Monday, June 29, 2009

Whip it up recipe challenge

So, I found out about this little recipe challenge that started yesterday. (Always a day late and a dollar short; typical.) But, despite my lateness, I'm going to *attempt* to try one new recipe each week, then blog about it. Easy, right? And I've already practiced this past week by making a dinner and a dessert that I'd never made before!

Here is the link: Whip it up. I totally tend to make the same things every night, so we get a little sick of our menu around here. It should be fun. Check it out!! Sign up if you dare!!

Friday, June 26, 2009

The moments that live in infamy.

So, I've had this blog post in my head for a while now. It isn't something that I would normally share, but since it's been over a year since it happened, and I'm over most of the trauma from it, I think I'm okay with letting you all have a good laugh at my expense.

So, you know, we have those days when a little friend visits us and we get to be grateful that we are women (snort). So, I had one of these days while I was at work. I wasn't prepared, and I quickly determined that my only option was to take care of what I could and throw away my underwear. Not something that I would normally want to do, but I was desperate, and I knew everything would be okay if I could only get through the last hour of work.

So, I finished up with my business, took off the offending pair, put my pants back on (yes, I was going commando. Lovely.) and left the bathroom stall, my panties in a very tight wad in one hand. As I open up the stall (am I REALLY sharing this with the internets?), the bathroom door opens and in walks Janie, a woman who I have worked with for 9 years, but am not very close to. I'm at a loss, because my panties, which I desperately want to wrap in a paper towel and bury in the depths of the garbage can, are in my hand. I can't do this with Janie in the room. I also can't wash my hands, because my panties, again, are tightly clutched in my hand.

So I just stood there, just outside of the stall, and had the most uncomfortable, long-winded conversation with Janie that I've ever known in my life. I still cannot remember why she came in, nor what we talked about, but I can clearly remember that the same phrase kept going through my mind: "What do I do? How am I going to throw these *()&((**)*@#!#$@ underwear away without Janie knowing?" I could see her being a little confused at my actions, as I stood there stock still, hand clenched, in the same spot the entire conversation. Maybe she was thinking, "what does Becky have in her hand?" Or possibly, "Isn't she going to wash her hands? Ew, gross." I'll never know. But I do know that I did not move a step the entire time we conversed. I simply did not know what to do.

After a millennium, Janie finally left. She might have washed her hands, blown her nose, or just stopped in for a chat, I couldn't tell you. But finally, blessedly she left. I did what I needed to do, washed my hands for about 10 minutes, and went back to my desk. I was incredibly grateful that I only had an hour left. Let's just say I didn't really enjoy knowing I was commando at work, nor did I like the thought of riding the train in the same manner.

When I finally reached Shane, who was picking me up at the train stop parking lot, I didn't really say much. After being strangely quiet for a few minutes, I blurted out: "I had to throw away my underwear at work today. And I don't want you to tease me about it." Being Shane, he didn't really bat an eye, but got the whole story out of me. He laughed at me (how could you not?), but waited for a few hours to tease. Bless him.

So now you know about the horrible conversation I endured with my coworker while holding my own underwear in my tightly closed hand. And the reason that I can brag that I've been at work without any underwear.

Can we keep this our little secret? I would so appreciate it. Can you blame me for waiting a year to blog about it?

(Now tell me you've had embarrassing moments like these! Please, please, please!)

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Go towards the light...

I spent a lot of time sitting in my boys rooms, nursing them when they were babies. I sat in the same rocking chair, looking at the same hall (but from different angles, and 3 years apart. Anyway.) Each summer I spent nursing, I noticed a strange phenomena that I promptly forgot about until the next summer. The phenomena was a shaft of light that would stream from my kitchen windows and down the hall to shine onto Thomas' bedroom door. And it only showed up for a few weeks before and after the summer solstice.

After a few summers, I began to look forward to that shaft of light. It's brevity makes it all the more dear to my heart. I watch for it to come at the end of May because I can never remember exactly when it shows up. I've wanted to blog about it for two summers now, and tonight I finally took some pictures.

I know, exciting, right? Blogging about light. But it makes me happy, and I love getting out my camera and attempting to take good pictures. Which these looked a lot better on my camera. Anyway. I hope you enjoy.

This is the light in all it's glory. (Cue angels singing in the background.)


My cute boys (whose antics nearly drove me out of my mind tonight).


First movie trailer pictures, now light phenomena. What will I come with to blog about next? I hope you don't stay up too late wondering.

Monday, June 22, 2009

The pink yoga mat

I saw her yoga mat the moment I stepped on the train. When I sat across from her, I noticed her youth, her too-long legs every which way on the seat. And then the girl next to me asked about the mat, and she said she was doing the Ballet West summer workshop, and she needed the mat for her pilates and yoga class this morning.

It was like stepping into the past. Once, more summers ago than I want to count, I did the Ballet West summer workshop. It was between my junior and senior year of high school, and my friend Rebecca and I were a few of the oldest dancers in the class. My hopes of learning from the awesome Ballet West staff were a little eclipsed by my shame of being in the lowest level, of being compared to 9 and 10 year old girls and 14 year old boys. I could, after all, drive, and they couldn't even stay out past midnight.

Ah, but what a summer. For 6 weeks, Rebecca and I experienced a freedom we could hardly imagine. The six hours a day that we spent dancing each day was secondary to living on our own near the university campus. We decided what we ate each night for dinner (usually soup). We decided if we wanted to make secret trips back to Provo to be with our friends (whom we called "the Provo Hippies"). We pretty much decided to have an incredible summer.

So, part of the significance of this incredibly young girl was that she represented a huge reminder of what I never was. I didn't weigh 112 pounds, like her. I never had a rich dad like this girl had, who was forking out over $2,000 for her to dance all summer (the year I did it, the workshop was less that $500, and part of my tuition I "earned" selling my sister's kittens. Sorry, Amy.) I wasn't asked by one of the Ballet West staff to audition for the workshop. As the two girls talked, I pretended to read, but I heard every word, and compared it to the 6 weeks I had spent there. I thought of the many young dancers I had known there who were just like this girl. In fact, one of the girls in ta higher level was John Denver's daughter. I wondered that I had ever rubbed shoulders with such talent and such privileged lives.

The other part was that she represented what I'm not anymore. Now, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't want to change a thing about who I am. I love my life, and I like being a grown-up and a mom. But as much as I realized my life was radically different from hers, I wished I could be her for just one day. To be young again and spending the bulk of my day doing something I was passionate about. To have that body again, and be able to use it. To have that fun summer again with my friends.

I found her asking me what I was studying. I answered that I was going to work, that I was a mom, and then just watched that sink in. "But you look so young!" she claimed. I watched her explaining her life in that way that young, eager-to-please, over-achieving girls explain things. I saw how alike we were, had I been 14 and innocent again.

But then, as the train reached the stop that would connect her to the university, I found myself being the mom, and not 14, and reminding her that she was at her train stop. I couldn't help it. I am the mom, and before I knew it, she was running to get off the train.

And in that moment, torn between both worlds, I was glad I was just me, the mom, heading off to work. I had my summer of fun, and it brought me to this day. I have the memories, and I can be okay with them being enough.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Because I am obsessed...

I've watched the trailer for Time Traveler's wife far more than I want to admit today. And now I've borrowed some pictures from the trailer. It looks so good.

So, if you are a fan of TTW, what do you think of the trailer? Do you think that Eric Bana and Rachel McAdams can pull it off? I think Rachel McAdams is so pretty.

Good grief. I think I'm obsessed. I never pictures myself posting pictures from a movie trailer. How far I've fallen.







Movie trailer link

So I found this off a friend of a friend's blog. It's the Time Traveler's Wife trailer, and it's totally cool. You can tell what they have changed & how, but it looks awesome. I can't wait for August 14!

Enjoy. I don't know how to embed a video, so go here: http://rhys-pieces.blogspot.com/2009/06/time-travelors-wife.html

Sunday, June 14, 2009

The annual Squash Festival

Shane spent a lot, and I mean A LOT, of time as a youth watching tv. If there is a bad 80's movie out there, he has it memorized. And loves it. In fact, he would probably prefer watching a movie if it's on tv, with commercials, to a DVD. But that is another post for another day.

Once he started dating me, he found out that one of my family's traditions is Art City Days. The second Saturday of every June will find us at sitting in front of the town's drug store watching the parade. Being Shane, he had to find a way to poke a little fun at our tradition, so he dubbed the parade day the Squash Festival, thanks to the lovely 80's movie Doc Hollywood.

Now summer doesn't begin for me until the Squash Festival. Part of me watches for people that I knew from high school (which blessedly rarely happens; I live 50 miles from my home for a reason!). I also love looking at the town, which seems both so familiar and so foreign. Did I really come from such a small place? What made so many of my school mates decide to stay living there, where everyone knows every one's entire history, and parent's history, and so on back to the pioneers? What did they find there that I wanted to get away from?

Anyway, my high school issues aside, yesterday was the day. The rain stopped just long enough for all the kiddies in the parade to stay dry. The same rival high school's bands played, the new queens and their attendants waved from atop the floats, the horses danced under their riders, the pooper scoopers scooped the poop from the road. It was the parade.

My mom and all my sisters were there, and most of their kids. My great-nephew had his first parade in which he could run and get candy with the rest of the kids. My boys got an ice cream cone. We missed my dad; it was his first year missing the parade, which was hard.

Here are a few pictures of this year's Squash Festival.

Thomas and his ice cream cone. Their acquaintance was short-lived. Poor ice cream cone.


The third floor of this building once housed my first gymnastics gym. We used to have run the stairs for conditioning. I later coached there, and took ballet on the second floor.


My kids, sisters, nieces, husband, brother-in-law, nephews, and some extras.
Parades are always a fun place to see people aging. Those kids from the class of 1964 aren't as young as they once were. But isn't the mountain pretty behind them?
My nephews sitting at the drug store counter.

It was a fun day. We finished off the day by having a barbecue at my sister's house, where our summer weather treated us to a hurricane. Or maybe just a big rainstorm. But there was water everywhere, and Shane sacrificed his body to grill us some meat.

Serves him right for making fun of the parade and calling it names.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Bad day...

Today was just a bad day. Not that I spent the day in tears or anything, but I just wasn't happy about anything. I went the the doctor for some pain I've been having; he said that there wasn't anything wrong, which is good, but didn't give me a reason why, which bugs. It rained all day; the sun waited until it was too low to show itself on my part of the valley. I did catch a glimpse of it as it glowed in the valley to the north of me, just before it set. I definitely don't think I could live in Seattle.

Maybe it's because I haven't ran all week. I forget how much those two or three runs improve my outlook. Some sort of flu or cold wrecked its way through my house in the last week, and now I cough whenever I even think about going running. Add that to the rain and my general grumpiness goes up a notch.

Grrrrr.

So how about you? Do rainy days and Mondays always get you down? (Great, now I'm going to sing that for the rest of the night.)

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Tribute to Grandma Mary

Shane's Grandma Mary died last week, just hours after her 81st birthday came to a close. Around 6 months ago, she was diagnosed with cancer, and soon afterward she got a wig to wear to cover her thinning hair. When she passed away, Grandpa decided to donate her wig to someone else with cancer who was in need. I was honored by him when he asked me to write something to send with the wig to introduce her to the wig's new owner. This is what I wrote.

Hair is a personal thing. This wig that helped Mary look so pretty during her last days was touched by her. It became a part of her, and some of her goodness will come with it. Just as each thread in an embroidery sampler tells a story, each locket of hair can tells a tale. You could even say that woven into the fibers and hairs of this wig are snippets of our sweet Mary. Mary was many things: a wife of over 62 years, a mother of three, a grandmother of 5, a great-grandmother of 6.

See this thread here? It is the memory of her laugh. Everyone loved Mary’s laugh because it was so happy, and it lit up her face. Mary loved to laugh at everything. The silliness of her husband Bob, a jokester of the first class. The teasing she received from her grandsons, who were always apt to see the world in a sarcastic light. Her happiness was apparent in everything she did while on this earth.

If we follow this hair, it will take you through her kindness. Mary loved to send cards. Nary would a holiday pass by that you wouldn’t receive a card from her. As the years went on, and especially this last year as she started to fade, the cards took on a special meaning. The last birthday card, the last father’s or mother’s day card, the last Christmas card. They were all a reminder of both her love of us here, and the love that she would take with her into the beyond where we cannot follow.

Mary loved to write. Notebook after notebook is filled with her daily thoughts of the weather, the things she and her beloved Bob did together, her happiness and frustrations. It was a rare week that went by that didn’t see her writing in her journals, keeping a record of so many days and years of her life. They will be a treasure for her children and grandchildren now that she is gone.

Just as we could never count each individual strand of hair, it is impossible for us to tell you everything that was good and special about Mary. But know this: she lived a good life. She was happy and loved her family with every part of her being. And we loved her back and will miss her so much.

The threads for Mary have been carefully snipped and tucked away. As we pass this token on to you, we hope that you will receive some of her goodness, that your story can be weaved in with the tapestry we lovingly called Mary. We wish you the best.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Emerging Book Emergency...

I am finding myself re-reading Harry Potter because I can't find a book that tempts me. I took back 4 books last night that I've half-heartedly tried to read with no success (one I was over 200 pages into, but I just didn't care.

So, I need you all to suggest some reading material. You pretty much know my book taste, and if you don't, read some of my reviews. I can handle about anything as long as the book is worth it (which means I don't do heaving bosums.)

Suggest away! I know you people read. Help me out!