people were kind of loud, but as soon as I opened up the hymnbook and started playing “Now the Day is Over” the crowd hushed and formed a line. Kind of like they were walking in to primary and the primary president had her forefinger up to her mouth telling them to “Shhh…” and be reverent. I felt really powerful until the noise gradually escalated to its previous level.

In conclusion, I would like to say that for me, at least, next to reading and writing, piano is one of my most useful skills, and I’m glad that I enjoy it. Even though I was resistant to tell people that I have the skill for fear that I would be pigeon holed for the rest of my life, I have no problem being the piano person.

Just last week no one was playing prelude in relief society so I just went up to the piano and started to play. The chorister asked me to stay there and play the hymns for class while I was at it. And I was happy to.

Thirty Two

2009-12-30T00:57:00.005-07:00

The year 1977 gave this world a great number of things. Here are some of the things I was thinking about that turned 32 this year...

Apple II Computer:

The Clash:

Star Wars:

Boo Berry Cereal:

Annie Hall..."I'm into leather."

Orlando Bloom:

Me:

the MRI Scanner:

Space Mountain!

Dear Santa

2009-12-19T16:58:00.004-07:00

I'm a little sad that I don't remember believing in Santa. It was never a topic of discussion in grade school. I don't remember classmates arguing whether Santa was real or not. Maybe it happened, I just don't remember it. I remember asking Santa for presents when I was little. I remember Mom told us to put a list of three things we wanted in our stocking and he would bring them to us. But I don't remember that feeling of believing in Santa and then not believing.

I guess I'm glad I didn't have a traumatic "What?! Santa isn't real?" moment. In fact, even when I knew my parents were the ones that bought my presents I still chose to believe in Santa and I still called "it" Santa. I guess I just like to believe in things.

Recently I took little movies of my nieces. I told them I'd send these video messages to Santa. So Santa, I hope you have land of lauralot on your Google Reader.

Chloe:

Piper:

Sadie:

I took video of Sadie first. It wasn't until I talked to Piper who speaks more clearly that Sadie also wants a toy puppy and not a "striped" puppy. Makes more sense.

Lately I've heard a lot of podcasts with people talking about Christmas disappointments and when they didn't get what they asked for. I don't remember ever not getting what I asked for. I must have been a pretty practical kid. Or I was a very nice girl.

Banana Fanna fo Faura

2009-12-08T18:52:00.016-07:00

This is going to be a challenge, because this message is best communicated through speech. Unless you and I have already had this conversation in person, you're not going to know how to pronounce the various spellings of my name the way I mean you to when you read it below.

To assist you, I'm going to provide a pronunciation guide to this post. Whenever you read these words, you should pronounce them accordingly in your head:

The vowel in Laura rhymes with fauna as in flora and fauna.
Lora rhymes with Dora as in the Explorer.
Lara rhymes with Sarah -- take your pick of reference.

I was introduced to another Laura this past weekend. Every time I meet a Laura, we have the same conversation:

Laura: "How do you spell it?"
Me: "L A U R A"
Laura: and do you pronounce it "Laura" or "Lora"
Me: I say "Laura"
Laura: Me too! People seem to have a hard time with it.

She told me about her struggles in getting people to pronounce it right. She asks people to say “Laura” and they always look at her with a focused face and say “Lora”.

Here’s another conversation I have often when I first meet someone:

New person: Hi, what's your name?
Me: Laura
New person: and how do you pronounce it...

This is where I stare at them for a few seconds to see if they can figure out that they just heard me say my name two seconds earlier.

You'll never hear me correct people when they call me Lora. If they ask, I'll tell them how I prefer it. But there are people who've been calling me Lora for years and I don't mind.

OK, so if you've been calling me Lora and you do something to tick me off, I might say, "It's Laura" when you say my name just because it might be all I have to express my displeasure with you at that moment.

I'll tell you what though, if you call me Laura, whether it's because you once asked me how I pronounce it or you've picked up on how I pronounce it when I refer to myself, I might hold you in a little higher regard because that tells me you pay attention.
But if you've been calling me Laura (the correct pronunciation) for years and "Lora" finds its way out of your mouth in reference to me, I'll flash you a confused glance.

I decided I was going to write about this a long time ago when I was in Cancun at a little grill on our resort. I ordered a burger and the cashier asked,

“What is your name?”
“Laura.”
“Nora?”
“No, LAH-ra”

I sat down and several minutes later I heard,

“Sarah? Your burger’s ready.”

Had I not been the only person there waiting for her food, I would have had no idea he was referring to me.

I was at Rubio’s recently and I ordered my meal to go. They asked for my name. When I picked up my food, they gave me my receipt:

For awhile, my sister tried to campaign to get me to change the spelling of my name to “LARA” so people would pronounce it right. I don’t think she will, but if she does deny it, I can show you a manila folder with pictures of me down in my parents’ basement with her handwriting that spells: “Lara.” I never really jumped on that band wagon. I’ve always been fine with the spelling of my name.

The fact that my name was difficult for people to pronounce was made even more clear whenl I tried to get a robot to say it. Apparently robots have a hard time pronouncing my name the way I do. Awhile ago I was sending a Monk-E-Mail to my niece. I tried to get the monkey to say my name right with the following spellings (in this order of trial):

Laura
Lara
Lahra
Lohra

And the winner is...Laara. At least I figured it out.

Yesterday I was surfing around for online name pronunciation guides. I felt vindicated when I looked up “Laura” and found this:

http://www.pronouncenames.com/search?name=Laura

I wish I thought of that phonetic spelling when I was trying to get the monkey to say my name. But click on the “listen” link.

Right? The voice even sounds like me doesn’t it? I swear it isn’t.

I immediately looked up “Lara”. There was no audio file but it did say “rhymes with Sarah” – THANK YOU!

Then I looked up “Lauren” – another name similar to “Laura” that people seem to pronounce differently. This time there were two pronunciations available:

http://www.pronouncenames.com/search?name=Lauren

In conclusion, I would like to say that there is no general right or wrong – there’s simply the way the person who possesses the name prefers it.

I know there are Lauras out there who prefer to be called Lora. That’s OK too.

I'm thankful for the Bonnie Rogers Rule

2009-11-25T15:19:00.018-07:00

Every year, the Utah Historical Society director sponsors a paper plane contest the day before Thanksgiving at the Rio Grande Depot (where I work).

He makes a big deal out of it, spends a ton of money on the prizes (and repeatedly tells us how much he spends on them) and sends out an email with detailed rules and guidelines about paper weight, size, extraneous objects on the plane, etc. The ironic thing is, each year, everyone breaks the rules. And we all expect it. It's actually a contest to see who can cheat the best.

The prize? a box of Cummings chocolates.

The categories? duration, distance and artistic quality (that is a new category since the "arts folks" moved in -- that's us).

Bonnie Rogers, who no longer works here, was infamous for dropping a piece of toilet paper or confetti and always winning in duration, and then she won artistic quality because it was like a piece of performance art. So because of Bonnie Rogers, she has a rule named after her that prevents anyone from winning in more than one category.

Above is a picture of the men (I think they're all architects who work for State History) discussing their designs. The man with the big tube won for distance because he basically blew a small plane out of the tube and it flew clear across the gallery onto the north mezzanine. He's holding his box of chocolates. I think his name is Tim.

Here is a contender. Cute, but not a winner:

Here's Jim being boring and not participating:

My plane didn't stay up very long or go very far.

If we were a rule abiding bunch it would have been disqualified because it exceeded all size and weight limitations. Fletcher (coworker) actually built it for me. He doesn't participate either (lame). But look!

Because all the people that had the best "artistic" planes won in the other two categories, I got the third prize by default. If you like chocolates and you know where I live, you know where to find them. I refuse to eat them all.

This lady won for worst performance. You can't really see much.

Here's my performance. Again, you can't see much. Mostly just my form and how I throw like a girl.

Me and "my" beemer*

2009-11-14T18:29:00.028-07:00

I feel like people are watching me.

You see, I'm housesitting for my sister and her husband this weekend. With the house comes the responsibility of two cats and a fish. But it also comes with a brand new BMW she asked me to drive for the weekend so I could pick them up in it -- I guess because it's already equipped with Jack's car seat and such. I tried to propose an alternate transport plan to my sister explaining how I didn't want her car to be my primary mode of transportation for the weekend. She looked at me like I was crazy.

Let me explain: I drive a '98 Chevy Prizm. It's worth maybe $1500 right now. I have little concern about what happens to my car at this point. I just want it to get me from here to there and to keep me warm on the way. The only automatic thing about my car is the transmission. I have to roll down the windows manually, unlock the doors manually...turn a key manually. The BMW does all that for me. There's no key to this car -- It knows when I want to come in. The trunk closes all by itself too. It's like magic. I bet if I was sick of being stopped at a traffic light, all I'd have to do is rub the emblem on the steering wheel and my green light wish would come true.

After my sister gave me a brief tutorial on how to make the thing go, I left the airport. The hypertensive thought of "Be careful, this isn't your car" soon wore off as I sunk into the heated seats and let Coldplay guide me through a surprisingly comfortable transition. It wasn't long before I came to terms with the reality that this car... is... awesome.

What should I do now? I thought. I kind of wanted to pick up friends and see if they needed to run errands or anything. My thoughts quickly shifted to the idea of -- no joke -- antiquing. Yep, I went from zero to yuppie in 0.8 seconds.

I hit this consignment store on 8th South that I always drove by but never stopped to go inside. I parked the car on the street, really nervous to leave it there by itself. I looked back after I reached the end of the street to make sure it was still OK. When I was done shopping I walked back to the car, floated my hand above the handle and the car granted me entrance. I climbed in and thought, "I love you BMW."

My antiquing adventure continued in Sugarhouse. When I locked the car by gently pressing the door handle I turned around only to receive glances from passers by. I wasn't sure what the glances meant, but I knew it had something to do with the car I just got out of. It made me feel uncomfortable and I crossed the street pretending I was unaffected.

The store I walked into was pretty high end. An upholstered stool was like $600. I spotted a small mirror similar to one I saw at IKEA a couple days ago. IKEA's price? $20. This one? $180. I walked around wondering if this is where rich people think they need to shop. The owner walked up to me and asked, "Can I help you?" I told her I was just browsing and then she looked me up and down. No joke. She sized me up. Excuse me for walking into your store! You think my Old Navy wardrobe, half-styled hair and absent makeup isn't good enough to shop here? You wanna see my BMW parked out back?

The car and I have gotten along the past 24 hours. I even reached for the premium gas pump at the Chevron (mostly because I feared the fuel tank would spit the regular unleaded back out at me). I'm at my home right now, and the beemer is parked out front along the curb. I heard some talking outside earlier. I ignored it for several seconds but then I looked out the window and saw three guys examining the car and even looking inside the windows. I opened my front door with focused aggression and they scattered like shrapnel.

That's right. Beat it hooligans! And stay away from my property. I'm going to have to keep close to my window until I return the car safely to it's secured garage. Look who's being watched now!

*I should be clear, now that I am a temporary BMW driver, I did my research and learned the term "beemer" refers to a motorcycle. A BMW car is called a "bimmer" -- but before the urban dictionary I had never heard that term. I could have used "bimmer" throughout this post, but please...I don't want to sound like a snob.

Foods of Durham Past: Yorkshire Pudding

2009-11-11T20:51:00.009-07:00

Nothing makes me feel more safe and comfortable than the smell of Sunday dinner cooking. If you remember one of my first posts, I talked about the formula Mom used to determine what she made for dinner each day of the week.

One of the Sundayist of Sunday dinners at our house was roast and Yorkshire pudding. (What is it about a traditional "Sunday Dinner" that requires a huge cut of meat?) I don't know if my mom's mom made this or where my mom got the idea of making them. I don't even remember when I first tasted them. If you were to present this dish to me as an adult I would say, "What in the world...? Do I butter this? Put jam on it?"

I was trying to explain to a friend the other day what Yorkshire pudding is. The best I could come up with was a popover. But he didn't know what a popover was either. He asked if it was like a cream puff -- I said that was pretty close. I suppose it could be a denser cream puff drenched in meat juice. Or "sauce" was the word Carter used when he tried convince his girls to eat it (he didn't try very hard because if they didn't eat it, all the more for him). It's actually baked with roast drippings in it too, so I wouldn't try pumping cream into these if you were looking for a cream puff recipe.

I don't make them very often because it's kind of pointless to make Yorkshire pudding if you're not making roast and I don't really like to make roast. And they always stick to the stupid cupcake tin no matter how much I grease it. But I love them. I can eat a lot of them. I had about 8 leftover from dinner last weekend so I ate them all week.

Foods of Durham Past: Swedish Pancakes

2009-11-04T09:52:00.015-07:00

What we have here is a very poor picture of a very yummy food.

Explanation: I took this with my phone at a friend’s crepe party last month because I knew I wouldn't get around to making them myself, but it is an important food of Durham past. Only we called them Swedish pancakes because that’s what Dad called them.

It’s not like I’ve never made them before, but they never live up to Dad’s. Why? Because I don’t have the big cast iron skillet – I have a cheapo non-stick pan that does the job, but they aren’t nearly as good as Dad's (I need my Sur la Table employee discount back so I can get me a skillet).

This really was Dad’s signature dish and it was a big deal every time he decided to make them – usually on Saturday mornings. He had to have the kitchen spotless, the apron would come on and there could be no distractions. Mom can prepare a meal in a cluttered kitchen, talk on the phone, watch television and teach a piano student, while Dad can have zero visual and audible distractions because he’s trying to flip a pancake for crying out loud. I could say it’s a Mom/Dad thing, but I really think it’s a male/female thing. Women are just better at multitasking.

Crepe parties are pretty popular and guests are typically asked to bring a “topping”. You get bananas, berries, Nutella, whipped cream, syrup, etc. But crepes at the Durham house were traditionally served with melted butter, sprinkled with cinnamon and powdered sugar and squirted with fresh lemon juice and then rolled up.

My mouth is watering.

So at this crepe party I decided to bring butter, cinnamon powdered sugar and lemons. People didn’t try it at first, but after they got their familiar crepe with sliced fruit and whipped cream out of the way they gave my toppings a go, and they were surprised at how good it was.

This is how things typically went at the Durham home: Dad required that we tell him up front how many we could eat (I got better at gauging this as I got older. I’m not sure what my record is – maybe 5 or 6). The first pancake would either break into pieces or it would be mediocre. Dad would eat it or someone would settle for it. In fact, selfish little kids usually want their food first, but we knew the second pancake was always better than the first, so we all fought for the second pancake slot. Carter liked his “light” and I liked mine “medium” – meaning, a little darker. When we were really little Dad would put the butter, sugar and lemon on for us, and then ask if we wanted them cut in “big ones”, “little ones” or “triangles.”

We’d take turns eating them one at a time. So after everyone got one, you were back in the loop for seconds, thirds, and so on. Sometimes right before your turn, after Dad flipped your pancake, his face would light up with convincing anticipation as he declared the next pancake was most likely the best Swedish pancake he has ever made.

Would I eat them again? You better believe it.
Would I make them again? So I cheated and didn't make these myself. But it's been over a week and I needed a post. But yes, I will.
Would I feed them to friends? If they're nice.

Foods of Durham Past: Pigs in a Blanket

2009-10-26T20:58:00.008-06:00

I can't believe this was my dinner.

I had a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch so I had to make a salad to complement my fat wrapped in butter in order to get some sort of vegetable in my diet today.

I'm not saying these aren't tasty. They are. Meat? Good. Cheese? Good. Rolls? Good. Just a lot of fat and cholesterol. But a perfectly acceptable lunch for kids.

This post is for my cousin Liz, who requested it a long time ago. Mom did make these a lot when we were little. I was lazy though, and just threw the cheese in the "blanket" and rolled them up, whereas Mom would slice each individual hot dog and wedge a piece of cheddar in there.

Because I'm me, I had to fancy them up a bit and use lil smokies and crescent rolls instead of regular hot dogs and Rhodes rolls like Mom used to use. Lisa gave me that idea a couple years ago when I called her not knowing exactly how to approach this hors d'oeuvre when I threw my Pictures and Pitchers of Water party. Of course, the pigs in a blanket went really fast. As did the Jell-O Jigglers. Mmmm...I should make those again too.

Eat again? Yes.
Make again? I have to because I have tons of lil smokies left.
Feed to friends? Will you eat them? Please?

Foods of Durham Past: Latkes

2009-10-18T17:32:00.005-06:00

Much like pumpkin seeds, latkes are somewhat of a family tradition at the Durham home on Halloween. I remember the first time Mom made them when we were in Sandy. I liked to watch her make new things. Little did I know, these weren't new.

As Mom just informed me in her comment on my previous post, latkes were a Halloween tradition way back when we lived in Orem. Apparently they were a bribe to get my dad to take us little kiddies trick or treating. I guess he really liked them, and she didn't like to make them enough to make them often enough for him. So they were a good bribe. So the bribe continued for several years while we were in Sandy.

(Random memory: I remember these frying while we prepared to go trick or treating. We were watching a repeat of Highway to Heaven (what was that show about?) And then Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman was on later. That's all).

So what are latkes? They're a Jewish potato pancake. What makes them different than hashbrowns? Well, the shredded potatoes are mixed with eggs and minced onion. They are served with sour cream and applesauce. I love them. I made them last year for a Halloween party we had here at our house on Apricot. Maybe you came. Maybe you didn't. Maybe you remember. Maybe you don't. That's OK. I guess.

I would eat them again, I will make them again (wish I could use these as a bribe for something) and I will feed them to friends.

Foods of Durham Past: Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

2009-10-10T22:12:00.005-06:00

Each year when Halloween came around and it was pumpkin carving time, my mom made sure we kept all the seeds so she could roast them. These are very tasty, and kind of addicting. It's important that you keep some of the "goop" to roast with the seeds. It makes them better.

I actually roasted these for a pumpkin soup recipe I made for some friends last night. I've never used a fresh pumpkin for cooking before and I wasn't sure whether there are certain pumpkins that are better for cooking, or baking or whatever. One recipe specified small pumpkins. I began to wonder if small pumpkins have a better taste -- kind of like zucchini starts to taste bland and bitter if it gets too big. Anyone? I never found out. I just made soup with a big pumpkin. It tasted OK.

But the seeds...the seeds are awesome. These have olive oil, Worcestershire sauce and garlic salt and then I roasted them for about 40 minutes in a 300 degree oven. I can't believe this is the first time I've ever made them on my own.

Would I eat them again? I wish I had more. I'm eating them sparingly.
Would I make them again? Anytime I have a pumpkin I will.
Would I feed them to friends? I did last night and they seemed to like them too.

Foods of Durham Past: Chocolate Oatmeal Cake

2009-10-05T21:38:00.010-06:00

I know, it looks like a I took a picture of a crumb doesn't it? This teensy portion pictured here is Carri's from last night when I got home. I wouldn't let her eat it until I got a good photograph for the blog. She kept asking "Can I eat my cake yet?" So I thank her for her patience.

My mom asked me to make this cake for dessert last night (she had guests over for dinner). I'm going to give the same speech that I gave to my dad and brother. Here is what I think makes this cake so good: it's not too sweet. Granted, I usually cut out some of the sugar in most cakes and desserts these days, but even before I started making that adjustment, it wasn't too sweet. Carter loved it and was asking what I did different because it didn't taste the same as when Mom made it. He thought I added less oatmeal. Nope. Less sugar. And I used dark chocolate Hershey's cocoa instead of regular (I was so happy when I discovered there was such a thing).

I like tasting the flavor of my dessert, rather than simply tasting sweetness. Some things I can't enjoy because it just tastes like sugar to me: napoleons, white frosting, pixie sticks, most hard candy.

Anyway, this dessert has a great flavor and texture. There's no need for frosting because you get richness from the tons of giant chocolate chips you put in it (actually, I bought "giant" chocolate chips for the first time and I think it really worked for this recipe).

I had a piece for breakfast. And after my lunch. And after work.

This recipe will be around for a long time. And I recommend the dark chocolate cocoa powder (if you like dark chocolate). First time I used it. I'll send you the recipe if you want it.

I'm not even going to answer the 3 standard questions because I think it's fairly obvious.

This was going to be one of my last Durham Food posts, but I've had a couple requests so I'll do a few more. Carter can't believe that I haven't made chocolate eclair cake yet. It was a favorite growing up, but ever since I became a grown up, I can't do it. It's too sweet. So if I'm going to make that I'm going to need 8-12 people to come eat it for me. You're welcome to volunteer.

Foods of Durham Past: Chocolate Crinkle Cookies

2009-09-26T17:30:00.004-06:00

If you were lucky to have a mom like mine, you had freshly baked cookies a lot. These weren't my favorite (I'd probably rather have chocolate chip) but I think my mom loved these because she made them whenever she had a chocolate craving -- well, these or brownies. But these are practically brownies. In fact, I remember my mom making brownies and sifting powdered sugar over them. So, pretty much the same thing in cute, pretty roundish forms.

I don't think this is the recipe my mom used though. Hers were more flat and fudgy. These are more puffy and cakey, but still, "crinkly".

Aren't they pretty? I got this recipe from the Joy of Baking. And yes, I totally ripped off their photo idea by photographing mine on the cooling rack too.

Would I eat them again? Yes.
Would I make them again? Yes.
Would I feed them to friends? Absolutely.

Foods of Durham Past: Chicken, Rice and Broccoli Casserole

2009-09-21T08:32:00.027-06:00

It's about time I throw a casserole out there. Casseroles are a staple in family dining and they make great leftovers.

I decided to feed my brother's family last night while he was out of town. I came into this under no illusion that my nieces would actually eat it. My sister in law had their default dinner of Macaroni and Cheese all ready to go. The oldest, Chloe, takes after her dad in that she doesn't eat vegetables. In fact, Carter came home towards the end of dinner time. I told him I brought dinner and he headed for the pot of macaroni and cheese.

Anyway, I always loved this casserole. It's simple: chicken, rice, broccoli, cheddar cheese, cream of chicken, sour cream and some curry. I also put some yellow onion in there.

So...I didn't check the recipe before I went to the store and ended up getting just one can of cream of chicken soup. So it didn't turn out exactly as mom made it (the recipe calls for 3 cans). But if I were to make it again, I would probably only add 2 cans instead of 3 anyway. I guess you could call this the low fat version. I also used "light" sour cream which is a cardinal sin at my mother's house. She would get a little upset whenever I went to the store for her and came back with a jar that said "light" on it.

My favorite part was when Piper blessed the food. She said, "Please bless the food that it will taste good." She also asked a special blessing on their newest sister Tessa that she would "get bigger", which I think is funny considering the current size of this girl's healthy belly.

Kelly told me that Chloe (the oldest) pretty much sets the stage for what the others will eat. I thought they would all like the rolls, because, c'mon, who doesn't like a roll? They were excited about helping me preapre the rolls, and Chloe loved hers, but Piper's was "too hot" she said.

Sadie is the third child and probably the best eater. Chloe once told me, "Sadie eats everything. She always gets dessert."

Despite the look on her face in this picture, Sadie actually thought the casserole was tasty and had a couple of bites.

All in all, it was a successful dinner. And I have leftovers to feed me for a couple days.

Would I eat it again? I'll be eating it for lunch.

Would I make it again? Yes.

Would I feed it to friends? Yes. Kelly really liked it.

Peaches and Cream...er...Milk

2009-09-17T08:54:00.006-06:00

A reader told me yesterday that she was sick of the pork chop. So was I. I attempted two other recipes this past week, but when I started a dessert, my mom told me it had the potential of going horribly wrong due to my ingredient improvising. And then before I started the second one, I stopped myself after realizing the ingredients I had on hand expired in 2006.

On to something simpler.

I learn from observation. I observed my dad eating this for breakfast on occasion. Peaches and milk. I watched him many times before trying it myself. It wasn't something that I LOVED enough to make repeatedly, but it was tasty.

A coworker brought me some peaches from his orchard yesterday. He said he's allergic to the fuzz. I asked, "Why don't you just peel off the fuzz?" He told me it wasn't worth the trouble.

Not worth the trouble? Any good piece of fruit is worth any kind of trouble you want to create for yourself. This peach was good too. There is something so completely wholesome and satisfying about a piece of really good fruit. In fact, being the purist that I am, I was kind of planning on draining the milk and just eating the peach, but when I tried it, I forgot how tasty this is. Double dosing the sweetness by adding brown sugar has a lot to do with it.

Dad would add much more milk to his bowl, but I'm a milk conservator and didn't want to waste too much.

Would I eat it again? Why not.
Would I make it again? I guess I would have to if I was going to eat it again.
Would I feed it to friends? Possibly.

Foods of Durham Past: Pork Chops with Peaches

2009-09-06T16:37:00.013-06:00

I loved helping with dinner when we had pork chops. My job was fun and simple: put the pork chops in the Shake 'n Bake baggie and "shake" to coat the meat with the yummy crumbs. And then Mom usually had me pour some of the remaining crumbs on top of the pork chops.

After I left my parents house, I learned that some people (even non-Jewish people) are weird about pork. I don't know whether it was unfamiliar to them or what, but for some reason I got the impression that it was a "bad" food for them. Maybe they were afraid of the way it was cooked, I don't know. Mom made pork pretty often. On Sundays, she would sometimes roast a big pork loin, but mostly I remember the Shake 'n Bake pork chops.

The Shake 'n Bake pork chops were more kid friendly I think. Anything that's breaded more closely resembles a chicken nugget, therefore, a kid is more likely to be comfortable with it. The peach portion here was the grown up part. I don't think I ever had a peach atop my pork, nor did Carter or Lisa. I distinctly remember watching these through the oven door, wondering what would happen to that peach during baking time. Not much, really.

What did happen during baking time was the crumbs that fell off the pork chops got all burnt and crispy. That was my dad's favorite part. After dinner he would walk over to the stovetop where the baking sheet was and scrape up all the remaining burnt bits with his fork and eat it, right there in the kitchen. Sometimes he would preemptively scrape them off the sheet and onto his plate in a big, burnt crumb pile as part of his dinner.

I should thank Lisa for giving me the box of Shake 'n Bake which not only inspired, but partly funded this post.

Would I eat it again? Sure. I'd probably scrape the peach off and eat it separately though.
Would I make it again? Yeah, but only for kids, my grown up tastes prefer the pork roast.
Would I feed it to friends? My little kid friends.

Foods of Durham Past: Peek-a-Boo Eggs

2009-08-30T10:10:00.013-06:00

Like a lot of dads, mine had certain things he made all the time, and he made them really well. When Dad was in the kitchen, he made English Toffee (not often enough), lime lemon ice cream, custard, Swedish pancakes, oatmeal (although I really think mine is better -- sorry Dad) and, of course, "peek-a-boo" eggs.

A lot of parents try to make food fun for their kids by making it into animal shapes or putting faces on it. I guess this dish brings the classic game of peek-a-boo to the breakfast table.

I was just thinking, I have this memory of being at my great-grandma's house in Payson when I was seven or eight years old. We were eating breakfast and I watched her dip toast in her eggs and thought that was the strangest thing in the world. I guess it only made sense to me if the egg was fried directly into the center of the toast.

Anyway, I loved it when Dad made these. Asking Dad to make something for you was often not worth the trouble because the favor usually came with a list of conditions that involved making sure the kitchen was spotless, the garbage was taken out and any other earmarked items he could throw in.

BUT, if I was lucky, I would be up in my bed in the morning, still waking up and I would hear my dad come out of the kitchen and yell, "Laur? Do you want a peek-a-boo egg?" And I did.

Try it. They're fun.

Would I eat it again? Sure.
Would I make it again? Yes.
Would I feed it to friends? Only special ones.

Foods of Durham Past: Frozen Lemon Dessert

2009-08-27T07:52:00.005-06:00

Desserts might be my favorite thing to make. Many of my dessert recipes are from my mom's cookbooks. I'm not sure where she got this one and I don't even remember the first time she made it, but it is light, lemony and oh so refreshing. Even though its name is super boring.

When I was little, I would slice myself a square and then go back in the freezer with a knife and slice myself some more. And then some more. It's one of those desserts where you could eat the whole pan before realizing what you've done.

It wasn't until recent years that I realized it's basically homemade lemon ice cream sandwiched between graham crackers. The recipe calls for a double boiler to heat the eggs, sugar and lemon juice, but we never had one so Mom always improvised with two pots. I don't have a double boiler either so I also use two pots. After the heated mixture thickens (and then cools), you whip a pint of heavy cream and then fold it into the lemon/sugar/egg mixture.

I've changed the way Mom used to make it a little bit. Instead of lining the pan with graham crackers, I crush them, add some butter and make more of a crust. The recipe also tells you to put it in a 9 x 13 cake pan, but I put it in a smaller one so the squares come out taller (or double the recipe). It doesn't change the taste, but now I can cut the same size piece (area wise) and have more dessert without having to put a giant square on my plate.

Last Sunday I made this recipe for my dinner guests and barely a graham cracker crumb remained on their plates. I don't think I've made this for anyone who hasn't loved it. Except for one friend of mine who doesn't like lemon. Can't really help that.

Would I eat it again? Oh yes.
Would I make it again? Oh I will.
Would I feed it to friends? If they ask nicely.

Foods of Durham Past: Scones

2009-08-23T08:31:00.017-06:00

When I told my mom I was writing a series about some of the food she made when I was little, she said, “Are you going to talk about my formula?”

Formula? I didn’t know she had a formula. She explained how she served the same kind of food on every given day of the week. I don’t know how I never noticed this. I’m a bright person; I find patterns and themes in everything – apparently not when it comes to dinner though. Here is the formula she followed:

Monday: soup
Tuesday: chicken
Wednesday: ground beef something or other
Thursday: breakfast
Friday: foreign food
Saturday: sandwiches or pizza
Sunday: “Sunday dinner”

I love how vague “Sunday dinner” is. I think what she meant was we would have a ham or a roast or something like that. I called my sister shortly after talking to my mom and said, “Did you know that Mom had a formula for our dinners?” to which she replied, “Oh you mean how Wednesday was ground beef night?”

Once I thought about it, I remembered we did have breakfast for dinner a lot. I just never noticed it was always on Thursdays.

I love breakfast for dinner. I almost like it more for dinner than I do for breakfast. Mom would make waffles, pancakes, scrambled eggs, French toast and one of my favorites: scones.

From the picture, you probably noticed these aren’t scones in the British sense (my sister actually refuses to call those scones because she’s devoted to identifying the name “scone” with what she was raised on, and that is the fry bread scone).

I have a clear image in my head of sitting up at the bar watching my mom turn scones in the frying pan as my mouth watered.

I honestly don’t remember if anything accompanied the scones, like fruit or bacon. But back then I didn’t think to balance my fried sugar with fruit, dairy and protein. My idea of balance was spreading honey on one scone and jam on the other.

The scone I photographed has honey butter. I don’t think my mom ever served us honey butter. I confess the only reason I used it is because the guy selling honey butter at Farmer’s Market was cuter than the guy selling the regular honey.

Would I eat them again? I just had two more for breakfast.

Would I make them again? Yes.

Would I feed them to friends? Sure, maybe not for dinner though.

Foods of Durham Past: Pears with Miracle Whip and Cheddar Cheese

2009-08-16T13:30:00.005-06:00

I’ve read how parents are supposed to introduce new foods to their children when they’re young and how it usually takes 6 or 7 attempts before the kid will actually try it.

I remember the very moment I tried tomatoes and lettuce on my tacos. When I helped Mom set the table I put out tomatoes and lettuce assuming it was for grown ups because the kids just had ground beef and cheese on their tacos (of course I was following my older brother's lead, Carter, who didn't willingly eat a fruit or vegetable until after high school). But one day, I tried the tomatoes and lettuce and really liked it.

This side dish wasn't any different. Except for when I did try it, I didn't like it. Every time these showed up at the table I thought, “Is this what grown-ups eat?"

Even though it didn’t taste good I felt very proud and grown up. Little did I know, just because something looks weird and doesn’t make sense doesn’t necessarily mean it's for grown ups. Some things are just weird.

I remember helping Mom by dalloping Miracle Whip on those pear halves (that's right folks, it's not cottage cheese) and sprinkling grated cheddar over the top. I took pride in how well I made them look, but the pear on my plate remained un-Miracle Whipped and un-cheddared.

I understand the cheese. Fruit and cheese traditionally go together, but this dish, whatever it derives from, is definitely the poor man's version. We’re talking canned pears and mild cheddar cheese – not exactly something out of Gourmet Magazine is it? And, much like with English muffin pizzas, the Miracle Whip/Mayo makes an arbitrary appearance at the dinner table once again.

Would I eat them again? I couldn’t get myself to eat the one I photographed.
Would I make them again? No.
Would I feed them to friends? No, and I don’t think Mom would either.

Foods of Durham Past: Frosted Graham Crackers

2009-08-09T08:04:00.014-06:00

Did you know some people actually buy pre-made frosting from the store? This is something I didn’t learn until after I left the nest.

I remember going to the store with a friend a long time ago to buy a cake mix. What happened next was very odd and unexpected: she picked up a little tub of frosting to go with it. I must have given her the strangest look. I don’t remember if my first thought was “Stores sell frosting?” or “What do you think you’re doing?”

When I tried the packaged frosting I was grossly disappointed. I’ll admit, some of it isn’t bad. It’s not like I won’t eat it, but once you’ve had homemade frosting, you don’t want to go back (unless your taste buds have no regard for you, natural ingredients or the finer things in life).

My mom made chocolate cake a lot. She usually made it from a box, but the frosting? Oh, you better believe the frosting was made from scratch. Real butter, cocoa powder, powdered sugar…mmmm…I’ve actually taken Mom’s homemade frosting cue and created variations on the recipe in an effort to be more gourmet. I’ll stir in sour cream and sometimes yogurt. I’ll add cinnamon, vanilla bean or lemon zest. My favorite? zesting an orange with a microplane and squeezing a bit of juice to make chocolate orange frosting. SO good.

Anyway, Mom totally spoiled me with the homemade frosting. One thing I remember her doing after she frosted the cake was using the leftovers to make these tasty treats. Maybe your mom made the same thing: Frosted Graham Crackers.

She would frost them and then wrap a stack in foil so they wouldn’t get stale I guess. They’re good right after they’re frosted, but if you let them sit for awhile, the frosting softens the graham crackers making them easier to eat. It’s the simplest idea to utilize leftover frosting – and a happier way to eat graham crackers.

Would I eat them again? I just did.
Would I make them again? Absolutely.
Would I feed them to friends? Already have.

Foods of Durham Past: English Muffin Pizzas

2009-08-02T08:00:00.013-06:00

Back in college, my three roommates and I each took a night to cook dinner for the apartment. It was a great way to save money, and eat somewhat healthier than we would if we were picking up dinner on campus. Dinners were usually tasty and none of us were picky eaters -- except on tuna burger night.

One of my roommates introduced tuna burgers to us during our junior year. Apparently it was something her mother made when she was younger. I don't remember much about the tuna burgers, but I do remember tuna fish plopped on burger buns, wrapped in foil and tossed in the oven. I don't recall ever eating one. What I do recall is my roommate Ilene warning me that something called tuna burgers was on the menu. She said she was going to the library to study and if I wanted to join her and maybe pick up something to eat elsewhere, I was welcome. I think tuna burgers revisited our dinner menu at least once more before the end of the school year.

This got me to thinking of all the strange things our parents might have made when we were younger that we were conditioned to like, either because they actually tasted good, or they were just...familiar. And what might seem conventional to us, isn't necessarily welcomed by others.

I have moments in my memory of dinner time growing up. I usually helped with dinner. I had particular dinner prep tasks, even when I was very little: setting the table, filling cups with ice, grating cheese, washing lettuce, etc. I remember we each had our own designated place at the table. Dad always had a glass of milk at his plate while we had water or maybe some other drink.

This 200th blog post of mine will mark the beginning of a series called "Foods of Durham Past." I got this idea as I sat in a restaurant in Durham, England with my parents. We talked about the dinners Mom used to make and what we liked most. Until I run out of ideas, I will be making all these dishes, photographing them, eating them, and reevaluating them with my revised, grown-up taste.

Our first dish: English Muffin Pizzas (pictured)

If I was bold enough to make these for my college roommates, they would probably place in the tuna burger category. The word "pizza" is used in the loosest sense of the word. In fact, it's pretty much a perversion of the word. The "toppings" are stirred together in a bowl and then spread on an English muffin. I absolutely LOVED these.

The most bizarre thing about this recipe is that along with the cheddar cheese, chopped olives, dried, minced onion and chili powder is the inexplicable need to hold it all together with mayonnaise. I was thinking about this as I recreated it. It would make much more sense sans mayo. I'm not sure if my mom put garlic powder in there, but I did because I found the garlic powder in the cupboard before the chili powder and it sounded like a good idea.

I haven't eaten these for over a decade, but they tasted pretty much as I remembered them. I'm sure nostalgia plays a big role in my rating, but they weren't gross and like a good girl, I ate all my dinner.

Would I eat them again? Probably.
Will I make them again? Probably not.
Would I feed them to friends? NO.

Nothing’s Wrong.

2009-07-28T09:44:00.013-06:00

When I was younger, I hated watching people cry. Sometimes my mom would cry when she got real frustrated with her children’s behavior and all three of us would sit there feeling completely awkward, not knowing what to say. It was probably her best tactic.

I also hated testimony meetings at church and girl’s camp because someone was bound to cry. I knew who the criers were and when they stood up I would get a little tense because I knew what was coming.

For awhile I stayed away from movies that made people cry and music that made people cry. I stuck to the stuff that was void of any kind of sentiment – partly because I thought a lot of the sentimental stuff was phony and manipulated, but also because I didn’t exactly know how to respond. I understood crying if your brother pushed you or you fell off your bike, but if your tears were a result of something touchy-feely, I felt a little helpless.

As I got older sentiment didn’t bother me so much. I started to allow myself to cry more. I didn’t mind books that made me cry or music that made me cry. Maybe you get to a point where you need an outlet of some sort, and if it’s misdirected, so what? I could cry over the stupidest things even though the worst thing that happened to me that day was I got a B on a math test. I will never join the ranks of those people who get up every month for Fast and Testimony meeting and start to cry before they get a word out, but I suppose I became somewhat of a “crier.”

A couple years ago I was home all by myself and I popped in the movie “Once.” When it was over I sat there and cried for a good 10 minutes. Not just tears, SOBS. It was ridiculous. I don’t think I identified directly with any of the characters, I just felt like crying, and so I did – all through the credits.

There’s an Everybody Loves Raymond episode (of course there is, there’s one for everything – it’s almost like Seinfeld that way) where Deborah gets the house to herself for the morning. Ray decides to spy on her because he’s curious as to what she plans to do. He peeks through the window at one point and sees her sitting on the couch, crying with a box of Kleenex and she’s not even watching TV or anything. Of course he gets all worried.

Sometimes it takes awhile for me to cry about something because I’m just so busy that I don’t have time. Last week I stopped by Albertsons after work. As is often the case, I chose the wrong check out line and ended up waiting for a long time. Because I had nothing else to do I thought about a conversation I had with a friend the night before. He told me a lot of things, some of which kind of made me feel bad. It was actually a good conversation and I bore it like a champ, but hadn’t really had time to think about it until that moment in the check out line. So I stood there, holding my chocolate milk and all-purpose flour, on the verge of tears. I looked up and saw the bagger kind of lean to the side so he could get a better glimpse of me as he tried to figure out what was wrong. Poor guy – he looked so concerned. Nothing’s wrong, really. Seriously, don’t worry about it.

Dark, Curly Hair

2009-07-21T15:17:00.031-06:00

Grandma Durham told me many stories yesterday, but there’s only one I'm allowed to share.

She typically tries to avoid the topic of dating (not really), but she insisted I sit with her on the porch swing as she gave me advice. I was told many things, one of them was to take up golf because I can meet a lot of people that way. I'm hesitant to take dating advice from someone who hasn't dated since she was a child.

And then she asked me what kind of boys I like. I told her I’m first and foremost drawn to intelligence and good conversationalists, but then I told her I tend to like curly hair for some reason.

“Oh,” she began, “I love dark curly hair. Can I tell you a story that is true?”

How I wish I had my digital voice recorder at this point. I will now paraphrase to the best of my memory (my interjections are in red).

When I was a young girl in high school, I was looking through my yearbook before school started and I saw a picture of this boy with dark, curly hair and I decided I was going to find him and meet him.

What was his name?

Lynn Sorensen. Oh, he was so good looking. Isn’t that silly? I was in love with a boy I haven’t even met.

Juvenile, but not silly.

Anyway, so school started, and I found him. We started to date.

Wow. That was easy.

I was very beautiful. So we went out and we went dancing every weekend.

Where did you go dancing?

The Old Mill. They had an orchestra and you would dance inside or outside under the stars. Oh it was wonderful. And I had this electric blue velvet dress that my mother bought me.

Oooh…where’s the dress?

Oh, I don’t know. I think my nieces probably stole it. (And then she went off on a tangent about how her nieces stayed at her house and yada yada yada).

Anyway, back to my story. One day Lynn Sorensen came up to me and asked me if I would go steady – do you know what that means?

(quick, get on with the story nod)

and I was thrilled. “Of course I’ll go steady!” I said, after all I was in love with him. But then one day,

Wait…how long did you “go steady”?

A week and a half. He came up to me and said, “My mother told me I can’t go steady with you anymore.

WHAT?

Oh, it gets even better. I was heartbroken.

Wait, so did you still go out on dates, but just not “steady”?

No. And then, in my yearbook, he wrote something about me putting too high a priority on fashion and clothes.

(Exasperated gasp from me)

Can you believe it? I was devastated. He went away to the University of Chicago and for weeks in the summer I cried and cried and my mother tried to console me.

Anyway, the next year I went up to the U.

One day, as I was walking up past the Park Building my husband (she meant, her husband to be) came walking down and said, “Now, didn’t I meet you at a dance the other night? I’ll tell you something. I’m going on a mission. I have 17 girls waiting for me, but if all of them decide not to wait for me I will marry you when I get back.”

Wow, Grandpa.

So he went on his mission and I had many boys ask me to marry them.

(Half look of shock that she would say that/half look of disbelief from me)

I was very beautiful. But I wasn’t in love with any of them. There was this one man who was kind of short who said, “Are you in love with that musician?” (referring to my Grandpa), “because you will never have any money.”

Anyway. Lynn Sorensen became a General Authority. One day, about 60 or 70 years after I last saw him, he called me on the phone and said, “Is this Betty Divers Durham?” and I said, “Yes, it is.” And he said, “This is Lynn Sorensen, I don’t know if you remember me. But I was in the temple earlier this week and a thought occurred to me that I should call and tell you how sorry I am that I left that mean note in your yearbook.”

And then I just laughed and said, “Oh. You poor man.”

End of story.

I really, really wish I had her yearbook so I could see what his picture looked like in there, but instead I have this picture of who I think is Elder Sorensen in his later years (thanks Google).

Of course, she ended up marrying my Grandpa. Who also happened to have -- you guessed it -- dark curly hair.

Here's a picture of Grandpa being a musician, without any money.

I Wanna Be Like Mom

2009-07-09T06:00:00.014-06:00

I’ve mentioned before how few people can make me laugh harder than my mom. I don’t remember her being this funny when I was little. Maybe as you grow up you get to know your parents better, and so their humor starts to make more sense once you really understand where they’re coming from.

Sometimes her humor borders on the inappropriate which, of course, adds another level of hilarity. The other night Mom showed me how she was cleaning and rearranging all the shelves in her living room. And then she tried to give me one of those plaster statuettes of Jesus in Gethsemane. When I was sitting at the piano she carried it to me, preciously, with a smile that knew I probably didn’t want it anymore than she did. She told me she made it.

“When did you make that?”

“Long time ago. I can’t believe you’ve never noticed it.”

“When?”

“It’s been sitting on those shelves for the past 20 years!”

“I’ve never noticed it there.”

“Why do I do anything?”

“Why don’t YOU want it?”

And then she looked down at it, paused for a couple seconds and said, “It has delighted me long enough.”

And then I continued to play the piano but had to stop after about 30 seconds because I couldn’t stop laughing at the implication that Mom has grown out of Jesus.

Today is Mom’s birthday and I wanted to share some of my favorite things about her.

She is very creative and crafty -- hence the plaster Jesus. She probably made that back when she was in that Family Home Evening group where a bunch of mothers got together and planned FHE activities and shared ideas for their families. Mom actually makes a lot of cool things and I know if I want to make something and don't know how, all I have to do is ask her -- and if she doesn't know how to do it, she'll figure it out.

Mom loves to give gifts whether it’s for a special occasion or she just saw something and thought of you. I remember one Christmas, she kept finding stuff after the holiday was over and gave it to me saying, “Santa meant to give this to you earlier.”

Mom is a great travel companion. She loves to explore and learn new things. I was able to spend two weeks with her in Wales, England and Paris last summer and then again for three weeks last May when I went to London to visit her and my dad.

This is a rather recent development, but if Mom notices me looking at something in a store she’ll say, “Do you want me to buy that for you Honey?” I usually tell her she doesn't have to do that, but if you say you don't want what you're looking at she'll buy you something else without you knowing about it. In fact, we were in the Christ Church Cathedral Gift Shop in Oxford and someone noticed my mom doing this and asked, “So, how it works is you point at something and Becky will buy it for you?” Pretty much. About a week later we were at Durham Cathedral. Mom, Dad and I all split up for 30 minutes to explore the cathedral and then met up for show and tell. I told them how much I loved the contemporary stained glass window by the entrance. After that Dad and I climbed the cathedral tower. On the way down I said, “How much you wanna bet Mom went into the gift shop and bought me a postcard of that stained glass window?” Dad didn’t take the bet because he knows Mom all too well. Sure enough, we met Mom at the bottom and she presented me with a postcard and everything she learned about the window from her guidebook.

Mom loves holidays and celebrating everything. She has boxes of decorations for every holiday. Growing up we would have to take apart the entire set up in the family room to make way for all her Christmas stuff. She also decorates for Halloween, Valentines Day, Independence Day, Thanksgiving and Easter. She was always introducing new and interesting ways to dye Easter eggs.

Mom loves to entertain and no one throws a better party. Everyone who came to my 30^th birthday party at my parents’ house can attest to this. She went all out for dinner (for 50 of my friends), went to the trouble of mailing invitations and she even planned games. When I was little I loved it when Mom planned parties. I specifically remember the Christmas singing parties, The Tabernacle Choir Hanukah party (or something like that – there was Jewish food and my Dad’s Tab Choir friends came), Dad’s spontaneous 40^th surprise birthday party, and then the small dinner parties. I remember one in particular when we invited a family over. Mom wanted to do placecards, but wasn’t sure how to spell one of the kid's names who was coming. So she just misspelled everyone’s name.

I love how Mom knows what’s important to me and she wants me to have it – even if it isn’t necessarily important to her.

I love that we look the same -- especially when we were little. It makes more sense for siblings to look alike because their DNA is more alike, but I can always differentiate between Lisa and myself in pictures, however, sometimes I’m not sure if that little girl with dark hair and bangs is me or my mom.

I think I like that we look the same because any comparison between me and my mom is the biggest compliment in the world. She puts her heart, soul, genius and precious time into everything she does. You talk to anyone who knows Becky and they can’t say anything before telling you how much they adore and admire her and how brilliant she is.

At some point, my mom started asking for my advice on certain matters and ideas and projects. It’s a wonderful feeling that she can trust me and appreciate me in that way and still be my mommy as she continues to deliver Easter baskets, bring me valentines and buy me toys.