I'll show you how my garden grows.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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!

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...

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

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

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

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...

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.

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

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

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?