assorted scribbles

Lucy says hello

2012-01-26T01:17:00.002-07:00

Don't you love her stripes? She's been pretty concerned about me over the past few weeks while I've been going through all the *knee issues. Sleeping near me most nights and sitting very close when I'm in a lot of pain. Don't you think she looks so good on that blue bedspread? It was a Christmas gift from Garrett's parents, and we love it. (Also, I never thought I'd match cats to bedspreads, but I have started doing just that. Weird.)

*The knee saga continues. If you're interested, keep reading. Last week, the specialist ordered an MRI, which showed no problems with ligaments, but an "intense" fluid sac below and behind my kneecap and a strained tendon. He said a physical therapist could take care of me. The physical therapist, after poking and prodding Tuesday morning, and having me nearly take off his head when he innocently pushed on my thigh, causing searing pain, announced there's more going on with my knee than the doctor says. (No kidding, I think to myself.) He thinks there's cartilage damage that stemmed from the December injury. But most importantly, he said my iliotibial band, which runs from the hip bone down past the knee to the tibia, is ... hurt. Most likely tendinitis that's developed into scar tissue. This explanation makes the most sense as my thigh and upper side of my knee have had the most pain. Also, the band helps stabilize the knee, which explains why my knee feels so dang unstable. Apparently more physical therapy will help this, but he warned it often gets worse before it gets better. Today is one of those "worse" days. I could use some prayers, positive thoughts, good vibes, etc. I'm not having a fun time. But I have a really helpful husband and two relatively concerned and cuddly kitty cats, so that helps.

A day in the life

2012-01-23T21:20:00.001-07:00

Because the more I think about this, the more I realize it could not have gotten more strange, so here ya go.

Got a call at work today. Man says he's new to town and was at a local grocery store when he saw a disturbing package of chips. This bag of chips had a child on it. A little pioneer boy. Standing in a field. With a shovel.

Cue the child labor concerns.

The man wants to know if we will do an investigation into why the company and store are able to sell potato chips with such a horrific image. Because where he comes from this is inappropriate and, what kind of a town is this?

After figuring out that he wasn't talking about Lay's or something, and that this was an actual Utah-based company, I told him he might want to contact the actual company. Or the state's Better Business Bureau. He started to get agitated. He asked if he was completely off base, and I told him I didn't really know much about this type of thing. I mentioned that perhaps since it was a historic photo (in which the kid wasn't actually working), and the company presumably isn't using children to make its product now, it was perfectly fine.

He freaked out. Asked what kind of a community this was to promote child labor. Asked if we would actually do anything about this. I said probably not because the potato chip company wasn't in our coverage area, but I suggested he call the newspaper that was in that area. As soon as I said "Ogden," he got belligerent and said I was just giving him the run-around, and why wouldn't I just do a story about this? He asked again if the boy on the chips was illegal. I said I really didn't know, and we were just a small-town newspaper that probably couldn't follow a story outside our coverage area that would take so much time.

I asked for his phone number and name so someone could call him back. He said he wouldn't give me his phone number because he doesn't know what type of town this is, and he doesn't want his house to be blown up. I assure him that wouldn't happen, and we'd just use his number to, you know, call him back. But he says no.

Then he yelled at me, so I said goodbye and hung up.

I found out he'd already talked — and been nasty to — another reporter, the poor girl in the back who answers the phone and the actual potato chip company. (It's a long story, but they called it a "very strange" phone call.)

That's all. Also, I feel bad for whoever he ended up getting at the BBB and Standard-Examiner.

This post brought to you by Percocet

2012-01-15T15:57:00.000-07:00

Actually, it's oxycodone-acetaminophen, the generic name for Percocet. Regardless, it's doing things it's not supposed to while not entirely helping in ways it should.

About a month ago, I was exercising (surprise!) in my basement and I heard/felt my left knee pop. I'm a pretty poppible person, so I didn't think much of it. It hurt, so I quit doing what was making it hurt and went about my evening. It kept hurting for the next few days, so I assumed I did a bit more to it than originally thought.

By Christmas, I was purposefully keeping my leg straight at all times because, although bending it didn't hurt, straightening it out after it had been bent hurt like crazy. I also realized, while doing some last-minute shopping, that I was subconsciously walking in straight lines and only pivoting on my right leg to keep from turning my left leg in any way.

This would have been the time to call the doctor. I did not.

Last week, I decided that maybe it hurt because I hadn't exercised at all in the past month — in an effort to keep the pain minimal, of course. Maybe I needed to actually USE the knee. So, I thought: Yoga. Yoga is low-impact, no contact, etc. There would be no running in place, jumping on that leg, nothing to injure whatever the crap was already injured.

I was wrong. Two nights of very easy yoga later I felt like dying. Sometime around Tuesday evening I quit being able to put weight on that leg, and the cramping that had been isolated to the outside and back of my left knee had extended into my calf and thigh. I called a doctor Wednesday, and was told I couldn't get in for another two weeks. On Thursday night, I cried myself to sleep. Ice, heat, over-the-counter painkillers, nothing was doing much good.

On Friday, Garrett took me to InstaCare after work. The doctor there confirmed what I thought — I've torn/sprained my LCL (lateral collateral ligament). The yoga aggravated the injury and is what has caused the massive cramping of my entire leg. X-rays showed no problems to my bones, so the doc prescribed me some narcotics and told me to call an orthopedic specialist if I didn't feel better soon.

I will be calling that orthopedic specialist. The Percocet is relieving some of the pain, which has only gone from completely unbearable to barely bearable. I cannot get comfortable. I'll move my leg to one position and think I'm good only to have every muscle tense up five seconds later. It's like a permanent charley horse. From hell.

Meanwhile, the narcotics are making me feel like I'm crazy. The room is spinning, things aren't making sense, and I'M SO DANG HUNGRY all the time. For weird stuff. You'd think I was pregnant, but I assure you I'm not. So it's got to be the drugs. (Plus, Google tells me it's the drugs.) I made Garrett get me Jimmy Johns last night (all I really wanted was the avocado on the sandwich), was craving deep fried fries all day yesterday, and today, got up from my nap/can't-do-anything-so-I-hang-out-on-the-bed time and made the blondies I'd just seen on Pinterest. (Thanks, Natalie.) Also, I've gotten up at 4 a.m. for the past two nights to hop on one leg to the pantry and eat straight chocolate for a good 10 minutes.

This has to end — if for no other reason than to prevent me from ballooning to 200 pounds by the end of the month. Because at this rate, it could happen. And, please, for the love, so I can just quit hurting so bad.

Confession time

2012-01-05T18:03:00.002-07:00

I am wearing shoes I bought in 1998. That means I was 14. And that means I've owned the shoes for as long as I haven't.

But they're comfortable, black and warm. Since they're Doc Martens (wow, huh?), they're still in one piece. I got them at the old Nordstroms in Ogden — the one all of us kids in Logan used to drive down to once a year to make ourselves feel fashionable.

So, I ask: What is the oldest item of clothing in your closet that you still wear? Shoes, like me? A shirt? Are you lucky enough to fit into pants from high school still? I want to know.

2011: You say goodbye and I say hello: 2012

2011-12-30T13:50:00.001-07:00

I suppose I'll start blogging again by wrapping up 2011 (in January, but whatever).

I feel like I lost the writing bug this year, but I'm hoping it shows itself again in 2012. For now, here's a marathon of a review. If you make it through, you deserve a medal.

January
After being unemployed for more than seven months, Garrett got a job. It was a huge relief. It's been good for him. Since it's a student job, he has flexible hours, but he's allowed to work up to 40 hours a week. It doesn't come with benefits, but still pays more than my job, which I've been at for six years and requires a degree. Sad. I considered becoming a vegetarian, but ultimately never gave up any meat. I still think about it — more than most would assume — and feel good about myself after a non-meat meal.

February
I wrote a column for work about Cache Valley being a small world and realized my skin has sufficiently thickened up over the years after feeling not one bit of "ouch" when reading some of the comments. Also for work, I got to ride a camel. It was awesome. Freezing, but awesome.

It snowed and snowed and snowed. The one good thing about this is sending your kitties out into the deep snow and watching them pad around. Jet looks wonderful with a white background.

March
Things got political with Utah's House Bill 477, which took up much of the space in my brain during that month. The Associated Press announced "e-mail" could become "email," making journalists everywhere — including me — squeal with glee. I saw some old friends and spoke on a panel at the Mountain West Regional Public Relations Conference at USU. Garrett and I decided to make the trek to Las Vegas to see the Aggies plan in the WAC Tournament. We watched basketball and walked around Vegas for two and a half days. And, of course, I found the only flowers in the area.

April
My trusty little Corolla, which I'd been driving around for the past year as a dual-colored car after losing its hood in 2010, became one color. My nephew, Anderson, turned 1 and learned to walk. Now, he's running, hopping, jumping from things and even fake limping to make people laugh.

This was also the month of the alpine fir tree. After considerable research, Garrett and I settled on buying two alpine firs (I think one is a subalpine because it looks different, but whatever) for our front yard. I love the little guys, despite their distaste for our low(er) elevation and dry summers. They made it through the summer with the help of massive drinks of water every day, and I think if they make it to the year mark, we'll be safe.

May
I showed off a bit of my feminist side blogging about how little Mormon girls need to be taught in church about things other than homemaking and becoming a mother. Natalie at the Bobby Pin was kind enough to post something I wrote for her "Define Beautiful" project. I loved getting to see old high school friends when Chelane graduated from pharmacy school at the University of Utah and had a little party. She and I drove up to Boise a week or two later to search for apartments for her to live in during her residency at the hospital up there. It was then that my newly pretty car became not so pretty. After 10-plus years of no tickets, no crashes, no driving problems whatsoever, that came crashing down. So sad. So expensive.

June
This was a busy month. I taught a class about reporting and interviewing to a group of high school yearbook students at USU. I planted stuff this month. And got some more trees. I love June because everything is growing, green and pretty. It might have become my favorite month.

My family got together and had a group shot taken for the first time in a long time.

And then a few of us went to Moab and rafted the Colorado River for a couple of days. We stopped at Goblin Valley for a few hours to see the crazy landscape.

Part of the month was also rough for me for a reason I won't go into here. But I will say I learned that Garrett will do hard things for me when I can't do them. Things that are hard for him, too, but things that he knows I just can't bear to do on my own. Also, people who abuse or neglect their animals will rot in hell. Yes, that's related to everything I just said.

July
I volunteered to judge newspaper articles for another state's contest, not realizing that it would nearly kill me. I spent more than 15 hours going over stories and packages trying to award some lucky journalists in Nevada some random awards. I hope they're appreciative. Garrett built some shelves in our garage, which was lovely. My cousins, aunt and uncle from Illinois came to visit and stayed at our house for a couple of days. We left for Virginia the last week of the month to see Garrett's family. We met Wynne, went to the zoo to see lions, saw an international soccer game, stayed at a "river house" for a couple of days and visited some historic sites. It was a great trip.

August
We hung out with Joey and Emily at Bear Lake; the water was warm, the lake was gorgeous and the company good. We hit our two-year anniversary or living in our house, so I wrote a list of things to know when you build a house (i.e. things we might do differently next time). We (mostly Garrett, but I did help) built some massive retaining walls on the south side of our house. In an effort to take advantage of the good weather, I spent a good portion of the month eating lunch by myself in random parks around the city. I can tell you all about the creepy, old foreign guy who hangs out at Adams Park and which trees to NOT sit under at the Tabernacle.

September
We spent much of this month and the next in the yard. An early snow prevented us getting our entire front yard done, but it's trenched, piped and flat, ready for sprinklers to be screwed on and grass seed to be spread in the spring. This poor little beech tree has been moved more times than it knows how to handle, but hopefully it's in a spot to stay now.

I wrote about how I feel so disconnected from other women my age and how maybe that's OK. Garrett and I went to Illinois to see my aunt, uncle and cousins. It was an incredibly refreshing long weekend, and I'm so glad we got to see people. We stayed at their house for a few days and in Chicago for a night. It's an awesome city — seriously. While in the Midwest, my aunt and uncle took us all to a traditional apple orchard, where we launched apples, ate caramel apples and sat in a really big chair.

October
I successfully picked 19 out of 20 games correctly as the guest picker in our newsroom one week, only missing out on a perfect week because I succumbed to my pride by not picking BYU as a winner. I wrote about how I stare at a picture of Jesus sometimes at church to keep me from getting up and walking out. And our camera broke, which means there are no photos from October, November and most of December except the crappy ones on my phone. Otherwise, I'd show you and adorable kitten my sister and brother-in-law adopted. Sorry.

November
I spent two days in Salt Lake City at the AP NewsTrain conference, which while exhausting — it started too early and provided no caffeinated beverages — was awesome. Great presenters, great ideas. I quit blogging for multiple reasons, but mostly because I just needed a break. My old journalism professor asked me to teach a class on copy editing and design at USU this next semester. (Wish me luck. Seriously. I'm getting nervous. ... But excited.) We had Thanksgiving at my parent's house with some extended family and a delightful German guest of my uncle. My brother-in-law Shawn had the month from hell after a knee surgery gone bad. He had to have a second emergency surgery in the middle of the night, was in the hospital for days and couldn't put weight on it for six weeks. It's been rough on their little family.

December
Work was insane this month. Holidays + reporters on vacation + a general lack of news + the same usual space that needs to be filled = a stressed-out editor Emilie. Regardless, we managed to have some fun outside of work. Garrett and I went to Boise to see the Aggies play in their first bowl game since 1997 and see Chelane. They lost, just barely, but it was a good game, and it was really good to see Chelane. Also this month, Manette hosted a Christmas party, which was all sorts of fun. (Really, it was a ton of fun.)

We spent Christmas with my family in Bountiful. And the dog, Midas, who pretty much was doing what we all felt like doing after unwrapping Christmas presents.

Thanks for making it to the end! You're all wonderful!

So it's been awhile

2011-11-09T19:19:00.002-07:00

And, to be honest, it might be awhile longer.

I'm in a bit of a funk, and there are so many things I want to say but for some reason there's been a block — be it a particular person I don't want to be reading my thoughts, an opinion I haven't reconciled with another belief, or just plain writer's block. And while I'm out of words, I'm also out of photos because of that little camera breakage issue earlier this fall.

Also, I don't think I'm loving the blog layout (and I think it prevented a few comments from making their way through in October) but I'm too lazy to figure out what to do about it.

So, despite the craziness in my own mind, this blog is going to sit still and be very quiet for a bit longer.

How I deal

2011-10-16T16:21:00.003-06:00

There's a print of a painting of Christ hanging on the wall in my Relief Society room at church. It's framed and hangs above the little shelf where all of the hymn books are stacked just above the piano. The shelf has become a collection for all other random items left in the room — children's books, scriptures, objects used in lessons — and an unusual quantity of Kleenex boxes. Behind all of the stuff you can still see Christ, facing left, with a sort of garment/blanket/scarf draping his head. His eyes are squinting, and he's looking out across the room.

The piano sits in the front right corner of the room. Since I play prelude, postlude and the opening and closing hymn each week, I sit near the piano and often by myself. When the room is more full than usual, there are some women who will venture over into my little corner, but sometimes I'm all alone with my thoughts, the piano and the squinting Christ.

The painting is called "Gentle Healer," so I'm sure that's the emotion the artist was going for, but I choose to interpret the squint a little differently each week.

During some weeks, when the teacher or those in the class tend to stray from doctrine in their comments, those eyes are the most comforting. I struggle enough with actual doctrine; I don't need to hear ad-libbed questionable "doctrine" from random people. So, in my head, I see those eyes looking at the teacher or across the room and giving away His merciful, but confused, thoughts: "What are you saying? Where are you getting this? This isn't what I taught. This isn't what I meant." The eyes are still gentle, but troubled. But on those Sundays, when my ear perk up and my eyebrows go down after someone says something questionable, I look up and see that I'm not alone in my confusion. And I usually feel a lot better.

Three stories about my week

2011-10-15T03:01:00.000-06:00

Anderson and the fire

I worked late last night. Again. This week has tried to kill me, with its late-deadline stories and slow reporters. After a brief break tonight, I pulled back into work around 8:15 to see my sister, brother-in-law and nephew pull in right next to me. They'd stopped for a visit, and since it was after hours I invited them in so we could watch Anderson run chaotically from cubicle to cubicle. His first order of business? Next to my desk, he picked up a full edition of today's paper, threw it on the ground and made the "fire" sign in sign language over it.

Sign language is trendy for kids, but it's also useful for the 18-month-old who won't talk much. He says please, thank you, more, outside, a bunch of other stuff, and recently, of course, fire. Which he actually signs upside down since he hasn't mastered the fine-motor skills to turn his hands so his palms both face upward.

They've been building fires in the fireplace at his house lately, and old newspapers are apparently the go-to fire starter. Which is great, because I know they actually do get read beforehand. But not by the toddler, who now associates the product I spend all day creating with fire.

At least I can be grateful he doesn't know how to sign for "bottom of a bird cage."

Jet and the vet

My black cat is special. THAT kind of special. Feral for the first six months of his life, he's only comfortable with Garrett and I and won't let another soul touch him. My family barely gets a look at him — crouched under my bed, usually — when they come to visit. So I knew a trip to the vet would be interesting; I just didn't know how much.

Jet was supposed to go with his mama, Lucy, for a check-up and shots visit last Saturday. But he outsmarted the (cheap) carrier we bought to fit them both and escaped right before. So, she went Saturday and he went Wednesday. Because the $40 piece-of-crap, medium-sized Petsmart carrier wouldn't work, I borrowed my sister's small one-cat carrier to take Jet. Only the morning of, he wouldn't get in. I probably could have spent an hour trying to force him in there and only had more scratches all over my body and one freaked out feline to show for it.

I resolved he'd have to ride in my lap in the car, and I'd carry him in and hold him — tight. But Jet knew something was up, so he wouldn't let me catch him in the house. I chased (walked, really) after him for 10 minutes. Upstairs, downstairs, back up, back down. He was scared and panting. In the end, he surrendered in the guest bathroom by hopping into the sink, curling into a ball and hiding his face. Poor guy.

On the ride there, he tried to dig a hole next to my back speakers. While there, he attempted to shed 75 percent of his coat. On the way back, he gave up, curled up his 14.1 pounds on the floor in front of the front passenger seat and didn't make a peep.

The vet said the shots would make him drowsy, and he was right. Jet slept for the next 36 hours moving only every few hours to a new sleeping spot. He also quit meowing, which freaked us out.

By Thursday night, he was back to his weird, loud, anxiety-ridden self. It's good to have him back.

Me and BYU

Each week, the sports department staff makes predictions on local high school football games, a collection of college games and four random NFL games. Each week they invite a "guest picker" to join them. The pickers' mug shots and predictions are printed in the paper on Thursday/Friday, and the outcomes run Tuesday/Wednesday of the next week. Last week, the sports editor asked me to do it — I usually do about once a season — and I agreed because, believe it or not, I'm actually pretty knowledgeable about sports and have a decent record picking games.

I cheat a bit and have Garrett help me with the NFL games, because I care not one iota about them. I can handle the high school games and about half of the college games entirely by myself. I usually end up asking Garrett what he thinks about the other half, but I don't necessarily go with his suggestions.*

There are 20 games to predict. I got through 16 or 17 in about five minutes, asked Garrett about another couple I was unsure on and then, last minute, circled San Jose State over BYU. In Provo. Because, despite my recent attempts to try to understand that most BYU fans are normal, nice people, I picked SJSU. Unless it's going to be an obvious blow out in BYU's favor, I just can't pick them. Goes against everything in me. Plus, I knew Riley Nelson would start, and he's a wild card. And, they kind of suck this year overall. AND, San Jose is a WAC team, and I usually root for in-conference teams. There was some logic to this pick; it wasn't just all rabid hate of BYU. I was the only picker that week to predict a BYU loss.

Well, BYU won. And I went 19-1 overall.

The guys in the newsroom cannot believe I let my "pride" get in the way of being perfect. The football beat writer has been calling me "19-and-1." The sports editor spent precious work time researching past picks to find that the last person to go 19-1 was a full-time sports writer more than four years ago, and that I'm the only guest picker in documented history to do so. No one has ever been perfect.

But you know what? They'd scream if they knew this, but I'd probably do it all over again.

* P.S. Garrett wants everyone to know I went against his advice when picking San Jose. He suggested I pick BYU. Just so you know.

After curfew

2011-10-05T01:01:00.000-06:00

At the risk of sounding like I'm checking in with parents a minute past curfew, I'm ... checking in. With the mysterious Internet people.

For now, at least.

Our Internet is nearly completely shot, which means it works one minute and not the next (five). Both the router and the modem appear to be not-so-slowly committing suicide. So, until we get things figured out, I may not be around much. I'm sure you're all so disappointed.

We can't call Comcast yet because as soon as they come to check things out, one of two things will happen. A) Everything will work. (Until they leave again.) Or, B) They'll notice that our entire front yard is dug up and tell us we did something to the line.

Regarding B, not true. We know where that line is, and it is exactly where you put it — oh-so-shallowly — two years ago, Mr. Comcast man. Just because we have trenches running through every corner of our front yard doesn't mean the service shouldn't work. The TV works, so we know the line is intact. So there.

On the subject of trenches. Garrett worked hard over the weekend to get nearly all of the underground portion of our front yard sprinkler system put together. (I worked sort of hard.) Then it rained. And poured. So it's a huge mud pit now, and even if we could get out there to finish stuff up, the person we're using to grade the yard won't put his machine on sopping wet soil. So, please, rain gods: Just hold up for a minute. If we can get this finished by the weekend, we can get seed in by early next week and little sprouts of grass up before it starts to freeze every single night. (By the way, I'm so conflicted because I typically love late summer/early fall rainstorms, but this year — we just can't have it.)

So that's it. Oh, except — in other mundane news about our life — our trusty, little digital camera given to us by Garrett's parents four (?) years ago, has bit the dust. So, once I actually HAVE reliable Internet coverage, I'll only be blogging by word in the near future. I don't know if that's good or bad for you all. Either way, you have no choice. :)

And that, my friends, was the longest call-a-minute-after curfew explanation I've ever given.

A walk in Chicago

2011-09-29T13:00:00.000-06:00

Every time I look back at the photos we took in Chicago, I'm amazed at its coolness. It was incredible. We only had a few short hours there, but I would have loved to walk the city for days. I'm just posting photos here for those who love traveling, big cities, architecture or cool parks to see what an awesome city this is.

A new look?

2011-09-29T00:35:00.004-06:00

I think I may have fallen in love with Blogger's new "Dynamic Views" formatting in a matter of minutes. So, while I might regret it come morning, I'm giving it a try for now. Supposedly, it'll be more customizable in the coming weeks. Hopefully more options will eventually allow for some sidebar content and the ability to upload your own headers.

What do you think? Have those of you still on Blogger (I hang my head in shame in the direction of you Wordpress folks) switched over? Will you? Be sure to check out the options (top left) of how to view the blog. I chose Magazine for two reasons. A: I think it looks best. B: I do work with editorial content all day long, so it only makes sense.

The women with the strollers

2011-09-22T23:37:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week as I drove to work I marveled at the number of strollers on the roads And, of course, the mothers who pushed them. It was a particularly stressful morning, and I knew I had several things to do as soon as I walked into the newsroom. I'd woken up late, because I'd been up too late, and so I was smearing make up on my face as I drove. I'm so good at this I even know which stop lights along U.S. 91 stay red long enough for me to drag the eyeliner across my eyelid in away that makes it look like I did it at home, relaxed, in the mirror. I've learned to do just about everything else while in motion. But eyeliner requires a light. But that's besides the point.

I was stressed out. I am stressed out. I have been for awhile. And as I stared at those women pushing strollers while they chatted amongst themselves or talked on their phones, I had a pang of utter confusion. I have no idea what it's like to be them. They are nearly as foreign to me as strangers in another country who lead very different lives. I watch them as if I'm on safari and they are animals in their natural habitat. It's fascinating to see such a different life.

Here comes a confession. In high school and college, I figured I wouldn't work. I'd get a degree, of course, and maybe work for a couple of years. But then marriage would come, and babies, and life would move along without any bumps. The end.

Then came journalism. And the student paper. I started to spend more time in those classes and at that paper than I did at home. Because I loved it. I was offered a full-time job in my field before I even graduated. Actually, I was offered two. (Remember when the economy was good? Miss those times.)

And I worked. Hard. It's been nearly 6.5 years since graduation, and I love what I do. It's incredibly stressful, it pays like crap and sometimes there are really bad and really long days. But there are reasons to go back each day. What I do is becoming more a part of me than I'd ever imagined it would.

So I see these women and, while I tell myself — truthfully — that I'm going to do something I love, the insides of me feel like they're ripping in half. I think: I am so exhausted. What would it be like to not spend so little time in your own house? To see your yard in the daylight? To be able to talk to others in your neighborhood when you're out with kids during the day? To walk around the block with a baby and be able to look at the mountains and trees and sky without panicking that you're missing a call or that your boss is wondering why you're taking longer than 30 minutes to get lunch? To go to the grocery store during the day? To feel like you belong during neighborhood activities?

I don't know. What I do know is that these women, they have their own struggles. Their own stresses. They may be exhausted, too. But, there are so many things about their lives I crave. Or are there? Could it just be a greener-grass situation?

When, God willing, the time comes that I'm actually able to make a decision about whether I want that life or the one I'm leading now, I don't know what I'll choose. I'd choose the babies, for sure, but I don't know if that plan I had in what's seeming like so many years ago is really so good.

10 years ago

2011-09-11T17:12:00.000-06:00

Everyone's doing this, as I knew they would. But I will, too, just because I've never written it down. And I'm interested in hearing memories from those who I was with that day. To any Woods Cross High School class of 2002 alumni out there, chime in.

———————————

Ten years ago today, I was a senior in high school. It was a B day, meaning I attended my fifth- through eighth-period classes. School started at 7:30 a.m., so I usually got up around 6:15 or 6:30. At some point that morning I turned on my radio as I was getting ready — probably around 7:05 or 7:10. I was listening to the Radio From Hell morning show on X96, and the hosts were saying something about a plane crash in New York City. At the time, reports were coming in that the first tower had been hit by a small, private plane — possibly on accident. This was 2001, when news was not readily available the second it happened. No one had smart phones to instantly post photos or status updates. Now that I work in the news industry, I'm sure either the radio hosts or their producer were seeing the radio-only Associated Press news reports come across the wire. At the time, they were probably one sentence long and contained very little information. TV stations only began reporting that the planes were hijacked after 7:15 a.m. my time. Before that, there was just massive confusion. As I drove to school, the same hosts said something about areas of New York being evacuated. I remember listening half-heartedly, not thinking anything too crazy would come of this.

My fifth-period class from 7:30 to 9 a.m. was AP calculus. So, by the time I sat down in class, it was 9:30 a.m. in New York. Five minutes before, the Associated Press had first used the phrase "act of terrorism," and at that very minute President Bush was telling the students and teachers at the elementary school he was visiting that there had been a "national tragedy." The two planes that crashed into the Pentagon and the field in Pennsylvania were still in the air, which is chilling to think about now.

About 30 minutes into my calculus class, the school principal got on the intercom system and, in vague terms, told us something had happened. It's odd now that I don't remember a single thing he said. But I think he told us to go back to our classwork. I remember my teacher having a discussion with members of the class of whether to pull the TV out of her office and turn it on for us to watch. I don't remember if she did.

Sixth period was seminary, which is also a blur. I think my teacher had been watching the news, and he was able to relay a bit more information to us. By 9 a.m. in Utah, when that class started, both towers had collapsed, all four planes had crashed, New York and Washington, D.C., had begun to be evacuated and there was overall fear that more hijacked planes were still in the air.

Seventh period was foods. Meant to satisfy a stupid vocational credit, the class was mostly worthless. Our teacher was old and grouchy. We asked her if we could watch the news instead of doing normal class work, and she said no, summing up that the events on the East Coast "were probably just another bombing." I can only assume — and hope — that she hadn't heard much about it and possibly thought it was an event in the Middle East.

We left after that. Amanda, Chelane and I drove to my house, where my mom was home. We turned on the TV, hoping to catch 20 minutes of coverage before we had to head back to school for our AP calculus lab. We never went back. I don't think any of us got notes to excuse us or anything, and on that day, I don't think the school cared. We sat in my family room watching ABC, NBC and CBS for the next few hours.

That's all I remember. Is that weird? I don't remember any specific feeling of fear, anger, panic or, actually, any emotional whatsoever other than curiosity. I wasn't surprised that someone had attacked America because I'd never taken the time to think that someone actually would. Maybe it took some time for the magnitude of the situation to set in. Maybe it did only gradually. I don't know.

Hello from Chicago

2011-09-06T22:10:00.000-06:00

We've spent a wonderful few days in Illinois visiting relatives who live about 90 minutes from Chicago. It's been wonderfully relaxing. Today, we took multiple methods of mass transit from rural Illinois into the city, and we're staying 26 stories up on the Magnificent Mile for a night before heading home tomorrow. It's an awesome city. I wholeheartedly recommend a visit.

Eating with Anderson

2011-09-01T21:33:00.000-06:00

There's nothing boring about it.

(Yes, this is just a bunch of pictures of my nephew sitting in the same place, doing virtually the same thing. Deal with it. He's adorable.)

Look! We have friends!

2011-08-28T23:33:00.000-06:00

We made a last-minute decision Friday to go to Bear Lake the next day to visit friends. Since Garrett and I are slow, methodical people, this is unusual for us. But it was a blast. We should do stuff like that more often.

Thanks to Joey and Emily, who live and work up there right now, we spent about nine hours kayaking, briefly snorkeling (no, we didn't see anything), biking, boating, tubing and *hot tubbing. Our bodies (OK, maybe just mine) are seriously feeling it right now. I haven't been on a bike in a year. And staying on that tube took everything in me.

We can't believe we've stayed away from Bear Lake all summer. The water is super warm this year — 74 degrees. If it's still like this later in September, we'll do our best to get back up there.

And just in case you doubted whether or not I actually got on my bike.

*On a side note, does anyone else think the phrase "hot tubbing" sounds weird? It makes it sound like a sport — as if it's marathon dating but marathon hot-tub hopping. But what else do you call when you go somewhere and sit in a hot tub?

What to know when you build a house

2011-08-20T22:07:00.000-06:00

Today marks the two-year anniversary of signing our mortgage papers. So in honor of that, I thought I'd put together a list of things people should remember when buying or building (mostly building) a new house. We love our house, and it's the best thing the two of us have done together. We also, for the most part, were happy with our contractor. But we were newbies to the home-building process and just thrilled it was actually happening, so there were things we just didn't know to do.

For those of you who have bought or built a house, do you agree with this list? What would you add?

1. When a contractor shows you another house as the "example" of what you'll get, ask about every little thing. "Will our deck be that size?" "Will we have the extra padding under the carpet that's in this house?" Ask for a specific list of extras that house has that yours will not. Get it emailed to you. We were shown a house one street over, told there were "two or three" extras and then, later in the process, told about another "two or three" extras that we wouldn't be getting. None of them were too big of a deal, but it's important to know what you're getting.

2. Discuss every detail of the loan with your bank/broker/whatever beforehand so you don't see any surprises. Don't assume that since they said you will qualify and you've locked in a good rate and been told what your approximate closing costs and monthly mortgage costs will be, that's what it is. Since our house is in Smithfield, we qualified for the USDA's Rural Housing Service loan. That's a good thing — it meant we don't have to pay mortgage insurance even though our down payment was less than 20 percent of the purchase price. However, no one thought to mention there was a $4,000-odd fee associated with processing that loan. I found out after shopping around for homeowners' insurance and having my agent tell me the bank actually required the house to be covered at $4,000 more than what I expected.

3. Ask nearby homeowners, if their houses were built using the same contractor, what they wish was different about their home. Had we asked around, we might have realized that requesting additional insulation under our kitchen/dining area (above our family room) might have decreased noise heard from below when people are walking around upstairs. Or we might have found out that installing a water line into the garage would allow us to have a utility sink down the road. Many in our neighborhood have similar walk-in closets to ours. We've all figured out the hard way there's little room for a tall laundry basket there. Some creative planning in that case would have eliminated that problem with no extra money involved.

4. If you're building and you want to do any of the work yourself, agree on that beforehand. Don't just trust that they'll let/want you to just because one person in the office mentioned that many future homeowners do that. This is probably the biggest point of contention I had with our contractor. A family member did all the painting in our home, which was originally "not a problem." A few days before we were told it WAS a problem, and that the original subcontractor would be painting our house. I fought it, and we ended up getting what we wanted. However, it created a lot of tension for the next several weeks.

5. Check the water pressure on your last walk-through. Don't just make sure water comes through every tap. Turn on multiple taps and see what happens. Our pressure is crappy, but we didn't know that until we ran a load of wash and, heaven forbid, tried to fill up a drink of water in the kitchen at the same time. I don't know if there's anything the contractor could have done about it, but it doesn't hurt to ask.

6. Speaking of last walk-throughs: Check everything. Don't be so excited it's a new house that you just walk through in a daze. And don't just look for cosmetic issues. Pretend like you're living there already. What would you do in the morning when you wake up? At night, when you're going to sleep? Plug something in to every outlet. Check every drain. Flush every toilet. Run the dishwasher, the disposal, the AC and furnace. Open and close the garage doors. Walk around the house and look for safety issues — nails were sticking out of all of our window wells, which we asked to be removed.

7. If you're buying a new house with an unfinished area, make sure the contractor/seller leaves it in a way that doesn't require immediate work. Half of our basement was left nearly completely unfinished — very little framing, a basic electrical system, etc. A subcontractor had blown in insulation that was then left exposed. We asked that they staple plastic over the entire area so the insulation didn't fall off little by little and litter the entire area. They did, at no extra charge, but wouldn't had I not asked.

8. You're not just buying a house. Make sure the yard is good to go. In our case, it was a pile of dirt. However, we've since learned it was not enough dirt. In the weeks before we moved in, the builder had someone level the lot and bring in a load of (crappy) topsoil for the front yard. We should have asked for more. If you're in a new development and the same contractor is bringing more topsoil into other yards, you hae every right to ask for more. We knew we wouldn't be doing anything with the yard that fall, so we didn't worry about it. We're literally paying for it now.

9. If there's any type of a guarantee on anything inside your home, use it. Our house had a one-year warranty, so to speak. We only called our contractor about one thing that went out — the AC sensor in the hallway. It was a huge pain, because no sub-contractor wants to be called back to a house they finished months before, but it was worth it. We should have called about other things. For instance, the grouting in our master tub between the tile and the tub itself has, well, dissolved? (Or something.) We kept thinking it was something we could fix ourselves, and two years later, we still haven't.

10. Expect the unexpected. The process will take longer than you think even if you have Superman building your house. And we did have Superman. The first tractor started digging our foundation June 1, and the city signed off on the house by the first week of August. But the loan took FOREVER, and we couldn't move in until it was cleared through the government. Also, there were hiccups along the way that were no one's fault. For instance, adjustments that were made to our house layout caused unexpected issues due to Garrett's height. The stairway had to be completely rebuilt after it was discovered he couldn't walk down it without hitting his head. It didn't take long, but it could have caused a delay had we been working with a worse contractor.

Show and Tell Sunday XIV — Walls

2011-08-14T23:27:00.000-06:00

We are, apparently, the slowest landscapers in the neighborhood. Possibly even in the world. Even the single guy across the street has started doing something after more than two years of living like a hermit and not even knowing he had a yard. We're not sure what exactly he's doing — it's either a moat or a drainage system — but I'm sure we'll figure it out soon.

Back to us. We're slow. Oh well. So, shoot us.

Last week, however, we did finish the last of the retaining walls.

For your viewing pleasure:

We plan on adding some top soil above both walls. So, there's obviously more work to do — throughout the whole yard. But hey, the walls are done.

My dream

2011-08-10T01:27:00.000-06:00

While I'm tired and have lost most of my inhibition, I'll just come out with it:

My dream is to own my own greenhouse.

I want to order plants in mass quantities from a catalog in the fall, plant little seeds in January to be big and bushy by April, breathe in the humidity when plants fill up every available space by Mother's Day, watch the leaves come out on trees, teach people about where to plant certain things... And, I want a greenhouse cat. Or two.

I know nothing about owning a small business, purchasing green things that come in on big trucks, or anything like that. And I understand it would be a ton of work. People who own businesses say they can never be "off."

But guess what? That's my life now. I am always on call — even when someone else is "scheduled." And I know what it's like to deal with difficult co-workers, employees, customers(/sources). Also: I know a bit about management.

And people. I'm a Capricorn, a journalist and a INFJ. I just KNOW about people.

I'm learning more and more about plants. And I love them.

And. Lastly. I did pass AP Calculus. Just barely. But that should count for something when it comes to finances and crap. I'm not dumb.

So, it's my dream.

That is all.

Show and Tell Sunday XIII — Virginia trip

2011-08-07T14:39:00.000-06:00

So ... it's been awhile. Excuse me while I inch back into blogging. Garrett and I were across the country for much of the last 10 days (we got back very late Thursday), so that's where I've been.

So, today you just get the obligatory "here's what I did on my vacation" post. Feel free to skip. I admit to skipping many photo-heavy vacation posts of yours. Sorry. :) ... (There are only nine photos, if that helps you get through it all.)

Because we hadn't been to Virginia for over two years, this was our first time meeting Tegwyn, who is lovingly known as Wynne (yes, pronounce the "e"). My in-laws got her about a year ago, and we loved her. I'm NOT a small dog person, but this is one I could do. She's not quite a lap dog and doesn't love to be picked up, but how can you not pick up a 15-pound dog?

We spent a night in D.C. and went to the zoo the next day to see the seven baby lions. I've been watching them on the Smithsonian website since they were born last fall. (Three to one mom, four to another. Same dad.) It hit 100 degrees that day, and the humidity was crazy. So, we almost died. But it was still a good day. No good lion photos, but you do get one from Ray's Hell Burger. In Arlington, the restaurant most recently in the news when President Obama took the Russian president there last year. We met Garrett's parents there, who treated us to burgers and fries. And I made Garrett get a pin from the cashier so I could stick it in the map. No one from Smithfield had visited yet.

After dinner, we drove to FedEx Field on the east side of D.C., where Manchester United and Barcelona were playing a "friendly" match. It was insane. More than 81,000 people packed in (another 9,000 could have fit), and we watched Man U win 2-1. Really cool experience. Here's Garrett with his mom, who had a big birthday while we were in Virginia, and then a view of the game a little big later in the night.

For the last few days we went with Garrett's parents and met his brother at a "river house." It was tucked somewhere in Virginia's "Northern Neck," and near the Nomini River, which feeds into the Potomac*. The house was awesome. We had no Internet or cell phone reception most of the time**, so we really did get to relax. We saw fireflies — my first time! — and all of the frogs came out at night, so we hunted around with flashlights looking for them. I also liked looking at the gardens, since there's a ton of stuff that will grow there — in the humidity — that you're never going to see in Utah. The house owners allowed dogs, so Wynne came, and she loved it.

Here's the view looking the other direction. A walkway led to a dock on the wide and slow river, which we actually got in on Tuesday night. The water was shallow, dirty, just a bit salty and about 85 degrees. There were fish jumping all over the place, which makes me a bit squeamish, but I lived through it. It was only the next morning that we found out Atlantic stingray swim that far upstream and actually have a mating cove just a few hundred yards away from where we got in. Even though I'm told they wouldn't have hurt me, I'm really glad I didn't know they were there beforehand.

On our drive back from the river house, Garrett and I stopped at a few historic sites. George Washington's birthplace is nearby, so we gave ourselves a little tour of the grounds. We also stopped in Fredericksburg, which is home to many Colonial, Revolutionary War and Civil War sites. (There was also a Masonic cemetery and pretty solid overall Masonic presence in the city, which fascinated me.) Mary Washington (George's mom) was buried there, and her "country women" erected a miniature obelisk for her there near a place she supposedly went to pray for her son during the war. (The last photo, however, was the monument near Washington's birth place. Two obelisks in one day meant we were really in Washington country.)

So, that's it. (Not really, but you really don't want every little detail, right?)

We had a blast, and it was good to see people, but we were happy and ready to come home to our own bed and our incredibly bored kitties. Eight days is just about a perfect trip length for a homebody like me.

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* Everyone there called that place "the middle of nowhere," but the roads were paved and there were actual neighbors within a two-minute walk. So, no, it wasn't the middle of nowhere by Utah standards. But we still felt somewhat isolated.

** We did get reception when we drove into Montross to go to the grocery store. That's where the cashier gave me incredibly weird looks when I purchased FIVE newspapers. But, hey, I wanted to see what other papers are doing.

Who me? Yes, me.

2011-07-22T00:18:00.000-06:00

At some point today at work I had so many windows and tabs open on my computer I completely forgot what I was doing. It's happened before but not in a way that made me want to scream like it did today. Really, I wanted to stand on my desk, throw my computer down and offer up a primal scream to my coworkers who would probably no longer count me as a sane individual.

I didn't think it could happen, but I think I've reached the point where I'm Internet'd out.

I wish I could just unplug for awhile. I want to read a book, water my garden, go on a long drive ... all without thinking I have to check my phone every five minutes to make sure I'm not missing the next big story in Cache Valley or a DM on Twitter or a +1 on G+ or, my gosh, even the latest email from Groupon telling me about a deal I really actually don't care about.

Just for a day or two. It would be so nice.

Anybody else feeling overwhelmed by all things www?

Can't be good news

2011-07-14T00:11:00.000-06:00

I've been having this dream over and over that I'm in a car driving pretty fast and the brakes go out.

They're not completely out, but they're soft. Like, if I press my foot down slowly the car will brake little by little but pretty soon my foot is on the floor of the car and the car's still going. So I'll pump the pedal really fast, and absolutely nothing will happen.

Usually I'm on a freeway or highway, and I need to stop for some reason or another. And it's kind of dark outside. Maybe completely dark.

The cars ahead of me start getting closer and closer because they're going slower than me, and I'm trying different things with the brake pedal to see if I can get the car to stop or at least slow down enough to not hit anything, but nothing is working.

Then I wake up.

It's been suggested to me this means I feel a lack of control in my life. Or that some aspect of my life is not going anywhere. Or maybe it's something totally different.

Whatever it is, I'm can't convince myself it means anything good. And dang it all, I want to just stop waking up in the middle of every night. I need some decent sleep.

Image problems

2011-07-09T00:03:00.000-06:00

As you may have noticed (or not, since, let's face it, I have so few readers), I'm having image problems.

My header disappeared yesterday at some point. And then sometime today, all of my photos went the way of the dodo. I have a feeling it has something to do with Google+, which I joined a couple of days ago. All Blogger photos are kept on Picassa, which Google+ is phasing in or something.

My template has also gone haywire — without me touching it at all — and won't let me re-upload the header image at the same size it was. So, I've had to shrink the width of the blog to match the header width (about 790px).

I can deal with that, but ugh. The lost images thing makes me sick.

Are any of you seeing this problem? Is there anyone who wants to volunteer their brains to help me fix the header/blog width issue? Or, heck, even move to Wordpress?

Moments with mice

2011-07-08T13:14:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning just a bit before 8 to a loud meow from Lucy.

Lucy is pretty verbal to begin with, and she's been especially belligerent lately. Jet didn't come in last night, so we left the sliding door ajar for the kitties to go back and forth. Lucy takes full advantage of that in typical cat fashion — going in, out, in, out. At some point each morning — whether she's been locked inside or not — she'll wake us up with her meowing. She wants food, or cuddles, or water or something we can never figure out. On bad mornings, she'll hop up on Garrett's side of the bed, walk across him (while meowing), walk across me and then hop down. Then she'll walk back around and do it all over again.

But this morning, it was a different meow. I opened my eyes to see her in the doorway.

With a mouse. In my bedroom.

The spring rain drowned most of the mice population in our neighborhood. And since our neighbors have started to landscape (we're still working on it), the remaining mice take off to nearby fields. But if any cat can catch a mouse, it's Lucy.

There was about three minutes of frantic movement, starting with me pulling the earplug out of Garrett's ear to say "Mouse!" and ending with him trapping the scared little thing in a mixing bowl (we'll wash it) and throwing it out the front door to leave Lucy wandering the bedroom wondering where her plaything went.

We've come a long way. While we haven't had to deal with the critters so much this year, last year brought a monsoon of rodents. Hardly a day went by that we didn't see a live or dead one on our property — or in our house, which greatly improved our rodent catching skills.

So as I recovered from this morning's fun, I remembered the first time we had a mouse loose in the house. I wrote about the awfulness of finding its dead, smelly body weeks later. What I didn't include in the past is the delirious email I sent to Garrett, who was traveling for work that night. He found the email this week, got a good laugh and sent it back to me. I thought I'd post it for one last trip down this particular memory lane. Sorry about the minor theatrics toward the end there.

You left at a bad time. And you went to bed too early.

I was sitting in the living room — on the floor — and a mouse just pops its head up from the top stair. Little cute thing with huge ears. Lucy goes nuts, chases the thing downstairs. I assume she got it and give her time to eat. Then, when I go down, she's staring under the couch. I lifted the thing up and the mouse comes running out with Lucy chasing it. They both go into the unfinished area and the mouse is hiding behind the water heater in a spot Lucy can't access. That goes on for awhile.

Then, mouse scurries across room to hide under the washer and dryer. And there goes half an hour of my and Lucy's life. After awhile I lift up the washer. Instead of seeing a mouse come out, Lucy runs under it and my hands are slipping and she's going to be crushed and die when I can't hold it anymore. And I finally notice she climbed out but on the other side of me. So I put it down. Then I pull the dryer out and do the same thing. It's easier. And the mouse was there. So it runs back to the water heater. Lucy misses that. I have to reach around, pick her up by the scruff of her neck and sit her down by the water heater. She still doesn't believe me and goes back to the washer/dryer.

Finally, mouse runs out into the room toward the litter box. I grab Lucy and take her over there. Then they start doing this really wimpy chase thing all over the room. Lucy is too slow. Mouse is just jogging — not even running. Mouse gets away, climbs UP the framing behind all the stacked boxes and into the ... middle area. The area between the floor and ceiling. And that is where he is staying, because I can't find him and Lucy will literally sit watching the ceiling from the wood framing 5 feet up from the floor all night if I let her. I shut the door, put a blanket under it and brought Lucy and her litter box out to the family room. She's still down there thinking the mouse is under the couch. And there is a live mouse in the house. And now when I bring her home from the vet's tomorrow I can't put her in the unfinished area because the mouse will recognize that she's not all with it and torture her.

I'm having a hard time with this. It's a mouse that can obviously climb, meaning it can get into bed with me. And I don't want it to.

That is all. I hope I survive the night. Love you.

Show and Tell Sunday XII — Moab trip

2011-07-03T23:16:00.000-06:00

We just got back from a two-day rafting trip near Moab down the Colorado River with my family. It was a ton of fun, but I think our exhaustion ever since is pretty good proof that we're getting older. Then again, 100-degree weather is enough to wear anyone out.

We stopped at Goblin Valley on the way down.

Then we drove to Moab, where we stayed overnight in a surprisingly comfortable bed at a really cheap Super 8 (for me — Garrett didn't think so as much), before getting up the next morning to get on the river.

Mark and Matt almost immediately started the who-can-get-tanner contest.

We stopped for lunch the first day at a beach with a bunch of other groups. Mark couldn't resist a little waterslide activity.

Extreme snowfall in nearby Colorado has caused an unusually high river this year. Our guide said there are rapids in places there never have been, and the regular ones are even bigger than normal. The water was pretty cold, but with the air temperature at 100 degrees both Friday and Saturday, the cold water was just fine.

Almost all of us took turns in the inflatable kayak.

And I didn't even burn! Turns out sunscreen prevents that!

We camped Friday night on the river. It was nice, but the air temperature didn't begin to drop until around 1 or 2 a.m., which meant we were trying to fall asleep in about 85-degree temps. Pure misery. But by the time we woke up at 7 a.m., it felt great.

Finally! Our camp neighbors had two dogs, one of which didn't look like a dog the first time we glanced over there. (You know I try to get animals in as many posts as possible.)

A lion! His name is George, he's 7 and he's really friendly. His owners said they give him a lion cut every June to keep him cool through the summer. I usually cringe when I see "creative" haircuts on dogs — or cats for the matter — but this one was so awesome, I loved it. If I ever get a golden retriever, this might just happen one summer...

A small glimpse into my day

2011-06-24T15:56:00.000-06:00

It's been a long one already. Maybe I'll explain someday, but just know now that people who neglect or mistreat animals will someday be punished by God. I truly believe that. Amen.

Also, mental illness ruins lives.

Anyway, I'd punched my way through my frequent customer card to a free sandwich at Great Harvest. I ordered, went and got a cup of water (I'm off Dr. Pepper, did you know?), sat down and pulled out my phone to wait for my name to be called.

Only, my hand hit the very full cup of water when it was on the way back from my purse, spilling the water all over the table, chair, my jeans, the floor and amazingly, into my shoes, which were on my feet on the ground. Oh, and all over the free piece of bread they give you when you walk in. That was lovely.

Cold, wet and embarrassed, I walked across the room to the closest napkin dispenser. A few times. On my last trip back, two elderly gentlemen — really, really elderly — had sat down at my small table with their soup and bread. One turned to me and said, "Oh, thank you, miss, for cleaning up this table for us."

So, with drips of cold water running down my legs inside my jeans because it was really that much water, I nodded and found another table.

What's your weird story of the day?

2011-06-15T23:14:00.000-06:00

I bet mine is weirder.

While teaching courses at a high school yearbook camp this morning, I noticed a pineapple sitting on one desk. Glued (I think) on it was paper cut in the shape of eyes. I asked one of the advisers what was with the pineapple. Honestly, the only thought I could come up with — other than that they planned to eat it later (sans eyes, of course)— was that it was some strange school "mascot" the group carried around.

But, no.

The pineapple is a "companion" to one of the girls. It's also her "representative," so that she can can be in a different location and still take in all of the knowledge that this pineapple "absorbs." Because they have this special connection. The pineapple makes her feel "secure," I was told.

To that, I just nodded, sort of smiled and tried my best to keep my eyebrows exactly where one should keep them when not trying to look utterly flabbergasted.

Show and Tell Sunday XI — It lives

2011-06-12T19:47:00.000-06:00

Last summer my mom gave me a baby Japanese maple. It was only about a foot tall and had two main branches. But it was gorgeous, and I promptly planted it in my makeshift garden. It turned a beautiful orange in the fall after its bright red dulled in August. Come October/November, I researched how to keep these little things alive through horrible Smithfield winters (they're worse than Logan winters, even) and got to work. After layering newspaper and mulch at the tree's base, I wrapped the tiny trunk. Then I put a tomato cage around it, wrapped it with burlap and stuffed the inside of the cage with dead dried leaves and dry hay. I finished by tying off the burlap at the top and praying it would all work.

By the time March came around I was antsy, but it just kept snowing. And the temperatures were so low overnight that I decided to wait until mid-April to unwrap it. When I did, it looked dead. But most of the branches were still bendy, and when I scraped them with my fingernail they were green underneath the outer layer. In May the sun came out — in between the rainstorms, and leaves started to unfold.

Ultimately, I did lose a branch. You can see it missing on the right side of the tree. But there are still leaves coming out of the base of the branch, so hopefully after another year it will have gotten used to its location and look better than it did when I got it.

Here's a look at it in the whole scheme of my chaotic garden. Yes, the lamium ground cover has gone insane. But its flowers are beautiful. In a few years, when the tree should be another several inches taller, it'll be a focal point in the garden. Along with the shrub on the right and a few ferns that are pretty small right now. What you can't see is the laurel closer to the garage that will eventually take up that space. Within about two weeks the alium — the tall grass-like stuff throughout the garden —should bloom bright purple, and maybe I'll have another Show and Tell Sunday for you. :)

On being nice

2011-06-02T00:24:00.000-06:00

I keep thinking I ought to write something here, and then I go all ADD for the first time in my life and start thinking about something else. And then something else. My mind has been racing for the past few days, and I'm not sure why. There's a lot going on. With me, with people around me. With people around them. It's not as if this hasn't always been the case, but I feel like some switch has turned on and I see and sense more. Super annoying. I can't even keep a train of thought.

So then I think, I'll just post photos. That's the fall back for bloggers, right? But then I can't find my card reader, so I start thinking about where it might be. It's probably in my purse, but have you seen my purse? 1. It's on the kitchen table, and I'm in bed. And, 2. I can't even find my keys in that thing most days. Word to the wise: If a purse is big enough to carry two bananas around in it all day WITHOUT YOU NOTICING, it might be too big. But I do love it. So I'm keeping it. I just might not ever post another photo here again.

Meanwhile, with all of these thoughts racing through my head (why do we say racing? It's as if there's a finish line, and we all know there isn't), I can't help but notice one consistent theme to life over the last few days: Loneliness.

I'm OK right now; don't worry about me. But anyone with a brain who knows me knows there have been times I'm not. And at these times when there is SO MUCH going on, I notice the loneliness of other people. Maybe it's one of those situations where you notice something more because you're thinking about it, but I'm noticing a lot of loneliness. In a conversation with a friend the other day, I said (wrote, actually, but whatever):

"It's lonely being an adult."

Immediately, I thought — "Wow, way to over-dramatize, Emilie." But then I sat back and realized it's true. There's something about childhood — most childhoods, at least — that is full of life and companionship. Children are dependent on adults, which is a good thing. Their lives revolve around others. However, at some point in that early adult stage, a switch is hit and things change. I think for some it's good — realizing you're alone to fend for yourself, no matter who you're technically surrounded by, is good for those who need to become more independent. For some, it's bad. And I guess for some, it's just normal.

Ultimately, we're all alone. There's no possible way to share brain space with another human being. No matter if you're married or single, childless or a parent to a dozen, an only child or one of many — everyone can have those moments of feeling completely forsaken. Because no one truly knows the challenges one faces or the emotions one deals with. Sometimes those moments of isolation are hours or days or weeks. I know because I've had them.

My point is: Let's all be a little nicer. People are lonely. People need friends. Kind words go far. For a very long time I will remember the kind email I got last fall from a friend who knew I was going through a hard time. And the letter from someone I barely knew who was worried about me. And the text message from someone who didn't know life was rough but who felt it necessary to randomly send a detailed thank you for my friendship.

I'm not good at reaching out, and I probably never will be. But I'm going to work on being nice. Because people are lonely.

A conversation with the husband

2011-05-27T18:06:00.000-06:00

(On instant messenger. Google Chat, to be specific.)

Garrett: How long will you be?

Me: An hour, maybe.

Garrett: OK. I'm going to pack up.

Me: My mom bought us a pygmy crimson barberry today.

Garrett: Ummm.

(pause)

Garrett: All right. I'll see you later.

He doesn't even bother to ask for details anymore — he just accepts the plants as they come. It speaks to the sheer quantity of mysterious plants, shrubs and trees that have come into his life over the years.

Boise: The good and the very, very bad

2011-05-19T22:47:00.000-06:00

I went to Boise with Chelane on Monday. Mistakes were made. Things happened. I lost my lifelong streak of never getting a traffic ticket or getting in an accident. And, yes, that "or" includes both situations. So I'm posting this photo very small. Because it might make the situation smaller.

I don't really want to talk about it. My calmness (I was calm, right, Chelane?) from Tuesday wore off sometime yesterday afternoon. And it's getting worse.

Anyway.

Here's some good stuff about Boise (other than spending the first two consecutive days with Chelane since, when, six years ago?): The little cute neighborhoods and historic houses and THE YARDS. There were trees everywhere. And we went at just the right time to see the dogwood trees blooming.

Now I know why Garrett says we have to get one of these.

(And Chelane, why did we not take any photos of ourselves? Together? We need to work on that next time.)

Lazy linky day

2011-05-15T21:15:00.000-06:00

First, thanks to those of you who commented on my last post and then saw your comments disappear. Second, no thanks to Blogger, which had a complete meltdown this past week. At least the post reappeared though, right?

I'm tired, sick and lazy, so this is what you get today: A synopsis of what's caught my attention this week.

I love Joanna Brooks, and I love that Heavenly Mother might be making a "comeback" among Mormons. My testimony of Heavenly Mother was realized very abruptly a few years back when it occurred to me that it only makes sense we will all be accountable to her — as well as Heavenly Father — after this life. That thought scared the living daylights out of me, because moms in my world are not meek, quiet little things. But I like a strong woman, and I'll accept all that comes with one.

This story has haunted me for the past couple of days. Guy goes camping alone, gets snowed in, keeps journal for several weeks, dies of starvation and hypothermia. And he was within 3 miles of civilization. Why wouldn't someone miss him and go looking? Why wouldn't he realize he could walk back the way he drove? Crazy.

Any fans of leggings, jeggings or skinny jeans? You need to ask yourself: Am I wearing pants?

After a Reuters photographer blogged about the White House's ridiculous longstanding policy that the press can't photographer live speeches, the administration announced a sudden change of heart. It's historic, really. There are some who say it doesn't matter whether the photo of the president at a podium is staged or during a real speech. But it does, and it's a slippery slope to start making those declarations. How much of your news do you want faked?

This video of a pig stealing a guy's sandwich from his hands is hilarious. Please observe the little piggy stairs going up to the couple's bed, and the little piggy tent he/she apparently lives in. I now want a pig.

Our paper covered the historic release of murder convict Debra Brown, now deemed innocent by the courts through a brand new law. Whether she's innocent or not you can't help be delighted by her attitude. One of our photographers put together still images and added audio of Brown, speaking just a few hours after she was released. Turn your volume up and press play.

This is slightly old news but still disturbing. An orthodox Jewish newspaper used Photoshop to remove Hillary Clinton and another female staffer from the iconic photo of Obama and his staff watching the bin Laden raid. The paper says its policy is to keep women out of print images. Something about modesty. The paper has since apologized. But, other than breaking copyright law the paper not just this time, but apparently regularly deletes women out of history. Anytime you delete a gender, race or ethnicity from history, it's bad news.

Finally, my friend Natalie was kind enough to publish something I wrote for a project she's doing on her blog.

Jesus isn't coming this week

2011-05-11T21:34:00.000-06:00

I don't think the LDS Church should teach that Jesus is coming again.

How's that for controversial?

But let me rephrase: I don't think the LDS Church should teach that Jesus is coming again so soon. Like, not tomorrow. Or even the next day. Or even next year.

I understand the reason this is taught — it's so people don't put off repenting, that they live right right now. And because Jesus might just come really, really soon. I get it. But you want to know what it really does? Besides cause a fringe population of the church to become obsessed with preparedness, food storage and the like? It gives the impression to very impressionable Mormon children and teenagers that they don't need to plan for the secular future.

As a kid, I knew Jesus would come again — and soon. The earthquakes, floods, wars and general horribleness of the world was proof. I figured we'd see the Second Coming before I was 30. In my mind, I might be married and have a couple of kids, but I wouldn't get past that point. Cause Christ would come.

I don't blame my parents for this. They did not specifically tell me anything of the sort. And they most definitely prepared me for college. Maybe it was the Primary teachers, the hymns we sung every week in church, EFY, seminary, or maybe it was just the overarching belief among good Utah, Mormon kids. (Remember, we were the generation that was — incorrectly — told we'd been held back from being born for 6,000 years because we were so special, that we'd be bowed down to in heaven once others found out the time period in which we had lived, blah blah blah.) Who knows. But all I knew was that I needed to plan as far out as about 30. Go to college, maybe work for a few years, raise some little kids. No use thinking about what to do with teenagers — we wouldn't get to that point. No use thinking about a 401(k) or developing a career. Or thinking about a 25-year roof. Or retirement. Or, good crap, death.

Don't tell me I'm the only one out there who thought like this. I know I'm not.

As the years went by, that age of 30 went up. When you're 8, your aunts and uncles are 30. It's conceivable. When you're 18, that number might go up to 40. And so on.

I have a feeling this don't-prepare-for-life-only-for-Christ message may have been inadvertently pushed on girls more than boys. Obviously, this would be because of the church's still present, but now slightly minimized, focus on keeping women in the home and having men make the money.

But little Mormon girls need to be taught more than that. We needed to, during weekly Young Women's activities, hear about careers — not try on wedding dresses. (Really, how creepy to dress up a bunch of 15-year-old girls in wedding dresses and take pictures of them together. FLDS, anyone?) We needed to hear more about the promises we'd make in the temple as individuals, not just that we needed to be sealed to a man in the temple. We needed to be taught about finances, not crafts. (No one can argue that crafts are doctrinal in any shape or form.) We needed to be taught about how to stay physically healthy — throughout our entire lives— not just spiritually healthy.

If I have children, they will know that Christ will come again and that they need to be ready. But they — especially any girls — will also know there's more to prepare for in life than just that.

The tree made it home!

2011-04-28T11:47:00.002-06:00

Don't worry, it's not staying there. We're thinking it'll end up near the corner of the house (on the right side of the photo). Isn't it pretty?

Other good, but totally unrelated, news today: H&M is coming to Utah. This fall! Neat!

Springtime in the Rockies

2011-04-27T00:27:00.000-06:00

We bought a tree today. It'll look like this someday:

Source: Wikipedia!

Only, it'll be next to a house, not on a mountain next to a lake. (I would post a photo of the actual tree, but it's somewhere at Home Depot with, hopefully, a big tag attached that says "Wheelers." We're picking it up tomorrow. Haven't exactly figured out how yet, however.)

I'm pretty sure Garrett and I could spend all of our last dollars on trees. I could add shrubs, perennials and annuals to the list, but Garrett? Just trees. He's an East Coast boy. Or a Singapore boy. But, whatever. I'm just a girl who had no choice in the matter — this green thing is apparently genetic.

My life gets better during this time of the year. The greenhouses and nurseries start filling up with green stuff, the weather gets warm enough to start playing around in dirt, and leaves grow on trees. My heaven will be a year-round Cache Valley in late June, by the way. In case anyone is ever put in charge of building my personal heaven.

About those Cache Valley summers. They're short, so every nice day is a gift. Thus, April brings an irrational level of panic to my life. Maybe not panic, but anxiety. An anxiety similar to what journalists feel right before polls close on election night, or, I suppose, what athletes must feel before a big game or event: The feeling that you need to be ready to move very quickly very soon but there's nothing to do at the moment. April, in Cache Valley, can behave like June or February on any given day. On one day, you'll see tulips and T-shirts. On the next, snow and sweaters. And so on those June-like days, one feels the need to get going on this garden thing lest any more time be wasted. But on the February-like days, one has to find a place to put all of that stuff acquired on the June-like day.

And so, you get my house. I have begonias, snapdragons and fuchsias covering my table next to two trays of sprouting impatiens, coleuses and lobelias. The nasturtium seeds were much more successful than I expected, so those plants are taking over the kitchen. (Anyone want some red nasturtiums this year? Seriously, I'll have about 15 too many.) I haven't had the time to plant all of my hardy pansies outside yet, so some of those are inside too. Then there are the columbine sprouts, which are dinner companions if we can find space on the counter to eat. The herb garden I tried this year for the first time can also get in the way.

It's basically one giant foliage adventure. And if people come over? The many pots of plants and trays of seeds are carted off to a spare bedroom so to appear normal to the visitors.

And this year's really actually not that bad of a year. It's been worse. Garrett will swear to it.

Most people say Mother's Day weekend is the first safe time to start planting outside in Cache Valley. So, I have a countdown in my head.

Ten more days.

365 days (minus 5)

2011-04-13T21:30:00.000-06:00

I'm becoming the person who only posts about kids and animals. But, hey, at least they're not all my kids or animals.

A year ago this Saturday my sister gave birth to a skinny little boy with an intent gaze. Anderson's had everyone wrapped around his little finger — all 10 of them, in fact — ever since. This week he learned the latest way to thrill his family. The kid walks! (Well, sort of.)

Show and Tell Sunday X — Excitement about auto paint

2011-04-10T22:34:00.000-06:00

Hey, everyone.

Remember this? From, oh, about 14 months ago.

If you forgot, you can still read all about how my hood came flying up on my windshield while I was going 65 mph entering Interstate 15 near Layton. (By the way, I'm pretty sure this little accident was the impetus for all the car battery connection cable problems I've had over the past year.)

After driving around all ghetto with my hood tied down like this for a couple of months, a nice co-worker gave me a replacement hood from his son's old Corolla that was about to be junked. Only, it was green. So for the past year I've had a fun multi-colored car. It's been so awesome. Not. But really, did you know it costs a minimum of $350 to get a hood painted? So because the last year hasn't been all peachy financially, having car with the same color hood hasn't so much been a priority.

But last week Garrett said we were doing it. He made the appointment, and used the words "non-negotiable" when I questioned whether we had the money. And now, my little car — she looks so pretty.

Bad drivers and dead cats

2011-03-31T00:00:00.000-06:00

First things first: The car is OK. I know you were all dying to hear. Garrett replaced some of the battery connection cables, and all is well.

Second: The following is kind of disgusting, and it's about dead animals. Consider yourself warned.

About a month ago on my way to work I drove past a newly hit cat. He/she was once a white, fluffy kitty. Most likely a farm cat. When I saw the cat it was in the middle of the road, between the two lanes, and it was quite dead. Something in my head told me to pull over and move the cat, but I was running late and, well, who wants to move a dead cat out of the middle of the road? I figured since it was near homes, either the owner of the cat would find out about it and move it or animal control would come by.

I should have known better. The cat died a few blocks away from a high school, and high school kids are mean. Within 24 hours, the cat was not just dead but very flat. It had no doubt been a target for kids driving down the road to and from school. Within just 24 hours of it being hit, there is no way I could have moved the cat from the road without a spatula. It just got worse from there.

Weeks ago, I hoped snow and rain and THE DANG ANIMAL CONTROL PEOPLE would help get rid of the cat remains. Now, a month afterward, the cat is still there. Well, sorta. You know what I mean. I drive by every morning and see little tufts of hair, stuck to the road, blowing in the wind. That's about all that's left.

So, my lesson is learned. The next time I see a newly dead cat on the road, I will pull over and move it. If any of you happen to be with me, you may be asked to help. And I might cry.

That is all.

It's midnight. Do you know where YOUR husband is?

2011-03-23T23:52:00.000-06:00

Mine's in the garage trying to fix my car.

Poor little 14-year-old, 180,000-miler Corolla is bumbling her way through her later portions of life. Wants to retire, but can't. She's been very good so far.

But right now there is a problem. It's electrical, we know that. Headlights dim when I turn on the blinker or hit the break. And then this morning, little miss Corolla decided to just die as I was coasting to a stop at a red light on Main Street. (Luckily, she started immediately.)

So ... it's either the battery connection cables, the battery itself or the alternator. We're hoping for the first, can deal with the second, but dreading the third.

I'll keep ya posted.

Sin City, Emilie style

2011-03-16T23:48:00.000-06:00

We went to Las Vegas last week. Garrett went to watch basketball, and I went to be warm. (But really, I liked the basketball, too.) I hadn't been to Vegas for almost 10 years — since playing in a lacrosse tournament there when I was 17. I remember feeling kind of alone on that trip because I didn't have a friend to hang out with. I had a few close friends on the team — well, one or two — but for some reason I got separated from them at some point and my best memory of the trip is wandering around Caesar's Palace alone one night. That was back when there was a Virgin Megastore there, and after an hour of listening to random music on those huge headphones (remember those?), I "discovered" Something Corporate. Then they became big, and I was always smug that I heard about them before my friends.

And now I can't remember the topic of this post, and I've probably lost eight of my 10 readers. (Thanks for sticking around Mom.)

Oh, Vegas. Last weekend. Well. I had a list of things I wanted to do: Go to H&M (went to three); buy a new tub of A Perfect World lotion from an Origins store (check); bask in the sun (accomplished, but not by a swimming pool, which is fine because I'm fat right now and don't look great in a swimming suit); drive past the LDS temple in Vegas (did that, but it is most definitely not in Vegas proper); and see some basketball games (yes, and the Aggies won). Oh, I just had a horrible thought that some of you might have thought I went to see BYU play, but please be assured I only wish them many losses. We're Utah State fans. Period.

Anyway, I didn't plan to get giant blisters on the balls of my feet the first day, but oh well. I'm sure the folks around me thought it was hilarious watching me trying to decide which foot to limp when both hurt equally.

So, other than the painful foot issue, it was a good trip. And in the midst of the horrid desert of Nevada was color galore in the middle of the Bellagio.

I had heard there was some sort of a botanical garden in the hotel and was, quite honestly, disappointed when I saw it. But really, I should have known Vegas wouldn't do a botanical garden like the rest of the world. It consisted of a bunch of potted flowers in a lobby with a skylight. And there was craziness all around with fake balloons, a butterfly house, carousel and other ... stuff. The room was beyond crowded, and everyone was shooting photos. You would have thought no one had ever seen a flower. And then, suddenly, my camera came out, too. Because it occurred to me: I haven't seen a flower in almost SIX months. And then the little "lobby" with its potted flowers became a lot more awesome.

(Oh, and guess what? I came home and found that my little tulip and anemone and crocus bulbs outside my front porch have begun to sprout. Just in time, too, because one more month of this winter crap and I probably would started heading back down south pretty soon. I know, I know, it'll snow again. Just let me think it won't for a few minutes.)

Oh, I'll leave you with the most strange image that showed up on my camera. Please click on the photo to enlarge, check out the guys behind us and tell me what they're doing. Are those really Books of Mormon?

The one where I ride the camel

2011-03-05T02:04:00.000-07:00

It is cliche to say, but life lately has been too crazy to allow time to blog.

However, I couldn't let this pass by.

Yes, I'm on a camel. Yes, I'm making a ridiculous face. He had just stood up. It was scary. Want a better one? Here.

One of the perks to being a journalist is being able to write about people who own a camel, zebra, zonkey and other animals. One of the perks to being an editor is being able to assign myself to these types of stories. And one of the perks to working with awesome photographers is getting these types of photos. And then having them put together these types of photo galleries. Really, you need to click that last link because then you'll see photographer Alan Murray's evidence of the zebra and zonkey.

So. What I learned from riding a camel (even if it was just for two minutes):

• This particular animal, Moses, doesn't like having a saddle situated on him. He yells and screams. But he does quite well once it's on.
• Camels have really thick wool. So thick it's hard to put all of your fingers on their skin and not watch your hand disappear into their wool.
• They have large, ugly mouths with buck teeth.
• But Moses does not spit.
• When they kneel down for you to get off of them, it feels like a roller coaster ride. Moses puts his front legs down first, which results in the rider nearly catapulting forward. At the last moment, I figured out I had to lean straight back in order not to fall forward.
• They're really quite nice. Moses was a sweety.

Also, when your boss puts a photo in the newspaper of you riding a camel as part of his weekly column, every single person you call that day will want to comment on it. So, yeah. That was fun.

Show and Tell Sunday IX — Cheap entertainment

2011-02-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

I kept forgetting to transfer this photo from my phone to the computer. It's old — taken right after Christmas. But we spent A LOT of time entertaining the kitties (and ourselves) with this little toy.

Also, Garrett got a little light-headed from repeatedly blowing so that little white ball would stay in the air for the cats to swat it. They were so baffled. It was funny.

The end.

Hurtling through life

2011-02-14T12:53:00.000-07:00

I know I'm getting older because I've had to stop and think about exactly how old I actually am a few times since my last birthday. On the worst of those occasions, math has been required, which is harder to do than you think since my birthday is five days before the end of the year. I'm really not the age that the this-year-subtract-year-I-was-born age the math tells me I should be. Does that make sense?

But this is besides the point.

(Also, I am 27. I am sure of that one now.)

(Also also, I know I am not old. I am just older than before. Calm down, all you thirty-somethings.)

The point is that I'm amazed at how quickly life flies by. Garrett recently discovered a roll of undeveloped film. We had no idea what, from when, was on it. He took it to Walmart on Saturday, and low and behold, there were 36 photos from the first few years of our married life. Our first apartment, first Christmas, first move, my sister's dog when he was a puppy, my uncle's wedding.

I remember shooting the photos knowing it was probably the last camera like that I'd use. We got a digital camera shortly after — or, actually, probably during that camera's use — so we finished up the roll, pulled it out and promptly lost it. Now it's creating all sorts of nostalgia.

And questions. First of all, who let me get married when I basically looked like a high school student? Also, how have I gained 20 pounds in the past six years? And how in the world have I kept some of my house plants in those 2005 photos alive until now?

Mostly, what do I do about this panicky feeling that life is passing me by? I lay in bed last night realizing that within three years I'll be 30, which isn't horrible or anything, but I don't know what I'll have to show for myself. As a kid, those milestones come naturally. Whether you like it or not (for the most part), you're someday going to go to kindergarten, graduate from elementary school, start driving, go to your first school dance, etc. As an adult, one has to force the milestones, and when they don't come easily, panic ensues.

I'm pretty sure everyone gets this feeling, no matter their age, from time to time. But I'm especially feeling it right now.

And that, perhaps pathetically, is my point.

Show and Tell Sunday IIX — Small world

2011-02-06T20:20:00.000-07:00

I'm cheating a bit here and pointing you all toward something I've already written.

Today I wrote about being a Cache Valley native and all the pros and cons that come with that. You'll get a little of everything: the art of dodging people in the grocery store, having your bishop fill your birth control (years ago, people, not now), being a descendant of Peter Maughan and even a few crappy comments at the bottom from at least one trusty, oh-so-compassionate Herald Journal reader.

It starts like this:

About every week or so, I realize Cache Valley is a small world. A very small world.
You'd think in a community of more than 100,000 people, we'd all manage to not run into the same people so often. But you'd also think I'd know better than that.

Those who have spent at least a decade in the valley know about this "small world" phenomenon. Cache Valley is special in ways people outside don't realize. We know each other - or we know someone who does.
As a journalist who calls this area her home and who has spent nearly 20 years, on and off, in the valley, this can be a very good thing and a very bad thing.

Read the rest here.

The V word

2011-01-27T02:27:00.000-07:00

I told Garrett the other day that I was about as close as I've ever been to turning into a vegetarian. I might have chosen the wrong moment to mention this since it was just after he'd made a crock pot full of chili — with beef — for us, and he was wandering around the kitchen doing post-dinner clean-up. So yes, the timing was a bit off. It wasn't planned that way, though.

Never in my life did I think I'd consider this. Not that I've ever thought ill of vegetarians — or vegans for that matter. It was just so not on my radar. Obviously, my love of animals is documented. I mean, I save baby voles, for crying out loud! I don't like hunting — never have. Watching people fish is somewhat fascinating, but I've always disliked watching what happens after the fish comes out of the water. And for the majority of my life, I've just kept my mind off of what happens inside slaughter facilities and the like. It's too hard to think about for me.

My general awareness of the rampant inhumane treatment of animals has slowly increased, however. Reading this article by Penelope Trunk on how baby boy goats are killed as soon as they're born because they're basically useless and expensive to the farmer did not help the matter. It's eye-opening and written relatively objectively. ... Just read it.

And so my innocence about the dairy industry is shot.

As a kid I couldn't bear to look at the brown cows in the fields because I thought they were the ones who were soon going to die. Now, the black and white cows? Those were living the happy life because they were just providing milk and would never have to be butchered. Right? Apparently, not so. Many of them didn't make it past Day 1 to begin with.

This all comes months after learning a well-known egg producer — in my valley! — that professes to practice all things organic actually cuts off its chicken's beaks. Reading that? And then seeing those very eggs in my fridge? That was traumatizing.

I'm torn. I know that realistically making any diet changes does nothing in the grand scheme of things. And I like many of these products. Quite honestly, I don't know what I'd eat if I went full-fledged vegan. Veggies, fruit and bread all day gets old, right? Right?

It's not feasible; I know. But I feel like I should do something. Limiting meat is a possibility — and it would probably be good for me. But I'm probably feeling what every vegan has at one point: What's the point of making one change if you're still going to continue contributing to animal abuse problems elsewhere? If you're going to make a change, why not go all out?

But like I said, I know it's not possible at this point in my life. I live with someone who probably makes 80 percent of my meals, and he likes meat. He'd most likely be willing to minimize that, but taking egg and milk products out of our diet just won't happen.

So I'm left wondering what to do. I don't know the answers to what seems to be an industry issue that pits the ethical treatment of animals against monetary gain (or just not a loss). I don't even know what's right or wrong anymore. Is being killed as a baby animal better than living in horrible factory-farm and feedlot conditions? Is killing a baby worse than killing an adult animal for some reason? Why is it culturally acceptable here to eat a pig — a species known for its high IQ — but not a horse? Or a dog?

Are there any vegetarians, semi-vegetarians or vegans out there? Anyone who would like to weigh in at all? Has anyone felt this way? What can people like us do? Is there a way to find brands or farmers that humanely produce their products?

My research is sparse, and I feel so naive about this. So really, I'd love a discussion.

Show and Tell Sunday VIII — 'Love the kitty'

2011-01-23T22:26:00.000-07:00

My mom found a handful of old photos of the two of us from when I was pretty little. These were taken in my grandparents' backyard in Bountiful in what I'm guessing is the spring/summer of 1985. She scanned them and gave me a CD with them for my birthday in December.

When I look at these, I hear my mom's voice, saying, "Love the kitty, be nice to the kitty cat." Even if she didn't say it that day, those were my early instructions on how to care for cats.

So, see? I loved kitties starting from the very beginning. Maybe even loved this one a bit too much.

My own little Good News Minute

2011-01-17T02:29:00.000-07:00

(Before I begin, let it be known that I am burying the lede. So, keep reading.)

Sometimes, who knows when, LDS Relief Societies all over began conducting what's called a "Good News Minute," during which old ladies raise their hands and report good news from the week — i.e., that their 284th grandchild was born, or grandson No. 78 got his mission call or ... whatever.

You probably can guess how I feel about this practice. However, when we moved to Smithfield in 2009, the Good News Minute took on a life of its own. The Relief Society secretary actually wrote down everything people said, typed it up and e-mailed it to everyone later that day as part of the weekly newsletter. "Good news" became more than just new babies, mission calls and baptisms. It was making it down Highway 91 all the way to Logan hitting only green lights, watching your kid's volleyball team beat Mountain Crest, buying a bag of M&Ms the night before. The Good News Minute would go five, 10 minutes and ended only after the whole room had a good laugh about something. It sounds stupid, but it was a great way to get to know people. I was new, other people were new, and even though many of us never participated it was still kind of ... fun.

A new stake was created last May, and our ward was divided up three different ways. My chunk got added into a new ward that while nice, did not have the same energy. Good News Minute turned back into the awkward, quiet time dominated by old women whose goal, it seems, is to populate an entire small country with her offspring. The months have gone by, and I know certain people have tried to liven things up. It's getting a bit more lively, but it's not quite there.

(Warning: Next graph contains aforementioned lede.)

Nevertheless, I do not participate. I'm traditionally not a participator in anything churchy (beyond actually attending). But I promised myself some time ago that under a certain circumstance I would share my good news. That circumstance came this weekend. Because, on Friday, GARRETT GOT A JOB!

After seven months, dozens of applications and a handful of interviews that got our hopes up but yielded nothing, he got an e-mail Friday offering him a position at a university research facility. It's technically a graduate student position, but they'll allow him to work up to 40 hours and the pay will work out — barely. He starts Wednesday.

So, YAY!

And that, my friends, is my Good News Minute.

Not dead yet

2011-01-10T23:47:00.000-07:00

I am alive. Just thought I'd let you know.

Life has been crazy lately, but seriously, what else is new? I know it's nuts for everyone. All the time.

So, a brief update:

• The holidays were good. No one died in a horrific accident, no politician scandal came to light and no houses burned down over the Christmas and New Year's weekends, so I didn't have to scurry back to work. I saw cousins I haven't seen in a long time, spent more time at my parent's than I have in a long time and left my kitties alone at home for a long time, which was kind of sad. But don't worry, they're still fat and happy.

• I turned 27, which is only slightly mind boggling. This past year is the first during which I've repeatedly had to DO MATH to figure out how old I was. Sigh...

• My good friend Jake got out of prison the week between Christmas and New Year's. And I haven't even seen him yet! This will be remedied soon. I missed the kid.

• Our Internet router decided to go the way of Old Yeller. Conked out, crossed the great divide, went to meet its maker, turned up its toes. Whatever. So, I'm typing on "borrowed" wifi signal as we speak. And that partially explains the lack of blog posts. A new one is coming tomorrow.

• Garrett and I cleaned our bedroom last night. Vacuumed under the bed, 409'd the baseboards, sorted through very old crap kind of clean the bedroom. We told ourselves we'd conquer a new room each night. We haven't.

• My sister Daedree got her first CNA job. Started today, I do believe.

• My brother Matt got his gallbladder out two weeks ago. In and out in a day since it was laparoscopic, but he had some serious puncture wounds to show for it. Here's hoping he feels a little better from here on out. Stupid: genetic autoimmune disorders that plague my family.

• Garrett is thisclose to getting a job (we think), but we've also learned not to get our hopes up too much. I'm sure I'll fill you in if such a blessed event ever occurs.

• I have a blooming orchid. The blooms are coming off of a new sprout that I got to grow all by myself. Yay for colorful flowers in January!

• We had to pay $300 for four new tires for my car the other day, but guess what? The steering wheel no longer vibrates, and I can actually drive through the snow and not feel like I'm going to die!

• Twitter told me today that Cache Valley has gone 12 straight days with temperatures below freezing. Also, Logan made the worst-air-in-the-nation list on Friday. So, that pretty much explains what it looks like outside, right?

• Chelane gave me European chocolate for my birthday.

• Garrett and I realized we have a $200 gift card to IKEA we've never used, and we're going to get a DRESSER! Because we don't have one! Thank you to the in-laws, who actually gifted us that card a few years ago. :)

• This post now requires more tagging labels than anything I've written because I'm all over the place. So we'll end it here. Adios.

12.29.04

2010-12-29T00:39:00.000-07:00

A lot has changed in the past six years, but I still

love those Limited Too socks.

Oh, and Garrett. :)

Show and Tell Sunday VII — Henry the Christmas Tree

2010-12-19T22:46:00.000-07:00

Starting with our first Christmas together as a married couple — five years ago — we bought a live tree. We've purchased one every year since. Except last year. We'd only been in our house for three or four months, money was tight, Garrett had a couple of work trips in the month before Christmas and my own job was especially stressful. So, we didn't really do Christmas — in terms of decorations and the tree and all that. But I promised myself we would get a tree this year.

Despite money being even tighter this year, I very nearly bought a live tree anyway. My Christmas "cheer" just set in a few days ago, and had it NOT been 10 p.m. and snowing, I might have driven to Tony's Grove and purchased a tree right then and there.

Good thing I didn't, cause I came up with a better idea.

Sans lights and most ornaments, our Christmas tree this year is our indoor, potted Norfolk Island pine. His name is Henry. He's a little droopy — and he's actually about four trees in one pot — but he'll work.

I put silver ornaments on it, Garrett lifted it up to our end table and we put a tree skirt on it.

The cats are baffled. I'm thrilled.

I adopted this little tree before I even knew I loved Norfolk Island pines. This one came from my mom, who I think rescued it on Freecycle from someone who was going to trash it. Apparently, I will basically take anything green and living off of someone's hands. I've casually kept it alive since.

Then! Are you ready? I went to New Zealand. And I saw Henry's big, BIG brother. Well, I saw a lot of his big brothers.

They were everywhere! And they are awesome!

This is the most underrated tree in the world. They're huge — you can see them from miles away — but no one seems to notice them. All those New Zealanders take them for granted.

Want to see more? No? Too bad.

Here are a couple flanking the Hamilton LDS Temple. By the time we visited the temple on our trip, I already knew I had a crush on these trees, so I was ecstatic to see them there along with all of the palms (which are at the bottom of the hill).

Now, if only they'd grow here in Utah. But, no, Henry and his type only thrive outdoors in temperatures that stay above 40 degrees year-round. That's zone 10 and up. Try Florida. Or Hawaii.

So for now, I will be content with my little, indoor Henry. He is cute, right?

#reverb10 11 Things

2010-12-18T17:34:00.000-07:00

Way behind on anything related to Reverb 10. Rewind to Dec. 11, and I should have written about this:

"What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?"

I'm mostly just answering the first question, but here goes:

1. Anxiety. Some of this is controllable, some isn't — I know. But it'd be nice to find ways to manage the controllable stuff.

2. Chub. I know I said I didn't care about that extra 10 pounds, but. Well. I don't fit into all my clothes, and as fun as shopping for a new wardrobe might be, it DOES cost money.

3. Silent nights. Garrett and I need to talk more, which will require effort from both of us. I get home from work, eat the dinner he cooked for me (I know, I'm lucky), give him the 15-minute rundown of the day and then ... we turn on the TV, open the laptop or pull out the phones for the rest of the night.

4. Wasted time. I won't waste anymore explaining this. You get it.

5. Dirt. No matter what it takes, my goal for 2011 is to get my lawn seeded. I hate the dirt. It's muddy when it rains, erodes when water runs down it and is brown. I like green better. I want to do somersaults across a lawn that's mine.

6. Fear of the future. Sometimes I get very comfortable with certain aspects of my life no matter how bad they may be because they're familiar. It might be a form of optimism to think that things could always be worse, but I have to start telling myself they could be better, too.

7. Clutter. This seems to be popular one on other Reverb posts I've read. My clutter is made up of papers. Many stacks of papers. They stack up and then right before visitors come I move the stacks into another room. Then I forgot about them and it all starts over again.

8. Fast food. Not that I have it all too often, but I know the quick, cheap locations for an easy lunch. I need to bring lunch from home more often next year.

9. Insomnia. It's a problem.

10. Hormonal panic. For a few days each month (you know the days), ANYTHING is possible in my mind. Combine paranoia and panic and depression and you get me. Lack of sleep exacerbates it (see No. 9). In the course of a few minutes, I can become convinced people around me are going to die, everyone is lying to me about everything, or ... whatever. It sucks. I'd prefer not to deal with this next year.

11. Car repairs. By 2011, our two vehicles will collectively be 36 years old. No, that's not a typo. We've been lucky so far to have only minor problems, but financially we wouldn't be able to handle anything major in the near future. Plus, it's just a pain to have car problems.

#Reverb10 Wisdom

2010-12-11T01:42:00.000-07:00

(Obviously, I'm picking and choosing which Reverb 10 prompts to write about on this blog. Half of it is laziness, the other half is, well, mostly laziness, too. Oh well.)

(Also, this prompt made me realize I didn't make many wise decisions this year. I didn't necessarily make poor ones; I just didn't make many decisions, period. Better luck in 2011?)

(One more aside: Wisdom is supposed to be Friday's prompt and it's Saturday right now. I know, whatever.)

I've written about how our trip in May was a bit difficult due to the news of my husband's job situation. We got to New Zealand on a Wednesday and found out about the job on Friday. So, there wasn't much time to be obliviously content. I hate how this overshadows our trip, but it does. Sorry. If you're annoyed, please realize I'm more annoyed.

Fast forward a week. We landed in Cairns, Australia, on Wednesday and drove to Port Douglas that day. We had four days to spend "where the reef meets the rain forest." I've written about the Daintree, but the day before was our day on the reef.

It almost wasn't, though.

We spent Wednesday and Thursday morning looking around town and picking up brochures about boat trips out of Port Douglas. Despite the perfect conditions — weather was great, tourist numbers were low, any day was available, we were leaving out of the cheapest city in the area — we nearly didn't sign up for a trip. We were so stressed about money that the thought of dropping a couple hundred each for an all-day snorkeling trip made me hyperventilate. I asked the hotel employees if they knew of any cheaper trips, any obscure companies that wouldn't put us out nearly $500 (admittedly Australian dollar, which means it wasn't quite that much for us). They all looked at me like I was an idiot, so I took that as a no.

So we had a decision to make. Luckily, Garrett helped me see what I couldn't while in my little world of tunnel vision. The chances that we'd get back to this area of the world were slim. We wouldn't see that kind of reef life anywhere else in the world. It was why we were there. So, it was hard, but we signed up.

And it was awesome.

We left at about 8:15 a.m. Friday, leaving the harbor around 9. We were at the first reef by 10:15 a.m. and had time to get to two more before heading back around 4:15 p.m. Between reefs, a marine biologist showed us photos of what types of fish, coral and other animals we'd see. Can you spot me?

At the third reef, our guides told us we were near the continental shelf, pointing to where the water changed colors. See in the photo where the waves are? That's the shelf. See the dark spots in the water? That's the reef.

We saw more types of fish than I could ever remember. I even saw a giant sea turtle hurrying away once. And I saw clown fish! Little Nemos!

Without a doubt, it was the best day we spent in Australia. I can't imagine how I'd feel now had we decided not to go. My only regret is that we didn't splurge for an underwater camera. Oh, and that they made us wear "stinger suits" because someone, 300 miles away, had seen a jellyfish two weeks before. Otherwise, we would have been out of stinger season.

Sexy, huh? We did zip them up, but while traveling from reef to reef we took at least the tops off because the wet material was SO COLD in the wind. It's a good thing all 100-odd of us had to wear them because otherwise I would have felt utterly ridiculous.

I'm sure I made other good decisions, but isn't it slightly ironic that what I remember as one of my "wisest" had to do with spending a ton of money during a time that will go down as our most stressful financial year yet?

#reverb10 Make

2010-12-06T22:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sure there are plenty of people who saw today's *Reverb prompt and got super excited. What's the last thing they've made? What ISN'T? Little girl hairbows, scrapbook pages, sewing projects, etc. I'm not really that person.

I used to make stuff. Once, in fifth grade, my teacher (who was also my dad) created a mini capitalistic society in the classroom. We got paid to attend class, turn in homework, do random classroom chores, but in turn we had to rent our desk, buy classroom supplies and pay fees when we screwed up. **Very quickly, my classmates turned to other methods to make money. One person charged X amount per student each day to put their chairs on their desks at the end of the day. Another sharpened pencils for a fee. Many made "job proposals" to the teacher — passing out papers or cleaning the animal cages for extra money, for example. Pretty soon, there were debts owed or mini-millionaires in the making.

What did I do? I made stuff. Stuff is a big deal to a fifth-grader. Binders, pens, pencils, cute notebooks, highlighters, trapper keepers! So I made little boxes out of paper folded in a specific way. I custom colored them first for each customer, then folded them up and glued as I went. Ta da! Little pencil holder/something holder boxes. Everyone in the class bought one.

Since then, my making skills have gone downhill. Or so I thought. But as I thought about this prompt today, I realized I make stuff all the time. I make a newspaper.

It's hard work, and I get a lot of crap for it. Everyone in the newspaper business does. But as I was talking to a co-worker today, I realized something as I said it out loud: We are one of the only businesses out there that puts out a completely different product every single day of the year. From start to finish, we build a newspaper. And that's nothing to scoff at. It's a ton of work.

So, today, I made a local news section. I made a story that will be published at 1:15 a.m. on the newspaper website. I made one source happy and another one upset. I made a budget for Tuesday's paper. I made plans for future papers.

And that is what I make. Words, ideas and concepts all organized in a hopefully grammatical fashion into a couple of pages for more than 17,000 people to see. And while some of them might only find the mistakes, I like to think that most of them learn something they otherwise wouldn't know.

*By the way, whenever I go to type Reverb I accidentally type Reberb. Reverb, reverb, reverb. I'm going to get it right the first time eventually.

**Oddly enough, the kid who ended up owning most of the classroom by the end of the capitalism unit had moved directly to Logan from Russia before that school year. That was in 1994, so do a little math and brush up on your Soviet Union history and you'll realize he did not know capitalism before that year. His name was Dmitri, and I hope he has a ton of money right now. He deserves it.

Show and Tell Sunday: VI — Ugh

2010-12-05T18:43:00.000-07:00

This pretty much says it all, right?

#reverb10 Moment

2010-12-04T01:10:00.000-07:00

As I glanced toward the ground, I realized I hadn't done this in years. My feet quickly deflected off the dirt path, avoiding troublesome rocks and in some cases, puddles of water. But my eyes couldn't stay away from the foreign trees, ferns, bushes and even rolling fields surrounding and fascinating me. The miracle was that I was still on my feet. And I was running — fast.

In front of me two Asian women slowly walked toward us. They wore fanny packs and jackets. My own backpack bounced on my back as I took each step, and I'd long ago taken off my black zip-up jacket to hold despite the chilly air. Steep and windy, the northbound path was not going to be wide enough for more than one person. In about 0.8 seconds my mind attempted to figure out which side they'd expect us to pass them on and whether they'd understand English if I said "excuse me."

With minutes to spare until sunset and at least a mile to go, we were running against time. Every so often the view of the Pacific Ocean to our right filtered through the dense foliage as a hint of what was to come. The elevation between us and the water was so great, though, that I wondered how we'd descend in time. Despite it being May, the days were getting shorter on this side of the world. At 4:45 p.m. in an unfamiliar country, we had no idea how much time we'd have — and even though we had a flashlight, hiking back up this pathway would be difficult in the dark. The pressure to hurry was exhilarating.

My heart raced, but its speed didn't concern me as it might have a few months earlier — when I would have stopped, stooped and gasped for breath. My body reveled in its condition, and I knew my last several weeks of exercise had unknowingly prepared me for this unplanned hurtle down a New Zealand mountain.

With a rush, I recognized my body's capacity to respond when pushed to its limit. I remembered how incredible it was to be physically challenged — and to meet that challenge. For that one brief moment, I felt invigorated. I felt alive.

——————————————————

(Again, I'm late, but this post is part of Reverb 10.)

#reverb10 One word

2010-12-02T00:23:00.000-07:00

Apprehension

There are so many words that describe 2010, but in my sleep-deprived state I settled on apprehension. I wish it were more positive. So many of my blog friends have nice words. But this has not been a nice year.

For the first four months of 2010, I felt an undeniable feeling of unease. It's a sick gift of mine — knowing when something bad is approaching.

In May, when Garrett lost his job, the feeling made sense. Since then, life has been a roller coaster of horror — to put it lightly. The worst part of it? There's very little we can do. Especially me. There's only so many times you can apply for a job, call to check on it (without driving people insane) or check online job boards. But in place of not being able to do much in that arena, one can do plenty of metaphorical pacing in the world of worry. Everyone has their weaknesses, and mine is an inability to handle situations as they come without a plan for the future. And this, my friends, is that. I am apprehensive.

Peace

Come this time in 2011, I'd like to feel at peace. I've accepted that may come in a variety of ways, but it would be lovely to feel a freedom from this emotional disaster that 2010 has been.

(I'm 20 minutes late MST, but this is my Dec. 1 Reverb 10 post. But hey, it's still Dec. 1 on the West coast, right? So ... here's to spontaneously deciding I'm going to participate in a writing challenge EVERY SINGLE DAY THIS MONTH. Wow.)

Show and Tell Sunday: V — The snow

2010-11-28T20:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a long, snowy weekend. And there's no end in sight.

In all honesty...

2010-11-25T00:39:00.000-07:00

• I want to know why is it so trendy to take washed out photos. It seems every other photo I see posted on Facebook or someone's blog looks so overexposed it's actually going to disappear right in front of you. Do these people realize that in 20 or 30 years those photos are going to look just like the fading Polaroids from the 1980s and 90s?

• While we're on trends, I'm bothered by the overuse of putting a word between { and } to make it seem ... cute? I'm not sure what people are going for — especially when a regular parenthesis is actually not needed at all.

• I'm putting cream cheese in my family's Thanksgiving mashed potatoes, and I'm not telling them about it.

• I cleaned my bathtub last night for the first time in about four months. Oops.

• Since June, I've gained about 10 pounds. And, guess what? After trying really hard to care, I just don't. As long as I don't continue to gain 10 pounds every six months, it just doesn't matter that much. There are worse things to happen.

• Just because you leave the LDS Church and believe you've had a major epiphany due to the stuff you've dug up on the organization doesn't mean others who are STAYING in the church haven't seen/read/heard the same stuff. And yes, some of us do believe what we've found out but still choose to stay. No need to treat us like ignorant sheep.

• If you start complaining about the media on Facebook, I will defend my profession. Even if I sound like a jerk. And especially if it's been one of those days.

• Except for life-threatening situations, I kind of like driving in the snow. It probably has something to do with me learning to drive in the dead of winter when I was 15 and 16. It's all I know, and I'm pretty good at it.

• Not all people from Utah are the same.

• For the love of all that is holy, please quit using the letter R for "are," 2 for the words "to" and "too," B for "be," Y for "why" and UR for "your." ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE 35! SERIOUSLY!

• I don't floss.

• Even if I tell you it doesn't, it does bother me when you spell my name wrong.

• Despite this somewhat negative-sounding post, I'm actually in a pretty good mood.

Show and Tell Sunday: IV — the Daintree

2010-11-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

I didn't post many photos from our New Zealand/Australia trip. And I know most people hate scrolling through photo after photo of another person's vacation, so that's partly the reason. But it's six months later, and these are worth it. Also, it's colder than Antarctica outside right now (I exaggerate only slightly), so I need a reminder of warmer days.

As background: We spent about four days in Queensland in the middle of our New Zealand trip. We flew from Auckland to Cairns (Australians pronounce it "Cans" but swear there's an "r" in there somewhere, even if I can't hear it) on a Wednesday and drove about an hour north to Port Douglas, where we stayed for four nights. I highly recommend Port Douglas. We decided to stay there nearly on accident, and we're so grateful. It was the perfect blend of tourist and quaint local culture. One our last full day we drove even further north through the Daintree Rainforest toward Cape Tribulation. I stayed near the Cape for nearly a week when I was 16, so I knew what we were getting into, but Garrett, having not been to Australia at all, did not.

First we had to cross a vehicle ferry. While we were waiting, we saw this:

All I wanted was to see a cassowary. I didn't care that one could kill me. They're mean and huge, but supposedly beautiful. I hear there are a lot of cassowary "hit and runs," which is depleting the population. Thus, the warning signs. Then we went across the ferry. It took about 10 minutes to get across the Daintree River, which is supposedly infested with crocodiles.

And we saw this at the first look out. That's the Coral Sea looking toward the Great Barrier Reef.

We quickly learned that after Cache Valley, the people of the Daintree like ice cream most. It was so strange — and something I don't remember from 10 years ago. Middle of the rainforest, no buildings, no houses, no plumbing lines, no electricity, nothing — and suddenly, a little ice cream eatery place. And then another. So, we got ice cream. The place we went to had four kinds — all made from fruit the owners grew on trees on the property. I should have taken a photo of the actual ice cream. Instead you get random people walking out from under the tent. Oh well.

We kept driving, saw lots of cool plants and mangroves and birds and finally got to the Cape area. By then the usual line of cars full of fellow tourists had broken off and gone other places. It was late afternoon, and we were worried about having to drive down the coast — no street lights here, obviously — in the dark. On the left side of the road, remember. With giant cliffs to our left. So we started back.

It was pretty warm and relatively sunny, but if you've ever driven through dense rain forest you'll understand how dark it felt. There were places we couldn't see the sky due to the meandering vines going from tree to tree above us. Because the afternoon was cloudy, and due to it being winter in the Southern Hemisphere, it even felt kind of dark on the beach that day. So when I want to see where I really WAS, I have to Google it. Otherwise, my memories from that day are a little dark. This story from the Sydney Morning Herald has a great photo. The story is actually a pretty accurate representation of the Daintree/Cape area.

On our way back, I made it a point to document the cassowary signs. These were my favorite. Oh, and check out that speed bump. They are serious about it there.

As awesome as the Daintree was, I was a little disappointed I didn't see more wildlife. So I was thrilled to see this when we were walking up the (outdoor) stairs to our hotel room:

I almost put my hand on the little guy, who appeared to be taking an evening nap. He was about two inches long and had little cute spots on his back legs. I resisted the urge to try and smuggle him home.

Show and Tell Sunday: III — Marriage advice

2010-11-14T22:05:00.001-07:00

About six years ago this month, my aunt Linda threw me a bridal shower. During the shower, the dozen-plus people there filled out "advice" cards — writing down what advice a near-newlywed might need to know. And guess what? I just found the cards again after all these years.

Some signed them, some didn't. I've decided to post snippets of advice — leaving all anonymous, of course. Some of them are still touching, others are baffling and nearly all are humorous in one way or another (especially to me, who knows the identity of most of the authors).

Here ya go:

If you want to follow my lead, always put the friendship first. It seems harder to fight with a best friend than your partner. But when you do fight, remember you're always right, just don't say it out loud — let him pretend he is winning.
Remember that a good marriage is more "give" than "take." Encourage your spouse to be the best he can be and support him whole-heartedly in the process and he will do the same for you.
Keep two tubes of toothpaste — one for each of you.
Don't laugh when you first see each other naked.
When things get a little tense remember to keep a sense of humor. Be willing to laugh at yourself.
It is important to establish boundaries.
Have fun and communicate.
Make sure you have tons of fun and make him cook dinner every once in awhile.
Be able to laugh, don't take things too seriously, and always be your best.
Laugh a lot. Communicate to each other. Do funny things to each other to make each other laugh. Like if you're standing there in front of Garrett break out and do a little dance or sing something funny in a funny voice.
As I'm sure you know, I have no relationship/marriage advice for you. That would just be too funny.
Stay out of debt.
If you're too tired to talk out disagreements (or hurt feelings), agree to disagree and talk about it after you sleep.
Don't ever go to bed mad at each other.
Keep laughing and enjoying each other.
We may be lambs in the kitchen, but we are tigers in the bedroom.
Don't forget who your best friend should be. Talk to him about anything, no matter what the subject is.
I hear that when you fight you should fight naked.

That's it. A contradiction or two, a cliche naked-fighting suggestion, and lot of advice to laugh.

Anybody else have a good piece of advice they'd hand over to a nearly newlywed?

—————————————————

PS: Garrett cooks dinner WAY more often than I do. And we do have two tubes of toothpaste. It works quite nicely.

Show and Tell Sunday: II — The retaining wall

2010-11-07T20:57:00.001-07:00

I realized that if I don't hurry, my new Show and Tell Sunday post will be Monday, and that's not very alliterate, is it?

This week, our new retaining wall. It's tiny, but I'm thrilled about it. First, what the house looked like when we moved in:

It's not a great photo, but it's the only one I can find from the summer/fall 2009 that shows the back area underneath the stairs. Since then, we've had another 10-by-10-feet concrete pad poured next to the existing patio (under the deck), and we were alerted this spring that we needed to retain the area between the new concrete and the base of the stairs. There is about a 4-foot change in elevation between the two, and soil surrounding the slab at the bottom of the stairs was starting to erode. I'm pretty sure a family of mice (or 18 million of them) had made a home under the concrete because below it was exposed in several places.

So, we (Garrett) priced out materials for a wall. Seeing how he is unemployed and my meager salary doesn't cover such expenditures like these, the wall needed to be cheap. Big boulders, it turns out, cost either an arm or a leg or your first-born child. You choose. Railroad ties are, apparently, ugly to everyone but me. So we ended up going the traditional, cheap route: the brick-like tinted block things. You know what I'm talking about. These:

(That's Daedree, Garrett and my dad in the photo, by the way.)

Garrett used his wonderful haggling skills to get us each brick for about $3.04. (They started at $4.40 per brick at the place we ended up getting them, so we're considering it a win.)

We had the friend of a neighbor use his skid steer to clear out the area and level it off, bought a bunch of gravel (that stuff is so cheap it makes me want to go buy it for the fun of it — but I won't), and scheduled a day when my dad could come help. We also had a lot of help from my sisters and their husbands, so thank you sisters and their husbands. Especially for use of the truck and trailer, Casey.

My dad and I put all the gravel down and plotted the course this wall would take. It's harder than it looks, by the way. Then Garrett got there (from picking up the last load of blocks) and basically started fixing everything we did. I maintain we did a lot of work getting that first row get leveled, though.

We happened to choose the hottest October day I've ever lived through in Cache Valley, so by the time we unloaded all the blocks, got that first level down and backfilled behind the wall a bit we were exhausted and done for the day. (Really, it's a lot more work than it looks to be.)

Garrett spent the next several weeks working on the rest of the wall a few hours a day, and we've had to find soil to backfill and put in front of the wall. There's still a bit of work to do, but I think it's nearly good enough to get us through the winter.

Look! Four-fifths of a Lucy!

My mom dug up one of her ninebark shrubs and sent it to me to plant in my new little garden area. It doesn't look very good here, but I think come spring it'll show life. At least, I really hope so. I also planted some bulbs in places I've since forgotten.

Next year, we'll have to install some sort of a walking path down around the wall — from the base of the stairs down the hill — so if anyone has ideas for that, please share.

And that, all four and a half readers, is Show and Tell Sunday. Have a good week!

Show and Tell Sunday: I — The nephew

2010-10-31T15:58:00.001-06:00

In an effort to force myself to blog more, I have installed some anchored features. (As I expect, most of you should have no idea what that means and, for that, count your many blessings.) Well, one anchored feature: Show and Tell Sunday.

So. Here goes. I would like to show and tell about my nephew.

Many, many, many hours of my free time have been happily spent with this little guy ever since my sister had him in April. Anderson started small and skinny but is now a robust six-month-old who is one seriously happy baby. He loves baths and cats and dogs. And he especially likes being outside staring at the trees, the people walking down the sidewalk and the cars whizzing by. And I think he likes me, too, because he always gives me a big smile. Oh, and I think I taught him how to growl. It's pretty cute.

A holiday decorating DTR of sorts

2010-10-24T19:34:00.000-06:00

While driving down our street to get to church this afternoon ...

Me, looking at neighbor after neighbor's house full of Halloween/fall decorations: "Sorry I'm not more of a corn-stalk-on-the-front-porch kind of wife."

Garrett: "That's why I married you ... I think having two pumpkins on the porch is pushing the envelope."

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PS: If you have a stalk (or more than one) of corn on your front porch, that is perfectly fine. No judging here. I'm just not a corn stalky kind of person.

A new day

2010-10-14T02:03:00.000-06:00

By the time I left work on Tuesday night, I was refreshing Twitter about every 30 seconds. Another tab was open to CNN's homepage, and I had the international AP wire open on my desktop.

It wasn't time, though, and I had to go. After getting home, I learned it's hard to prepare a visiting teaching message in 10 minutes — especially while distracted. I managed to find something in the Ensign worth talking about (that makes the Ensign sound so boring — it isn't), and raced out the door when my companion pulled up. It was more than an hour later before I got home and ran to my computer. My mom called at about that time, and by the time I had CNN's live feed up, I was able to say, "They have him! I think they got the first miner out."

I have no idea why I've been so obsessed with the 33 trapped Chilean miners. Maybe it's because finding out they were still alive in August was so shocking — especially for a Utahn who lived through the Crandall Canyon Mine tragedy. Who knows. But the connection I felt to the situation was undeniable. Perhaps it's because the situation was so dire and yet a happy ending was being aimed for — and even expected. I have so desperately needed to see a happy ending out of a seemingly impossible situation.

So as the weeks passed by, I closely monitored the rescuer's success. Obviously, I wasn't going to miss this part. I'm a news junky, so news in all forms has kept me glued to the TV late into the night more times than I can remember. Usually it's bad news, but this time it was soooo good. With my laptop open and the TV in front of me, I watched a raw live feed of the rescue on the small screen and the translated, commentated version on the big screen. One by one they came out and the cameras panned the family members, the rescuers, the Chilean government and, of course, the miner himself.

Before I feel asleep Tuesday, I tried to calculate how many might be rescued before I woke up. The first thing I did Wednesday morning was grab my phone, refresh Twitter and scroll through quickly to find the latest news Tweet about the miners. As I got ready for the day, I watched as another man was pulled from the ground and embraced by his family.

Like someone on my Facebook page said, such unadulterated pure and celebratory news is so rare. The simple act of rescuing these men was so ... simple. Not technically, of course. But there is nothing complicated about wanting to save the lives of so many people. No one can argue it shouldn't have been done. And to see it all go so well is so remarkable.

People are talking about the world "coming together" to save them, of everyone being Chilean for a time, of the inspiration of the miners while trapped for so long. Of course, it's all true. The cooperation and organization involved in the rescue project was astounding. But I also see such a message of hope, of second chances, of new life. How could you one take life for granted after that sort of a challenge? Someone on TV said miners of all kinds have a much larger appreciation for the open air and the sun than do non-miners. After this, that appreciation must be exploding.

Today I've tried to think of all the things I might take for granted — the things I would have a better appreciation for should they be taken from me. Maybe gratitude is a better word. Anyway, the list is long. I don't want to take life for granted, and I think I have 33 Chilean men to thank for my newfound awareness.

I was 9 the last time this happened

2010-10-02T22:34:00.000-06:00

Fans storming the field for the first time in ... ? Not sure. I stayed comfortably in

my seat but was one of hundreds to take a photo and/or video.

I'm aware that my dislike (borders on hatred, even) of BYU is probably unhealthy, but it's very important to document this in some way. It only took 17 years, but Utah State finally beat BYU in football — and the game wasn't even close. And I was there! (So if it takes another 17 years I can at least tell my future children I saw this.) There were a lot of very happy people in Logan last night, honking and yelling from cars — the works. I can't begin to tell you how satisfying it was to see all those BYU fans attempt to escape the stadium as soon as they realized a win wasn't possible. Go Aggies!

Nocturnal adventures (Not that. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

2010-10-01T00:20:00.000-06:00

It's not unusual these days to wake up in the middle of the night and find myself in the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Or the hallway. Or the walk-in closet.

I've always been a little ... "active" ... while sleeping. As a kid, night terrors took me out of my bed, down the stairs and screaming in fear to my parents still awake in the family room. Perhaps most embarrassing was my sleep-walking experience as a 13-year-old having a slumber party at a friend's house. Around 7 a.m., when the early risers in that house began to stir I woke up to realize I'd somehow during the night made it through a dining room and kitchen and into a FORMAL living room only to fall asleep on the very nice couch that probably wasn't even made for sitting. Without a blanket. That friend may or may not read this blog, but if she does (I'm still mortified enough not to name her) know that I am, 13 years later, ridiculously humiliated about the situation and the look your older sister gave me when she found me there.

Anyway. I've been walking again. Combined with my minor insomnia, this isn't making for great nights of sleep. And while working on five hours of sleep is doable for one or even two days, weeks on end of this practice does not a happy Emilie make.

Unfortunately, more and more my walking episodes are ending in the kitchen, where there is, of course, food. Specifically, sweets. Apparently my sweet tooth goes into overdrive at about 4 a.m. If there are brownies, cookies, donuts or whatever, that pile of goodies is usually minus one come morning. When there aren't sweets, bread usually works. The worst was about a month ago when I woke up around 8 a.m. to find a half-eaten and, by then, very stale piece of bread on my pillow next to my mouth. Gross, I know.

Garrett says he's contemplating putting a lock on the pantry. After my last glance at a scale, I may encourage just that.

Sometimes I don't eat, though. A week or two ago, I woke up to find myself standing about 3 feet in front of the end of our bed, convinced the empty space in front of me was actually a brick wall. It was blocking my way to the bathroom, which was my apparent destination for who knows what reason, but probably not to actually use the toilet. My goal, I realized while swaying on the carpet, was to get past the wall. It's a good thing I woke up because as far as I know, no ideas were coming to me.

More and more frequently, I find myself in the closet changing clothes. Perhaps I'm hot? Cold? Having a dream about what I'm going to wear in the morning? Who knows, really.

One thing I don't think I'm doing is talking. Garrett's a light sleeper (although he just now is reminding me he puts in earplugs every night), and he hasn't mentioned anything.

The point of this? To say I'm tired. Tired of not being able to sleep until 2, tired of waking up in strange places at 4:30, tired of then waking up a few hours later for work. But if anyone wants to share their own nightly stories, it might make me feel a little less alone. Please?

*This post inspired by Brooke, whose husband is apparently quite chatterbox in bed.

This post: Basically an excuse to post cat photos*

2010-09-24T00:25:00.001-06:00

*See, you who hate cats have been warned. IN THE TITLE. Leave now or forever hold your peace.

You see this cute little thing? (Obviously the cat, not my husband, although he is also cute.)

My visiting teacher is SCARED of her. For no particular reason. Scared enough to scream and stand up when cute little Lucy jumps up on the opposite side of the couch just to check things out. To cringe when Lucy walks over to her feet and looks up at her like, "I'm purring for you. Please just rub my head."

I've learned nothing to indicate this fear comes from previous trauma. There are no allergies.

It's very judgmental of me, but my brain cannot comprehend these kinds of people.

Cannot comprehend.

Been reading 'Outliers' in case you haven't noticed...

2010-09-18T23:46:00.000-06:00

So, I've been wondering: Are writers born with "it," or do they learn how to write? Or is it a little of both? Is it always the same? Or are some naturals while others have to work harder than anything to become a good writer? Or does it have nothing to do with being "gifted" or having a good work ethic?

As a kid I read and read and read, and that's most definitely helped my writing. In middle school and high school, I did well in English class because I could answer every question about the latest assigned book with 100 percent accuracy. I missed learning how to diagram a sentence, although I have a feeling I may enjoy doing that for fun now (and yes, that is slightly disturbing to me). I took AP English during my senior year of high school to learn more. In college, I took an opinion writing class because I desperately wanted to be able to put together a sentence that wasn't a lede, didn't transition into a quote or explain where funding was coming from. I nearly joked on my soda once when, during a meeting early in the semester, my teacher told me my assignments were exactly what she was looking for. Still, I think she was just being nice.

All of this said, my place in history and society allowed these things to happen. Born first into a middle-class family, I was fed books and attention as a child. The public schools I attended were decent if not great. My parents are educators who see the importance of reading and writing. I attended college because of a scholarship. Regardless of the scholarship, higher education is cheap in Utah. I was born at a time when girls are expected to be educated and stay on par with boys.

So, I'll add a third option. Is my being better than average when it comes to the written word because of my life situation?

I HAVE worked at this. But meanwhile, it's also something I just "get." I've seen others who have worked hard but don't ever "get it." Do I get this because of my hard work, my surroundings and opportunities or because it's just part of my DNA?

I use myself as an example, but I'm curious about this in the general sense. Why are people good at what they do? Luck? Work ethic? Opportunities? Genetics? What do you think? Anybody have any thoughts?

Take III

2010-09-07T23:43:00.000-06:00

This is my third attempt to write something of what I'm feeling right now. The first attempt ended in tears and a block of text so nonsensical I should probably just delete it, but I'm keeping it as a reminder that my emotional state can almost always be worse. Attempt No. 2 was more rational, but it's now outdated and slightly boring. I was just going to forget it all, but after an internal battle over the purpose of this blog, I feel a need to document in some way what life is like right now.

I'm in a bad spot. While I understand my situation can be worse, I'm really struggling. I feel selfish saying that, and so I've stayed away from this blog — or I've posted fluff for several weeks now. My job surrounds me with people whose life situations I would not pay to have or trade for, but I've finally come to realize that does not necessarily mean my own is a walk in the park. In an effort to be more optimistic, to not focus on my husband's unemployment and the uncertainty of our future, I repeatedly remind myself of the good things in my life right now: My husband, who loves me no matter what; a house, which I love and have managed to still make mortgage payments on up to this date; family members who, despite the respective trials each is currently going through, are supportive in the ways they can be; my cats, which are probably more important to me than is emotionally healthy; my job, which I still have and provides me with a diversion from other crap in my life; my relatively good physical health, because pain of that kind might put me over the edge right now.

But every time I remind myself of these benefits, that horrible internal voice says about one thing or the other: "It's temporary. Everything will go to hell sooner or later."

I have lost my optimism for life. Those who recognize that I am generally a, how do I say this — hopeful pessimist? — might be able to see the gravity of that last sentence. This summer has been bad. Multiple band-aid treatments have not worked. I stay up too late, thinking it will delay another morning from coming, when really it only makes me more irrational and creates a tomorrow of misery. I chug caffeine throughout the day to prevent a total shutdown and give the appearance through fake energy levels that all is well. I lie and say I'm OK when people ask.

Sometime last week, the dam broke. It was around 3 a.m. one of those nights, wrapped in a coat for the first time this season and sitting on my front porch. While trying to muffle my sobs and bargaining with God with things I couldn't believe the next morning I'd bargained, I realized one thing: I am not OK.

Even though we are currently making it through Garrett's unemployment claim money and my $13-an-hour job.

Even though we don't have kids to worry about during this unpredictable time. (Oh, the tragic irony of that statement.)

Even though we are well, no one has died, the vehicles (barely) run and the the house hasn't burned down.

Even though there are still things to be thankful for, I am not OK right now. And it's all right to admit that.

Oh, it goes in cycles. Last week was a big dip downward, and I've had nowhere but up to go from there, so it's safe to say I'm doing better today. The horrible thing about that roller coaster, however, is that once you go up, you always have to go down. And so I live in fear of hitting another week like last. Because as wonderful as it feels to finally admit you're not OK, that declaration most definitely does not automatically make you OK.

In the middle of this, however, I am learning some things. With everything in my being, I am attempting to stop judging others' situations. I feel that judgment coming from others, and I want nothing to do with being on the other end. No one knows another's situation. Unless you are intimately aware of the details of someone's life, you have no right assuming how that individual should or should not be living. I am doing my best to live this concept myself. And if getting through this particular challenge in my life necessitates graduating from humility boot camp — please, PLEASE — count me as an anxious recruit.

Summer is supposed to be full of sunny happiness, and I feel like I'm in my own horrible January. I don't know what else to say, but I know I have to say something. I've clammed up, quit talking, quit writing and tried my best to quit thinking. So this is an attempt to reverse that.

Great minds think alike?

2010-08-30T01:24:00.000-06:00

I love when I randomly find a blog, decide I love it, and then realize many of my other bloggity friends (whom I love) are already there, commenting away. It somehow validates me and my taste in a way that probably only makes sense at 1 in the morning. Or maybe it only means that all the crazies are finding the same spot on the Internet to hang out.

That is all.

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PS: I just finished the Hunger Games trilogy (yes, all three books in less than five days), and I'm utterly distressed. Bothered. Disturbed. Wonderful books, but one should probably not read more than 1,100 pages about kids killing other kids in that short of a time frame. However, the point is, I'd love to know if anybody out there has read them.

A new way to think about interior decorating

2010-08-16T00:56:00.000-06:00

So. Three cheers to anyone who can correctly guess why Hunt's and Ragu have

set up shop on my living room window ledge.

A hint: It involves cats.

(I'm going to get a lot of weird hits here after mentioning those two brand names, huh?)

A need to read

2010-08-05T00:32:00.000-06:00

If you come to my house unannounced, I will at some point in the first 10 minutes you're there make up a reason to walk down the hallway and then I'll shut my bedroom door. Even if all of the laundry (no matter where I put the basket, clean and dirty clothing ends up in very distinct and purposeful piles on my floor) is put away, the bed is made and the shoes confined to the closet, there are the books.

Oh, the books.

I've turned into a reader who never reads. But through one method or another, I keep collecting books that "look good" and that I'll "read at some point." They find a home on the floor next to my bed.

These are the ones I can see from my bed strewn somewhere within 5 feet of my bed:

• The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo ... by Stieg Larsson (have started, will definitely finish; when: tbd)
• All the Colors of Darkness ... by Peter Robinson
• The Lost Symbol ... by Dan Brown (have started, might finish)
• The Lonely Polygamist ... by Brady Udall
• The Returning ... by Ann Tatlock
• The Emperor's Children ... by Claire Messud
• Leaving Yesterday ... by Kathryn Cushman
• Love in the Time of Cholera ... by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (have started?)
• Though Waters Roar ... by Lynn Austin
• Outliers: The Story of Success ... by Malcolm Gladwell

Since I'm going to Bear Lake next week for a few days, I think I'll have some time to actually read. If you've read any of the above, let me know what you think. I definitely need some direction in terms of where to start.

Our mountain

2010-07-28T01:05:00.000-06:00

Got home from work today and told Garrett we were going to hike up the mountain. We've lived here for nearly a year and we've never walked further east than the neighbor's house.

So we hiked through the vole-invested, owl pellet-ridden, grasshopper invaded fields. Then we dodged cow dung (and actual cows), hiked up a really steep hill (that I guess was a mountain) and got to see this:

I learned I am out of shape. And I got dizzy. So I drank some water (thank you Garrett for bringing it even though I said I wouldn't need any) and had some Smarties. I really like Smarties.

Right when we decided to head back down, the wind picked up, which would have been nice on the way up when I was sweating all the way to Idaho. Then the sun started to go down, and we got to see one of the best Smithfield sunsets.

*Being old, part II

2010-07-18T22:15:00.000-06:00

Remember back in March when I wrote about getting old? Well, older. Well, not 21 anymore. I had another one of those experiences that just makes you go, "Things are different now than when I was younger."

My 15-year-old brother went to EFY a few weeks ago, and Garrett and I happened to be at my parents house the day he got back. After his six-hour nap or whatever is required after getting home from EFY he got up. I noticed he was texting some girl named Samantha. (I'm a journalist, remember. That means I'm a snoop.) I asked who Samantha was, expecting the bashful, "Nobody!" that usually comes from my youngest brother. He nonchalantly said it was a girl he met at EFY.

So I decided to tell him how things were when I went to EFY all those centuries ago. You know, when texting didn't exist among us lay folk, when e-mail wasn't even the primary form of communication. It would have been 1997, 1998 or so. Of course, people e-mailed, but not every 14-year-old had an e-mail address back then. I did, but it wasn't something I checked or used every day.

So I told him, "At the end of the week, we all got a piece of paper and passed it around putting our addresses on it. Our real, home address. Then we made copies of the paper, everyone took one home, and we wrote and mailed letters to each other."

He gave me a look that said, "Seriously???"

And then I felt old.

*I realize I am not "old," but when anyone older than 20 sits next to a 15-year-old for more than five minutes, he or she feels old.

There's nothing better than...

2010-07-07T11:45:00.000-06:00

Logging on to Blogger to find something called "Edit Pages." Welcome to the year 2010, Blogger.
Logan water. Mmmmm.
A kitty cat that snuggles up to you when you're crying.
A car that starts every morning (even if it is multi-colored).
My bed.
A husband who says, "Want me to rub your shoulders?" totally unprovoked.
Cheese.
A summer night in Cache Valley.
Going a full 30 days without a breakout. (Wishful thinking ... By the way, I'm freaking 26; when does this end?)
Laughing so hard your stomach hurts.
Waking up late, panicking, then realizing it's Saturday and you can go back to sleep.
Begonias.

Anybody have something to add?

Just a baby

2010-06-28T00:46:00.000-06:00

You know those stories about yourself you grow up hearing, and at a certain point you're not sure how much of the story is from your actual memory and how much is from the stories you've heard?

I've got one for you. (And if you stick around long enough, you'll read about the wild baby vole I pet on my dining room table last night.)

Apparently, I was about 3. I do have (other) real memories from that age, so I know I remember some of this. The setting was my grandparent's front yard. My mom was there, at least one grandparent and a couple of other people. My grandparents' cat was stalking a mouse, who was frantically running in circles from the cat. The cat was in play-mode, not moving fast enough to catch the mouse, but probably planning to at any moment. I was upset. I loved that cat, but I felt bad for the mouse, who I was sure was about to meet certain death. I remember the conflicting emotions. At some point I — to the surprise of the adults around me — walking over to the mouse, picking it up and stuffing it into a hole in the dirt — its hole, I assume. Safe and sound. Then I scolded the cat.

I've always had a soft spot for furry animals. So, at first it was a little hard to deal with the blood, guts and partial rodent bodies that have piled up around our house since we moved in. Our cats are GOOD mousers. Lucy especially. She'll catch voles, mice and gophers all day, usually depositing them on my deck/porch/driveway/patio before going to catch another one. Sometimes she'll eat them later, sometimes she won't. Often she eats the heads first, and if she's really hungry she keep going. But she always leaves the kidneys, which are like little land mines to my bare feet.

I know. It's disgusting. But I've gotten used to it. The few times she's managed to sneak LIVE rodents inside the house to play chase-and-kill have convinced me I'd rather have them dead and in her stomach than live and in my house. Except for the horrifying crunch I hear when they're being eaten (usually on the deck), I've managed to make myself quite immune to the whole situation. The crunching is really, really disgusting.

Somehow, though, I found myself petting a cute little baby vole at 2 a.m. Sunday in my dining room. We'd left our sliding door slightly open as we got ready for bed so the cats, who were playing in the backyard, could come in when they wanted. Garrett had fallen asleep and I was sitting in bed with my laptop. Much to Lucy's dismay, I'd already collected and thrown one dead mouse she'd brought inside over the deck railing. So, I'm sitting there and I hear something. As I walk down the hall, flipping the light on as I go, I see Lucy crouching next to one of my giant plant pots on the floor in the dining room. This typically means she's brought in a live one. I grab a bowl to put over it and toss the cat outside.

You guys, this was the cutest, most frightened little animal I've seen. Not even 2 inches long, this little gray vole was trying to squeeze itself under the pot holding my Norfolk Island Pine. Scared to death. I got it in the bowl and put it on the table. It was shaking while trying to be as small as possible, tucking its head down between its two front legs. Its eyes were so small I think they'd only been open for a few days.

So, I got it some bread crumbs and water. Then I grabbed my camera.

By the way, did you know it's hard to take photos of a baby vole that's in a mixing bowl?

Anyway. I had no idea what to do with the little guy, but he started moving around and breathing a little less violently after a few minutes so I figured he was OK. Maybe he'd had a heart attack or had some internal bleeding, but I couldn't find anything externally wrong. Oh, and he let me pet him. He was very soft, and he didn't even bite me.

I decided to let him go in the front yard in the middle of some thick weeds. Maybe he was too small to make it on his own; maybe a cat walked over as soon as I went back inside and killed him; who knows. But I just couldn't put him back in the backyard with the killer cats. After all, he's just a baby. The cats can kill him in a few weeks, but every baby deserves a chance to live. Even baby voles.

On a lighter note ...

2010-06-16T22:20:00.000-06:00

Because, oh my gosh, have I had my share of heavy notes lately (where the crap did the phrase "lighter note" come from anyway?)...

Turns out when you spend more than 30 hours on various airplanes within the space of three weeks, you end up watching pretty much anything that's put on a screen in front of you. And, as much as I tried to avoid it — because certain people were seriously so annoying about it all spring — I am now a Glee watcher. By the time we landed in L.A. last month after our trip, I'd watched every 43-minute long episode of Glee that Air New Zealand offered. All 13. Plus about six other movies.

So imagine my surprise when, once we're home, Garrett asks me how far I got with Glee, and when I tell him he says I should watch episode 14 and 15 online to CATCH UP WITH HIM. He, who did not watch a single Glee episode on any plane. I would know. I sat next to him.

Which means, he's been a closet Glee fan without telling me for the past few months. It's slightly funny ... right?

P.S. I did watch 14 and 15 and TOGETHER, we've watched 16 through 22 or whatever. All caught up. Not going to call myself a fan, though. Still just a watcher. And I will not be tweeting or facebooking about it. Ever.

Scared

2010-06-11T13:41:00.001-06:00

Sometime during early 2007 I was driving home from work while talking to my mom on the phone. I remember saying something about how my life seemed just right right then, and while that was wonderful, it felt like life was TOO right. Something horrible was about to happen.

Within a month or two, my husband lost his job. The company he worked for announced a major financial crisis and he was one of many to be affected. He was out of work for about six weeks before finding another job, but those six weeks were possibly the hardest of our married lives.

I apparently didn't learn my lesson. My sixth-sense red flags have been waiving for the past several months, even hitting me on the head, but I've been nervously ignoring them. So, of course, four days into our trip to New Zealand, we found out that Garrett had lost his job. By e-mail, by the way, which pretty much sucks.

The situation is worse than it was in 2007. Despite working only 30 hours a week, he brought home much more than my paltry newspaper job provides working full time. We have a mortgage now. We have a house that needs a yard (by contract, actually, a front yard is required by August). We have a semester's worth of tuition to pay in two months. We also live in one of the worst economic times since the Depression, which translates into very few available jobs, especially those compatible with a graduate student schedule. Those of you who have gone through this — or are — know what I'm talking about. Those of you who haven't — pray you don't.

The trip was hard. While frantically trying to figure out what was going on, we settled into shock for the first several days. On the day we found out, we went to a botanical garden in Auckland and walked around like zombies. That's kind of all I remember from that day. We contemplated coming home, but the hotels were all booked and nonrefundable. You know that sick-to-your-stomach feeling you get, when you hope and pray you'll just wake up and it'll all be a horrible dream? That was us. Garrett couldn't sleep. All I wanted to do was sleep — except for at 7 a.m., when I'd wake up with a start every day and not be able to go BACK to sleep. What should have been the happiest time of our marriage had been turned into a nightmare.

It was hard. But as time went on, we were able to enjoy some of the trip. After we returned home, to a house we appreciated much more than before we left, the gravity of the situation hit — again. It's been two weeks since then. I feel like a kid who has been shoved hard to the ground and I'm just starting to realize how to use my limbs again, propping myself up on my elbows and looking around with a stunned expression. Garrett, as you can imagine, is still on the ground.

A few small miracles have occurred since we got home — some random money has come our way and extra income possibilities have been presented. I know God is aware of us. I know our situation is not unique, and I know there are thousands of families around the U.S. who have lost both incomes, not just one. I am grateful for my job, don't get me wrong. But I'm still really, really scared.

Early morning adventures with no sleep, noisy birds and seven cats

2010-06-05T07:26:00.000-06:00

I'm trying to decide if this situation is as bizarre as it appears to me right now, or if the fact that it's 7 a.m. and I have yet to sleep is contributing to the craziness of it all. You decide.

It's well established on this blog that I am the neighborhood cat lady. I don't deny it. I just didn't know how much of a neighborhood cat lady — in the most literal sense of neighborhood and metaphorical sense of cat lady (because, really, who wants to see me in a cat lady suit?).

Just one question for you: Do you know what YOUR neighborhood looks likes at 6 a.m.? I did not. I do now, however.

CATS. EVERYWHERE.

It's also established on this blog that we have two of the feline variety. Jet is all black. Lucy is a tabby. I'll give you a quick run down of the other confirmed neighborhood cats.

• Single guy across the street has three: Jonesey, a light orangish one with a curly tail; Camo, who probably has feline aids; and Midnight or Blacky or something cliche. He's all black but really tiny and missing a tail. (None of the three make an appearance in this particular story, which is quite frankly amazing.)

• There's a stray we call Scraggly. Because he/she is SERIOUSLY scraggly. He/she also has a kitty crush on Lucy, so he/she follows Lucy everywhere. Pretty sure he/she also has fleas.

• Creamsicle. Creamsicle is new to the neighborhood — showed up two night ago and now called that because he's orange and white. A boy, not fixed. Seems like a pet. Sleek, friendly, purrs and runs into my house against my will. Meows a lot. Loudly.

• Grey-and-white kitty. That's all I know about it.

• Black-and-white kitty. That's also all I know about it. Until an hour ago I thought grey-and-white and black-and-white were the same. Not so.

• Kitty in window. Neighbor's cat. Never comes outside, but watches intently.

I think that should do it for the introductions.

So, Creamsicle shows up two nights ago, and now that he knows we exist he meows at our door. All the time. Last night, I heard snarling down the street so I went running to make sure it wasn't Jet. Lucy was inside already. The neighbor teenager's boyfriend was shooing some cat with a broom. It was dark. Turns out, it was Creamsicle, who came right to me. I brought him back, gave him loves and put him back out. Then we went to bed. Well, Garrett did. I watched two episodes of Private Practice and four episodes of Grey's Anatomy. I'm having trouble sleeping lately, but that's another story. Then it got light. I went back to check and see if Jet had ever come back. As I walk out onto the deck, who do I see?

Creamsicle, black-and-white, grey-and-white, Jet and window cat (in window) all in my backyard having a little kitty party. Just sitting and staring at each other. Weirdest thing. Lucy is inside staring at the party from behind glass. Creamsicle sees me and comes running as I walk down the stairs into the backyard. Keep in mind, I'm braless, shoeless and still wearing yesterday's makeup since I never washed it off last night (due to the not sleeping part) — and we all know how hot that looks. I'm scampering around the yard going, "What the crap?" when I see Scraggly walking over. Jet won't come to me when he sees him/her because he has a kitty crush on Scraggly (it's a horrible little triangle between him/her, Lucy and Jet). I start walking around the house on my pretty wet dirt and, suddenly, the neighbor across the street opens his garage door. So, I'm scrambling to get back behind the house, in my bare feet, trying to dodge weeds and rocks. And I have THREE CATS following me. And another three watching me. Think I got away in time for him to come outside and drive away, though.

Thirty minutes later, as I sit here on the porch — I had no idea how nice early mornings are, by the way — Lucy and Jet are playing in the front yard (mostly trying to eat weeds), grey-and-white is sitting on a pile of dirt in the vacant lot next door, Scraggly is across the street stalking a bird, black-and-white is peering around the other side of the house, and Creamsicle is about two inches away from me (needy little thing) meowing at a volume that can only compete with a semi truck.

This is normal, right?

I didn't think so.

I think I need sleep.

A survey

2010-06-03T15:34:00.000-06:00

Say you wash your hair on a Monday night. How long is the LONGEST you can go before washing it again?

You know, while staying socially acceptable.

Home again

2010-05-31T02:21:00.001-06:00

It's good to be home.

We got home late Tuesday night to VERY affectionate and attention-starved kitties and a new house smell (who knew that was still around?) with lots of dirty laundry in our suitcases. After collapsing into bed around 2 a.m., we accidentally slept until 1 in the afternoon Wednesday. Oops. Guess that's what happens when you spend about 30 of the 42 hours we could technically say we spent in Tuesday — thank you, International Dateline —awake.

I know the traditional bloggy thing to do is write all about the trip, complete with photos and information about each day I was gone. To be honest, even thinking about that exhausts me. I may do it someday, but for now, it's too big of a chore. A lot of photos are on Facebook, and if you're not friends with me there, just send a friend request and I'll be happy to acquiesce.

It's been hard answering people when they ask if we had fun. Not that there weren't fun moments. But we were given some horrible news a few days into the trip that made it very hard to have a ton of fun. I'm sure I'll write about it later, but for now, just know that this is my lesson of the year: If you think you've been humbled, know that you haven't. Also: Life is really, really hard.

So, instead of saying, "Yeah, it was so awesome," or whatever, I've found myself responding with, "We saw a lot of cool stuff." Which is so true. We spent over a week on New Zealand's north island and five days in northern Australia right next to the Great Barrier Reef. And, seriously. Who can say that?

For now, I'll show you one day. I think it can safely be said it was when Garrett and I were happiest. On the second full day we got there, we (well, Garrett) drove north and east toward the Coromandel peninsula. It was a few hours from our hotel in Auckland and Garrett had never gone there when he lived in New Zealand during his LDS mission, so he wanted to go. It's known for its beautiful beaches and amazing rainforest. Between the two are rolling hills like nothing you'll see in the U.S.

After driving north up the west side of the peninsula we cut across the rainforest over to the east side. Since the sun there goes down earlier at this time of year, we were running out of daylight, but we wanted to hike down to Cathedral Cove, a beach near Hahei. We cut the supposed 45-minute hike into 25 minutes and made it to the beach in time.

Then, we hurried back up the mountain, I kind of chased a sheep, and we started the long drive back to Auckland.

It was a good day.

Coming home

2010-05-24T03:57:00.000-06:00

Hey everyone.

This is the longest I've been away from my blog, I do believe. Lesson learned: Although being "disconnected" and "unreachable" sounds really glorious and romantic, it is not.

I have missed you. And I'm ready to go home. I'm also ready to catch up on Lost (THREE weeks behind! — no spoilers, please). And see my kitty cats. And be in my house.

But first this:

Another 12 hours on a plane. And then another two. And then I finally get to drive on the right side of the road.

See you all there...

**Photo: The Coral Sea off the coast of Queensland, Australia.

A new look

2010-05-10T02:54:00.000-06:00

Months ago, I shamelessly told my wonderful co-worker Manette she should design a new blog header for me. She can work her way around Photoshop and all the other fun programs to which I don't have access a ton better than me. And, she designs newspaper pages every day for a living, so she's good at this stuff.

I think my request may have cursed her, because shortly after her computer crashed and she's been waiting forever for it to be fixed. Manette, in case I did curse you, I will try to not request anything from you in the near future. :)

So, I should have known that once she got her computer back, Manette was going to work wonders. Honestly, I love this header. I'm absolutely thrilled. All of you people who read this via Google Reader or some other RSS feed should definitely click on over to the site today.

With that, I'm off to get some sleep and then catch a plane. Hopefully some fun posts and photos from the southern hemisphere are coming up soon.

Forget patio furniture, we're going bigger than that

2010-05-04T23:21:00.000-06:00

For as long as I've known Garrett, he's wanted a shed.

Every time we go to a home improvement store — even when we lived in a teeny, tiny apartment — there's always that longing glance toward the outdoor sheds. This is from a guy who grew up on a 275-square-mile island with 4 million other people and who has never actually had a garage until eight months ago. It's kind of become a joke, but now whenever we see one for sale, one of us makes a comment like, "Hey, want a shed?" Or something brilliant like that.

Now that we have a house, it's a slightly more probable reality, but seriously. We have nothing to put in a shed. There won't be a shed in the near future.

Anyway. A few weeks ago we were doing a 9:30 p.m. Lowe's trip for who knows what, and while walking outside in the dark we saw the famous sheds. One of us made the regular comment, and then I saw the swing sets.

"Wouldn't it be funny if we bought a swing set? Wouldn't our neighbors be so confused?" I said.

Since then, it's been a on-again-off-again conversation about what strange large item we could put in our yard to throw off our neighbors the most. Ideally, we — the childless ones in the neighborhood — would have the coolest yard play thingy, and the neighbor children would stare longingly toward it.

So, on Sunday, we went through the newspaper ads. (We have a system: I start with the news part of the paper, he starts with the ads ... then he gives me the ads. He rarely reads the news. He might dispute this. He might not.) So, we're looking through all the ads for possible strange large yard purchases.

Trampoline?

Huge inflatable swimming pool?

A tetherball poll?

No. Garrett has the best idea: A blow-up bouncy castle.

Can you see it? We'd put it in our front yard, of course. On our dirt. No sense in planting grass if we're only going to put a bouncy castle on top of it.

Can anyone top that?

This is how I know they're mine

2010-04-29T21:47:00.000-06:00

They like cheese!

(Yes, they're both sitting on stools, eating cheese shreds off the counter.)

Pretty awesome, huh?

Being different

2010-04-25T19:46:00.000-06:00

You know the saying, "One of these things is not like the others"?

I'm feeling like that "one" thing.

I can't put my finger on it, but sometimes I just feel so incredibly different than others. And I know everyone is going to say they feel the same, but there are those people who are just ... different. We all know who they are. In middle school, it was not a good thing to be that person. In high school, it got a bit better, and depending on your social group, it might have been the cool thing in college.

It's not feeling very cool right now. And for no reason in particular, I feel like people are metaphorically pointing and staring at me. It's not a very comfortable feeling.

This might be compounded by living as an adult in my very first real neighborhood. In apartments, where I lived with roommates or Garrett for seven years prior to moving into our house, weird stuff was expected. The neighbors would have loud parties, put couches on their porches, park in your spot, fight really loud, have really loud sex (yes, truly), or whatever. You didn't pay much attention to it because sooner or later you or the neighbor would be leaving.

But in a house — in a single-family residential neighborhood (Aargh! Too many planning commission meetings!) — it's permanent.

Apparently, we stole someone's topsoil. Without knowing it. And with someone ELSE'S permission. It's a long story. The neighbor was nice about it, but while talking to him, I just got a weird feeling. I don't know how to describe it. (And I'm rambling — sorry.) He just treated me weird.

I guess I just feel like we're the odd couple out. Everyone else here has some built-in DNA that puts them on auto-pilot when it comes to putting in a yard and working with neighbors.

I don't think we have that.

We're friendly enough. We wave when people drive by or if we see people around. We talk. But we don't have kids. And we're not home a lot. One time, I was home for some random reason around 11:30 a.m., and I saw a bunch of the neighborhood women gathered in front of a house talking. It was completely irrational, but I was immediately sent back to the sixth grade, to a day when I came back to school after being out sick for two or three days and realized all the other girls in class made friends with each other. And they had no use for another friend.

I just feel so different.

The most horrible thing is that the "different" feeling feels like deja vu. It's like when I got to ninth-grade and realized everyone and their dog knew how to write a five-paragraph essay, and I didn't. Hadn't even heard of one. It's a knowledge that you're different, with a mix of incredible confusion and embarrassment. With rare exception, it's how I've felt a lot of my life.

I'm pretty sure that's why I'm a watcher. New situations are terrifying to me without prior inside knowledge. I like knowing about people before they know about me. It gives me a sense of comfort — that I won't say or do something incredibly stupid.

I guess I just need to figure out what the equivalent of the five-paragraph essay is for living in a neighborhood. It's just that I have a feeling there's more than one essay type to learn about.

New guy

2010-04-17T13:29:00.001-06:00

My sister Katie and her husband, Shawn, had this little guy last night just before 11. No name yet, but it's coming soon.

He was 6 pounds, 8 ounces, and 19 inches long. That's about as small as they get in our family. (Seriously — Katie was the smallest of us siblings at more than 8 pounds and Shawn apparently weighed in at more. We just don't see babies this small.)

We got to go in and see him about 30 minutes after he was born. He was wide-eyed and didn't make a peep the entire time we were there.

That's Grandma holding him, by the way.

The worth of souls

2010-04-13T18:12:00.000-06:00

Warning: A lot of religion coming at you all at once. Serious.

Several weeks ago, I sat through a Relief Society lesson about the pre-existence/pre-mortal life. For all you folks out there who aren't LDS, this is the basic storyline we Mormons believe in:

Before we were born on Earth, we all existed in a spirit (non-body) sense. At some point, God announced he was creating a world we could all go to and receive a body, to progress, etc. When he announced this to everyone, Jesus offered to go to Earth as the Savior of mankind, to atone for all sins. Lucifer, or Satan, also came forward, but he said his plan would include forcing every man and woman to follow God's instructions and then everyone would be happy. There was a fight. One-third of all the hosts of heaven decided to go with Satan. The other two-thirds chose Christ. Satan and his peeps were cast out of heaven, and they never got to come to Earth. The rest of us, since we're here with bodies, obviously came to Earth. Or something like that.

Anyway. It's been long enough that I don't really remember the purpose of the lesson. And I should preface this all by saying I really like most of the women in my ward, and the teacher of this particular lesson is pretty good.

However, it's always when the lesson is opened up to comments that things go haywire, isn't it?

Sometime that Sunday, the discussion meandered over to the topic of WHY all of us were sitting in that room. Obviously, we were part of the group that chose (at least once) to follow Christ.

Yes, true. No problem there.

Then, the conversation moved on over to discuss why we are all HERE — in "Zion," in the 21st century, in the great land of the free. Blah, blah, blah. And that's when things got ... sticky.

These were the explanations thrown out there (and, by the way, I'm not even sure the teacher was looking for ANY explanation):

1. We did something wonderful in the pre-mortal life that warranted a good "placement" on Earth.
(or, if you choose to believe that you personally have experienced more trials than the average human being, then...)
2. We were so friendly with God and Jesus, we were such worthy souls, that Satan has decided to personally punish us in this life by giving us challenges.

I will again point out that I do like my ward. The people are nice, generally genuine and I've yet to see the cliques and bickering that some wards host. However, I live in a more affluent area than average. There are many who AREN'T extremely wealthy (hello, us), but we have our fair share of doctors, successful business owners and the like.

There might be a tad sense of entitlement among some.

My problems with No. 1 and No. 2 above: Believing that you're privileged in this life for doing something that you don't even REMEMBER doing or have proof of breeds a lack of humility. If you believe you've already been righteous enough to be rewarded, why improve? Why progress? Why desire to learn and think that you could be better?

My biggest problem, though? If Mormon A, who lives in Mormonville, Utah, in 2010, believes she is there because she was exceptionally virtuous in the pre-existence, what does Mormon A think of Mormon B, who might live in Mexico or Ghana or Germany or, heaven forbid, some liberal state like Massachusetts? Or of someone who lived in the Middle Ages, without the Gospel? Or a Muslim in Pakistan? Or a non-Mormon, poverty stricken single mother who lives on welfare in an inner city?

Surely these people screwed up somewhere along the line. Right?

Logic would say that if Mormon A holds belief No. 1, she also believes that all others were a bit less righteous in the pre-mortal life. A little less God-like. Maybe, if you take it to an extreme, their lack of goodness ("goodness," which would, of course, be evident by them being born into a well-off Mormon family) would lead to a punishment? If Mormon A is in a good spot due to righteousness, could everyone else be in a bad spot due to a pre-mortal sin? I mean, if we could do GOOD in the pre-mortal life (as these people believe), that means we could do BAD, right? And if good is rewarded, bad is punished. Right?

No. I don't think so. And if you read John 9 in the New Testament, Jesus implies that pre-mortal sins do not cause mortal disability, so I have a hard time believing pre-mortal sin could cause any other type of earthly suffering.

So, that Sunday, I sat there, scribbling down my thoughts on a folded up piece of paper and wondering if anyone was going to pipe up. I wasn't, because I'm not a piper. Also, I'm still kind of new. But I had to wonder if there were others out there who felt the same way I did. Pretty sure there were. And in reality, only two or three people actually verbalized these types of feelings. It's not as if the whole room was rallying behind their thoughts.

I came home, mentioned some thoughts to Garrett and later to my mom over the phone, put the folded up piece of paper on my nightstand and tried to forget about it.

Haven't been able to. See, I KNOW we don't believe that people born into disadvantaged times and places are being punished. At least, I don't believe that. ... First of all, I don't see Mormonville in 2010 as the most opportune place and time to live. But IF it is for some reason, it's not because I did anything great many, many years ago. Here are a few of my working theories:

1. I am weak — spiritually. I needed to come to Earth at this time; I needed to Gospel to fall into my lap and guide me.
2. My personal characteristics are such that I needed to be placed in a time and place in order to be with specific other people — for my sake or theirs. Who knows.
3. I am weak — physically. My life is easy. I have clean water to drink, food in my kitchen, a roof over my head, accessible medicine. Perhaps in another time and place, without these benefits, I would not make it.
4. I have needed and will need the atonement in my life. Without being born now, here, I wouldn't know what that was or how to use it.
5. It's all random. I'm here because I'm here. Period.

So for weeks, I've kept thinking about it. It upset me that some people believed they were better than others. Then, two weekends ago I heard what I needed to hear. It was during Sunday's General Conference. President Uchtdorf spoke on supporting and healing, not condemning.

And truthfully, that is what I felt was happening: Those women who believe they were born now — and here — due to a good deed (or a few) in the pre-mortal life were condemning those in different spots than they. And that's not right.

In his talk, President Uchtdorf said:

"We cannot gauge the worth of another soul any more than we can measure the span of the universe. Every person we meet is a VIP to our Heavenly Father. Once we understand that, we can begin to understand how we should treat our fellowmen."

And, what really resonated with me:

"It is unworthy of us as Christians to think that those who suffer deserve their suffering."

That sentence alone caused lightning bolts to go off inside my head. It's a message of love in every possible way. How can you judge another human being after reading that?

I don't think President Uchtdorf meant for his thoughts to relate to me, some random person thinking about whether a pre-mortal sin could dictate a mortal life circumstance.

But they did. And I'm glad, because for whatever it's worth, I'm going to put my little folded up piece of paper somewhere else, and I'm going to be content with my own thoughts.

Because, like President Uchtdorf, I believe in the worth of every soul.

Dear journal...

2010-04-10T00:03:00.000-06:00

Hmmm. Been awhile, hasn't it?

I've been thinking I didn't want to post just to post, but I must have changed my own mind. So, a brief update on life coming right up.

If you read the previous post, you'll be interested to know that Garrett did indeed win the bracket contest. So, Indianapolis here he (we?) come(s). The army men are still standing (well, lying) proud in our basement on a pile of dirt, but that may end tomorrow. Garrett wants to spread catnip all over the dirt and video the cats taking out the army men by rolling around in drugged glee. He's waiting for good light. And we had to find the battery charger for the camera. Amazing how that thing disappears.

We finally booked hotels and rental cars for New Zealand and Australia. Cutting it close, huh? I think we didn't dare do anything until the tax return came back. It came, we booked, now we just need to figure out what we're going to do. (I'm sure that won't be too difficult.)

Speaking of traveling, we also finally got our renewed Passports. I look exactly the same as I did when I was 16, only wider. Yes, wider. That extra 20 pounds apparently spread out to my face too.

Meanwhile, I'm having anxiety over the dirt that will hopefully someday be a yard. The snow has melted, and some of the neighbors have started working on their yards. If anyone out there has experience putting in a sprinkler system (but we'll first require more dirt), please speak up. We'll be trying to do most of it on our own to save money, and I'm a bit worried about our inexperience. There's also the problem with us being on the east and having our western neighbors be a good 10 feet lower in elevation from us. Anyone know about retaining wall laws? Which neighbor is responsible?

Other than that, life is same old. Work, sleep, occasional TV. Eating. Watching the Jazz be amazing and then horrible. Wondering why we were having a blizzard in April. You know. Oh, and exercising! Amazing, huh? I'm on a multi-day exercise streak. My muscles want to die.

That is all. Hopefully I'll be back sooner than later.

Bet you don't have a pile of dirt and army men in YOUR basement

2010-04-02T14:37:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago, I came home to see Garrett sitting at the kitchen counter with a pile of plastic army men, sticky notes and toothpicks.

Pretty soon, the project expanded into the basement (unfinished portion) and included a giant pile of dirt, a glued-together cardboard "mountain" and lots and lot of army men. He worked into the night and woke up early the next morning to finish. All in the name of basketball.

Remember, he was a science major. I have yet to ask his mom what his science fair projects looked like, but I think I have a better idea now.

So, the basic idea is this: The site www.midmajority.com each year sponsors a contest for people to fill out brackets AS THE TOURNAMENT GOES. No guessing or whatever. The site supports mid-major college basketball teams — those whose conferences don't have as much money to work with and aren't dubbed "power conferences." Brackets are judged on creativity alone. As you can imagine, all of those in the running are sporting some serious Butler love right now. In Garrett's "bracket," the blue army men represent mid-major teams that made the tournament. The green are, well, the bad guys.

As the contest progressed, each entrant has been required to submit photos periodically. For example, at the Sweet 16 mark, Garrett sent this:

If you couldn't tell, as teams lose, their army man dies. (If they happen to be a No. 1 seed, they get their limbs ripped off.) As teams win, their representative army man moves up a level.

Never in my wildest dreams (well, maybe the wildest) did I think I'd have this sort of a project happening in my basement. I don't notice it much, but we have had to keep the cats out because one in particular thinks it's fun to carry around army men in her mouth.

However, I think this is going to win Garrett a trip to Indianapolis this fall for a basketball conference. As far as I can tell, people get together to talk about basketball. And I might tag along — but probably not for the conference.

You can go here to see all of the entries and vote for Garrett's. It really is the most creative. Voting goes through Saturday and you can only vote once per computer. While it appears he's taken a healthy lead, every vote counts and is appreciated. Scroll to the bottom to see all the entries, and if you want to vote for his, it's No. 8.

... And yes, I know this is a bit weird.

Losing my cool

2010-03-30T23:26:00.000-06:00

I would like to know when I stepped over that threshold from being the cool, in-the-know, athletic young adult to, well, being not cool and not in-the-know.

As a teenager, I — like many others, I assume — promised myself I'd be the cool grown-up. I'd keep up on what music was popular, make sure I never wore "mom jeans" no matter how they were defined and be knowledgeable about what words were "cool" to say.

Those days of promises were the days I could operate quite normally on six hours of sleep, weighed 120 pounds and could run for 20 minutes without dying. I was also pretty sure I knew everything.

Something happened. I'd like to know what and when so I can pinpoint that date and tell my future children stuff like, "Just wait until you're __; you'll never be able to do that."

I think it really hit last night while checking out Spokeo, a site that apparently collects information about people. (I guess I'm just young enough not to freak out about all of that stuff being "out there.")

The point is, the little bio that popped up after I typed in my name described me as being in my LATE TWENTIES.

I am 26. That doesn't qualify me as late twenties, does it? Still mid-twenties, right? I'm quite comfortable with mid-twenties. Late-twenties is rubbing me the wrong way.

But this all led me to think: When did getting old become a bad thing? As a teenager, you always want to be a year older. In college, I looked forward to that next birthday. Even when we first got married and I started working full-time, I wanted to be a bit older so my sources didn't ask if I was writing for the college newspaper.

Something happened, though. Somewhere in the past two or three years, my metabolism tiptoed away, my brain got a little more fuzzy, I forgot that wearing pants I bought six years ago was probably not fashionably acceptable. (They're a little tight because I most definitely don't weigh 120 pounds anymore.) My teenage brothers are horrified at being seen with me in front of their friends. I couldn't tell you for the life of me who the top artist of 2009 was. Probably some rapper or hip-hopper. (Oh gosh. Just reading that sentence makes me feel old.) I look at the teenage girls at church and am appalled by how SHORT their skirts are. My knees crack when I stand up. I'm freaking growing whiskers on my chin! Driving by the high school makes me nervous because there are 16-year-olds with DRIVERS LICENSES and KEYS nearby. I still listen to CDs in the car because my iPod kind of confuses me still. I now know I definitely don't know everything.

AND I WANT A VACUUM FOR CHRISTMAS.

Yes, I know. I'm only 26. In 10, 20, 30 years, I'll laugh at this post.

But really, when did this happen? When did getting older lose its luster? An inquiring mind would like to know.

P.S. A sign that I have in fact aged in just the past 20 minutes: The more I think about it, having all that information on Spokeo does make me a bit nervous.

Seriously spring

2010-03-24T19:09:00.000-06:00

It's not even April, but I couldn't manage to keep myself out of a greenhouse. It was wonderful. Also, I'm having a craving for ferns. They're lovely.

For now, I'm going to have to leave all of these pretty pots where my trusty cell phone camera found them. But I did walk out with a cute little (to be) orange begonia that has kept me company all day long here at work. :)

At some point, this just becomes ridiculous

2010-03-23T00:48:00.000-06:00

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but it seems my genetic makeup lends me to a predisposition toward animals. Rescuing animals. Specifically, cats. And it seems, since my sisters are most definitely genetically linked to me, we have something of a commonality.

Collectively, we've now officially hit Cat No. 5.

Yes, five. And that by no means counts the two my parents have at home that we all were raised with.

Would you like a brief synopsis? (The newbie is at the bottom, so you have to keep reading to the end to see her.)

I blame Blue. He started it all.

Blue showed up on Katie and Shawn's doorstep sometime in late winter of 2008. He needed cuddles and food. Despite his loud meows, we all fell in love with him. He liked their dog, he liked people; all was well.

Then came Rusty, who is also — still — called The Kitten, although we all know 14 pounds is not very kittenage. (But it's nothing to Blue's now voluminous 16 or so pounds.) At one time, Rusty was a very adorable little kitten, newly rescued from a field in Providence, malnourished and missing hair. Blue did not like him, but we all did because The Kitten allowed us to do whatever we wanted to him — and he purred. Put him on his back, rub his belly, massage his paws, whatever. He was just grateful for people. After a couple of days of unrest, Blue and Rusty started to get along.

Fast forward to August of 2009. We all know what happened. Along with a house, Garrett and I got Lucy. And then four kittens. And then Jet. And if you really want to know the whole crazy story of how we basically appropriated two cats from the neighbors, read this if you haven't already. Anyway, they have made themselves at home, something they really never had before. While they're generally pretty well-behaved around my plants, Lucy did eat my giant amaryllis this year, which kind of made me mad.

Jet, on the other hand, thinks my Norfolk Island Pine is also a litter box. So, that explains the aluminum foil — in case you were dying to know.

So. You'd think that would be it, right?

Well, you don't know Daedree. She and her new husband, Casey, have been living in an apartment in southeast Logan since they got married. A few weeks ago, while walking home, a scruffy neighborhood cat followed them. Of course, Daedree let her in, because that's what any Holmes family member would do. And then the cat stayed. They tried finding out if any of the neighbors own her, but only realized some of the kids call her the "monster cat" and no on has any knowledge of an actual person she may belong to. She's been through some rough times. Casey found what feels like BB bullets in her stomach and her belly is a bit sore to the touch. She snaps if you surprise her too much and likes to hide in corners, but if you sit down on the couch next to her, she'll get up and crawl into your lap while purring.

I suggested the name Maggie, and I think it may or may not have stuck. Her teeth suggest she's been around for awhile — some are missing, all the rest are yellowing — and then there's the BB possibility and resulting stomach pain, but other than that, she seems OK. All she needs is a little bit of food, a lot of water and a soft spot to sleep (which is what she does almost all of the time except when she's watching out the window).

So, that's No. 5. And the story of the three girls who manage to attract just about any needy feline around.

The end. (Or is it?)

I suck at holidays

2010-03-17T21:41:00.000-06:00

Not only am I just posting this with only two hours left in St. Patrick's Day, I didn't even wear green. And I'm pretty sure I may have already posted this photo on this blog.

But after more than 10 straight days of being so sick I felt like I might cough out vital organs, taking two actual sick days (glorious it is to take those, by the way), and going to a doctors appointment that yielded no more answers than proving I have anxiety attacks when I take hydrocodone and very much dislike the nasty test done for whooping cough (think wiry things going up your nose into your throat), I don't have much more to give you.

So. Green. Clovers. Yay. !

(Photo taken July 2007 in the great Humboldt Redwoods State Park)

PS: Did you see that horrible run-on sentence up there? And to think I'm a writer. Ha!

This post? Bound to offend somebody

2010-03-13T14:50:00.000-07:00

So. Something that has been bugging me. ALL THE FREAKING QUESTION MARKS.

When did I miss the memo? You know. The one? that said to put a question mark after any phrase that otherwise deserves a long dash, verbal pause, colon, comma or, well, nothing. The one? that said to forget that question marks are for REAL QUESTIONS.

Because really? It's annoying.

That's not to say I don't absolutely adore some of the people who have been pulled in to this little ... practice. But I? Will not be doing it.

Pick a country, any country

2010-03-08T16:23:00.000-07:00

I think I'm losing it.

After realizing I wasn't going to make it through work alive, I came home to cough up my lungs in the privacy of my home. Also, I'm very medicated, which makes me feel a little loopy. I'd sleep, but night-time sleep is preferable when one has to go to work the next day. Plus, the neighborhood gang of children is screaming and making obscenely loud noises outside.

So, all I'm trying to do is catch up on Grey's Anatomy

And this is what abc.com tell me:

"You appear to be outside the United States or its territories. Due to international rights agreements, we only offer this video to viewers located within the United States and its territories."

SERIOUSLY???

I think we would have been friends

2010-03-04T20:10:00.000-07:00

Late last night, I stumbled across a blog belonging to a woman I shared one year of school with way back when. I was stalking other blogs that belonged to people who probably don't remember me when I recognized her name on a blogroll and clicked. I will admit: Because of the genre of people I was busy stalking, I expected the typical Mormon mommy blog with fun designs, automatic music players, links to trendy "modest" clothing stores and grammatical errors galore. You know the type: A few kids already, a successful older husband who bought her a $350,000 house, and tons and tons of photos with other women from high school. At Cafe Rio. Or something.

That is not what I saw. This person probably doesn't remember me, and probably had no more than three passing thoughts about me when we actually attended the same school. But because it was ninth grade, I remember her. She was pretty, smart, quiet, a fellow honors English victim. She had a lot of good, smart friends.

Let me give you my version of ninth grade: Hell.

I had just moved to a new city with new people, new fashions and new teenage angst. A few people in my neighborhood quickly befriended me, although I didn't end up staying friends with many of them. My family had hardly any money, and I know just buying some new school clothes for us kids was a challenge for my parents. Those around me had a lot of money, and it was evident in how they dressed, traveled, partied and acted. It was a completely foreign experience.

I obviously survived the year, but it was by the skin of my teeth. Despite being "taken in" by a popular group of girls, I didn't feel close to any of them. If I managed to be sitting with them at lunch to hear about the Friday night plans, I went. If not, no one called me to tell me. Some mornings I'd make a goal to specifically talk to one person. Being as introverted as I was — and still am at times — I could go through the day with little to no interaction with other human beings if I chose. By making that goal, I forced myself to be social — with at least one person. At home that afternoon, I'd report to myself how I'd done and think about whether anyone else had initiated any conversations. Some days, yes. Others, no. I was very much alone, whether it appeared that way to others or not.

The pinnacle of that awesome year, and I say so with sarcasm, was the week before Christmas. In early December, the girls I was "friends" with decided on having a girls-only formal Christmas dinner party. I was present for the initial talks so I was, by default, invited (although I had no idea what "formal" meant for 15-year-olds). For several days that's all some of them talked about. Who would host the party, what day it should be, what everyone should wear, etc. Then ... nothing. If asked, girls would say they didn't know if it was still on or to ask so-and-so. I knew what was going on, but tried to pretend it wasn't. On the day of the planned event, I made a couple of phone calls, planning to suggest we just hang out anyway even though there was no party. Not surprisingly, not one of these girls answered their phone. A few moms even lied for their daughters. So yeah, that was pretty much awesome.

By March or April, I'd made a few new friends. Some were the "outcasts" — the ones who didn't dress "right" or who weren't LDS and therefore, unfortunately, not accepted by many of the popular kids. Things finally felt right for me. High school got much better, and by my senior year I was so far removed from those original popular girls (most of whom went to another high school), ninth-grade seemed a bit like a dream.

To circle around, this blog I found late last night did not belong to any of the infamous popular girls. This person was in a different, more secure, friend group that didn't easily accept newcomers. To me, they were the "smart people" group. I didn't know much about them, but while they weren't mean to me, I don't think they even knew I existed. However, while reading her well-written, well-thought-out posts last night, I saw one that could easily have been written by me about that horrible year. In her case, she wrote of high school (not the one I went to) and how alone she felt during those years. About the friends who weren't really friends, the nights she spent alone at home or even going to school events by herself.

Ten years ago, I'd never have pegged her as having that problem. Of course, she'd probably never have pegged me for it either. It occurred to me that most in that ninth-grade class saw me sit at the lunch table with those popular girls and assumed I had friends. I saw her with her friends and never in my wildest dreams would have imagined that a year later those "secure" friendships of hers wouldn't be so safe. Most likely, they weren't safe that year either.

I think we would have been friends. I wish I could go back and do things a bit differently. But now, as I sit and think about it, I wonder who, out there right now, is like her. Whose blog will I stumble across in 10 years and think, "I think we would have been friends. I wish I could go back and do things a bit differently"? I wish I knew.

Some thoughts

2010-03-02T22:38:00.000-07:00

• My car now has a green hood. Remember the horrible hood incident that left me stranded on the muddy side of a busy interstate at almost 11 p.m. one night? Alone? I've been driving around since then with my nice beige hood dented and tied down. Did you also know that everywhere in Cache Valley wanted more than $700 to replace it and paint it? And nearly $500 of that was just for the paint job, so calm down with telling me everywhere I could have gotten a cheap hood. Anyway, I got one. It was free. Now I have to get the car down to a Maaco where they will paint it for closer to $250. (To the person who owned the green Corolla: I mourn for your loss, but thank you for your hood.)

• Today is 3210. Cool.

• My kitties have NOT wanted to come inside at night. It's also full moon time, which means it's lighter outside and they just want to play, play, play. Garrett calls them werekitties.

• I need a new bra. Come on Victoria Secret. Come to Cache Valley.

• While Garrett and I were eating dinner tonight at the counter, I started laughing so hard my stomach hurt. I can't even remember what it was about, but I also can't remember the last time I laughed that hard, so it was good.

• "The Good Wive" is a pretty good show.

• On Sunday, we met some of our neighbors. They were nice. So was their big, 11-year-old lab, Copper. He groaned (in a good way) when I rubbed his ears. I love when dogs do that.

• Sent off our passport renewal applications. Hope they get to the right spot.

• I don't normally watch "The Bachelor," but I watched the last four episodes of the season, and I'll say it: Team Tenley.

• Even thought I know it causes skin cancer, I might go tanning. I just need the warmth, the light. I can't wait until May. (Who am I kidding? In Cache Valley, it might take until July...) Don't worry, I'll wear sunscreen.

• I sat through a Relief Society lesson two weeks ago that really bugged me. Think: Entitlement/Americanism/wonderfulness in the preexistence. I want to write about it more, but I'm afraid it'll stir up a can of worms. Thoughts?

• My life apparently happens in bullet points.

• I'm going to go now.

Cliché of the day: Be grateful for what you have. But I am. Seriously.

2010-02-26T00:19:00.000-07:00

It's been a little quiet around here, huh? Sorry about that. After my "hopeless" post I really did start feeling a bit better, and I just felt stupid coming back with happy posts. I mean, seriously: Can we say, hormonal whack job? Yes, that would be me.

However, I don't want to give the impression that I'm not grateful for certain things in my life. In fact, I've been lucky lately to be able to see those aspects of my life in more clarity.

Here's my random stream-of-consciousness grateful-fors that doesn't include everything I'm grateful for (like my husband):

• My laptop. While it is probably overused, it keeps me connected to others. Others I don't even know in real life, but who I feel have my back, for lack of a better phrase. That includes some of you all and other networks I sometimes participate within but mostly just watch and read like a crazy stalker.

• The kitties. Lucy and Jet are so important to me. The only times I seriously think I have an anxiety problem are when I'm imagining horrible things that might have happened to them while they're outside and I'm at work. Lucy is always happy to see me, always follows me around and likes to ride on my shoulder. (I have to get a photo of this sometime.) Jet is just cute. And really soft.

• My car. I hesitate to even type that because I'm still driving it around with the hood tied down (anyone have several hundred dollars to get a new one painted?) and it's just my luck that something will go horribly wrong tomorrow. But for a 13-year-old Toyota — yay for it being too old to have acceleration problems! — with nearly 180,000 miles on it, it has seriously treated me just fine.

• Chelane. Her random, honest texts; her extra furniture (thanks!); the knowledge I have that we'll be friends in another 10 years...

• Soup. Specifically, chicken and wild rice from Great Harvest and tomato macaroni from Juniper Take Out.

• March. I'm counting the days. March sounds so much better than February. I'm so sick of this winter.

• My job. I don't get paid much, and we're always worried about industry problems, but it's a job. And a lot of people don't have one. It not only provides a paycheck, but health insurance, a 401(k) — that's still being contributed to — and free lunch once a month. :)

• The mountains. Despite the crappy winter inversion, there are still occasionally good days when we all can see the mountains. They're beautiful and even awe-inducing some days. I realize this most when I'm away. And they make me love Cache Valley — even for all the complaining I do about what we don't have here.

• Family members with large trucks. Thanks to Casey and Daedree for transporting Chelane's old entertainment center ... and Mom and Dad's old couch ... and some other stuff I can't remember right now.

• Housing tax credits. We have yet to see the money from the feds, but it's the ONLY reason we'll be able to go to New Zealand and Australia in May. (And it may be the only time in the next many, many years we'll be able to do anything like that.) Our neighbors should be grateful we're getting that money, too. Otherwise, they'd have to stare at our dirt forever because we wouldn't be able to afford a sprinkler system and grass later this year.

• Paychecks. It's a huge deal to me every month I pay the mortgage (six times and counting, by the way). It usually depletes the bank account, but it's proof that we've made progress. We, as a married couple, have been able to check off one of those do-after-you're-married things: Buy and house and pay for it — on time, every month.

• The LDS Church's visiting teaching program. Yeah, I never thought I'd say that, but I have a great visiting teacher in my new ward, and I think there was divine intervention in having her assigned to me.

• My soaker bathtub. It's extra deep. I don't know if much more needs to be said.

I could go on for a bit, but I'll end with a really bad cell phone photo that encompasses a couple of things on my list.

Friday night fun

2010-02-19T18:26:00.000-07:00

Sports guy to news guy: "Are you doing Tiger or are we doing Tiger?"

News reporter: "Who isn't doing Tiger?"

Nights are entertaining here.