books are an underrated gift...

...so says my sister in law, Melonhead.

What do you think she sent me for Christmas?????

This book.

Subtlety is not a problem with her.

Cheeky lil thing, isn't she?

Christmas vacation

Sunday the 20th ~Idaho Falls to Las Vegas

High ~ Flying rather than driving (as I am a known car sicky).

Going from 20 degree weather to 60 degree weather.

Stuffing seven people's worth of luggage into our rental van! It was a tight fit, but we made it!

Low ~ Stuffing seven people in the rental van with the seven suitcases and seven carry-on bags. Yikes.

Flying on Cheap-o-airline where they charge you for everything. Serious. Seat assignments, checked bags, even the ice...

The complete and total destruction of my carry-on bag. Guess it was it's time to go. I have only had it for ten years.

Monday the 21st ~ Las Vegas

High ~ Seeing Scotland's BFF from KY, Derek (a professional poker player) and his high rise apartment located right on the strip! His neighbors? Toby Keith and Sheryl Crow! How freakin cool! And he treated us to dinner!

Low ~ Missing Fremont street and the shows on the strip due to Derek's inability to cut a story short. He's a real chatterbox.

Shopping complex the size of Idaho Falls. Walked my freakin legs off to find a new carry-on bag. Scotland found an ugly one for me. Ugh. Whatever. And was unable to find a decently priced pair of brown sketchers. :(

Tuesday the 22nd ~ Las Vegas to Indio California

High ~ In Indio we had two condo's. So I didn't have to deal with my brother and his gas problems all night long.

Low ~ The five hour drive it took to get there. Gag, retch, puke.

Wednesday the 23rd ~ Indio Condo with day trip to Universal Studios

High ~ The Universal Studios tour where they show you how they do neat special effects and you get to see really cool movie sets like Wisteria Lane from Desperate Housewifes, and specialy cars like the Delorian from the Back To The Future movies.

Low ~ Having to get up early and go to bed late so we could make the 2 hour drive there and back. Have I mentioned how much I hate driving?

Thursday the 24th ~ Indio Condo with day trip to California Adventure

High ~ The Soarin over California ride where it feels like you are hang-gliding over these beautiful scenic places and you can smell the woods and the orange fields as if you were really there.

The Hollywood Tower of Terror, the Pier roller coaster and the 3-D Bart Simpson simulator ride that all made my stomach do that plummeting thing which I love!

The Disney Electric parade which was so adorably cute.

Low ~ See above low for the previous day.

Friday the 25th ~ Indio Condo with day trip to Disneyland

High ~ The Haunted Mansion which was all Christmas-i-fied to look like the Nightmare Before Christmas movie!

The Christmas reindeer round up where they had real deer with huge horns! And even though it smelled like poo, I still really liked them!

The sweet little Disneyland train that we got to ride back to the front of the park at the end of the day when we were all exhausted.

Low ~ Parking in a lot that did not have a shuttle to take you to the park. That should just be illegal because it was like two miles just to get to the park where you have to walk the entire day!

The seriously crowded park. Whoever said it was supposed to be pretty dead on Christmas was yanking my chain!

Getting stuck in the Rodger Rabbit ride, where we had to sit with the lights on and wait for them to escort everyone out of the building until they could fix it.

Saturday the 26th ~ Indio Condo with day trip to Disneyland

High ~ The Indiana Jones ride that we fast-passed to skip out on the 2 hour wait!

The really pretty lights on the Small World building and the Sleeping Beauty Castle.

The tallest Christmas tree I have ever seen right in the middle of Main Street Disney!

Having Cold Stone ice cream after the day was done. I got No Sugar Added, of course, and it was delicious!

Low ~ The space mountian coaster breaking down after we had waited in line for an hour and when we were about to get on it.

The lady that got stuck in the Indiana Jones car we were getting in. It took her about ten minutes to exit the vehicle.

Sunday the 27th ~ Indio to Las Vegas, Las Vegas to Idaho Falls

High ~ Getting to sleep in after days and days of waking up early!

Watching our own inflight movie to make the time pass quicker (X-Men Beginnings if you care to know).

Eating Popeyes Chicken which I haven't had since Portland. Yumm!

Snuggling up with my Scotland in our own warm soft bed at home after a lovely Christmas trip.

Low ~ Five hour drive turned into Seven hours due to stop and go traffic on the interstate!!! Hello! Busiest travel day of the year! I was a smidgen tense (read: on the verge of a panic attack) for that trip.

So that was the trip in a nutshell! What a whirlwind of a vacation!

frustration

I have pictures from the Christmas trip, really great pictures because you see I kyped my fathers good camera for the duration of our holiday. But they are not compatible with the dinosaur of a computer I have. Seriously! Will someone who is more technically savvy than I am please use your magic wand on this thing? UGHHH!!!

Christmas excess ~alternately titled~ The glass half full

The other day Scotland and I went for a drive to the famous "Candy Cane Lane" in our town. We wanted to get into the Christmas spirit, and enjoy the beautiful light displays. I snuggled up in my pajamas for the journey, complete with fuzzy slippers. We took the "arctic cat" (the name for my Honda when she has her studded tires on) and she did wonderfully on those snowy, slick roads.

I was completely amazed at the ostentatious displays of excess we were presented with.

Not to say I didn't enjoy myself. It was very pretty. But it just got me thinking, you know? Why is it that even in the midst of this catastrophic recession you see such huge and elaborate displays?

Now, I could go two different ways with that. The pessimist in me responds with comments on the example that people have not learned their lesson, and they continue to push themselves into an even deeper financial hole because they are following the tradition of excess that they have had in years past.

But today, I don't want to be cynical. Today I want to hope that people are showing their resilience to the sadness of these times. I want to know there are people out there that refuse to let it suppress them. I want to be proud of the hope that it represents and the resilience of strong people.

Today, I will be a glass half full kind of person.

On how I could spend 40 hours a week surfing

A couple days ago, I found an online community for women with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome called Soulcysters. I spent hours reading other women's stories and how they were dealing with "our" disease.

Yesterday I loaded page after page of information in preparation for our trip(oration) to Californication. Californimation. Californaration. (Did you get the variation? varimation? varication?)

Today I joined blogfrog to participate in cjane's online live chat. Crazy experience, but I loved it. A fast and furious, try to keep up kind of communication (don't worry, I already beat that dead horse). I even clicked away at one point, reminded about how I have other things to do, and then like milkshake up a straw, it sucked me back in...

Mmmmm. Milkshakes.

Anyway, I have decided that I would be perfectly happy spending my 40 hour work week just surfing the web and getting paid for it. Will someone please pay me for that??? Really????

The expanse (of the web) is tremendous, and full of useful information, even more so, than may I suggest Charlotte's Web???? (I know, I am shocking today.) You could get lost in there and never be able to wheedle your way out!

And to think, three months ago when we got the internet in our own residence, I was so very nonchalant about it. Nah, I won't use it. This must be what people experienced when they got a telephone in their own home. They probably felt special that they had it (finally!) but didn't know how much they would use it until things like ward lists got passed around and it took off like wildfire. Wildfire I say!

But there are so many interesting people to talk to and listen to! And cry about! And pour my soul out to! Online therapy with strangers! And my mother told me not to talk to strangers! Bah!

So now, just for today mind you, I will lend my willing ear to others. I will listen to your problems, nod my head knowingly, and cry when you cry. I will do this today because you have done it for me. And because I fully intend to fly right back to my self absorbed rambling after today.

But right now, I am yours... Eat your heart out Dr. Phil!

Fire

I was talking to a girl at work this morning about fire safety. She told me the best part of fire was firemen. . . And although I am not about to deny that, I will say that has not been the focus of fire safety for me.

Scotland and I met our friends Brian and Shelley in Rexburg on Monday night. They had invited us to a dinner that Brian had won at the frontier pies restaurant. We arrived just minutes ahead of them. As we walked in the door, I glanced to my right and saw a large group of people listening to some guy talk about a fire extinguisher. My immediate thought? "Glad I don't have to be at that dinner!" One minute later, Brian walked in and informed us that our free dinner included a presentation on fire safety. Bah!!

So, whatever, it was a free dinner we listened as the guy talked about fire safety and how regular smoke detectors have over a 50% failure rate, how there are so many places in your home that can contribute to the chance of a home fire, etc.

All in all, I guess it freaked me out a bit. They had story after story of people who went to their dinner and then didn't purchase their fire safety equipment and then had a fire shortly afterward in which one or more family members died.

We went home that night, and I had a hard time sleeping. The next evening, we had one of their guys come to our house to perform a free fire inspection and tell us where we needed to place smoke and heat detectors in our home. That night, I was up for a few hours, worrying about our house burning down.

So now, I guess we have a choice to make. Do we buy into their marketing and purchase the top of the line fire detection equipment? Do we say no and hope that we don't ever have a fire in our home? Do I ever get to have a good night sleep again?

I guess this goes back to the question of how much do you control or protect your situation/vs/how much do you just let "fate" take it's course, and have faith that it "isn't going to happen to me"?

I really don't know the answer here. Scotland is very little help in this situation. He is not a worrier like I am. He volunteered to hang his dad's silver fire suit in our bedroom though. That was his "fix" for my worries.

What do I do?

Three strikes, she's out!

Twice in one week.

TWICE.

Twice I have screeched at that devil gray cat while she defecated in my home. Twice I have caught her in the act and snatched her up during (eeewww) the process. Twice her nose has been ungracefully rubbed in the results. Twice I have tossed (or had the hubs toss) her out the door.

This is ridiculous! That cat has lived with a litter box it's entire year long life! Why does it decide that my blankets and carpet are more desirable when the litter box is only a few yards away?!?!?!?

Aaahhhhh!

Cookies

Can you smell that?

Mmmmhhhhhh.

Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies.

At my house...

Wanna come over?

A little Christmas Cheer

Beautiful! Don't you think?

Berryfest 2009

My exploration into the world of jam making was not without peril. (If you could only see the two formerly white aprons I own you would know this) But I bravely pushed on into uncharted waters with the assistance of the lovely Jen...please disregard the rolling of the eyes, she has a lovely disposition when someone crazy isn't in the kitchen snapping away with the camera instead of helping (oops...).

Sadly, these pictures don't even do it justice...

Food is so beautiful to me. The textures and colors are so rich, anything man made is incomparable!

And, we were rather pleased with the results, beautiful and tasty!

Motivation

My workplace is filled to capacity with motivational posters. You all know what I am talking about. They have a beautiful picture and a word or phrase that is supposed to make everyone motivated in some way or another.

In fact, my office has one very similar to this one.

I see it everyday.

And sometimes I use the plexiglass reflection to fix my hair.

Because regardless of it's intentions, it does not motivate me.

Occasionally it taunts me with the beautiful rock climbing picture that reminds me that I gave up a sport that I was so very passionate about at one time.

Taunts me, yes.

Motivates me, no.

And unfortunately, I have come to the conclusion that it doesn't motivate the individuals that work for me either.

But I think you would be hard pressed to find a professional office (of more than 8) that doesn't have these lackluster pictures somewhere in it.

Then why do we have them?

Is it just for the pretty picture? I know that I chose mine based purely upon the rock climbing image it contained. Did I think about the motivational words underneath?

Negative.

So what would motivate me? What could I hang on my wall that would provide the greatest motivation of all?

This.

Or this.

Because what else is there that motivates me?

The people I love and the faith I hold.

Nothing else matters much does it?

But I also think you would be hard pressed to find a professional office with those pictures on common walls.

I just googled myself...

...(I can't help but laugh at that phrase)...and I proudly discovered my blog.

Not that my blog was missing or anything terrible like that. No phone call to the police, no missing persons report. Nothing that drastic.

But it is a big step for me, to make my blog search-able.

For I am terrified of that great big open expanse know as the WorldWideWeb.

So many people to accost you. Without your permission. Or knowledge.

But it is one of the ways I am attempting to relinquish control. Control over my own little world. Control over how much people know about me. How much they get inside my brain. And heaven forbid, what they think of me.

A big step, to be sure.

I am google-able.

Just for good measure, I didn't google my name or something that specific. I googled the title of one of my blogs.

(Traumatophobia)

Which yielded lots of results since it is a REAL WORD. (Although I got lots of crap for it.)

And just so you know, I am on page 22.

Which is good. Because it means I am not making that word up since there are pages and pages dedicated to its definition. But it also means that I am not completely obscure since there are pages and pages after me.

A good, solid middle number. Like a good solid middle child. Appropriate for a good solid mid 20's woman.

Ok so maybe I am not relinquishing that much control. Not like I can't announce my age to the entire world. I just don't want to.

27.

See? I am relinquishing control. WhooHoo!

Medicating the cats

I bear many a battle wound

from the process of forcing

various forms of medication

down the unwilling throats of our two fluffy kittens.

I figured if I added the word fluffy it wouldn't make them sound so evil

After Wednesday nights round left me bleeding

(again)

Scotland came up with a new idea.

This is what it looked like.

Trixy just barely visible through the

wrist opening of an old long sleeved dress shirt

Trixy, unhappily straining at the seams,

watching the medication paste that is being prepared for her

Sugar, post medication,

getting soothing words from papa,

while emitting a "let me out" sort of look to me

Do you think this would work with children too?

Totally kidding.

Don't call child protective services on me...

Or PETA either...

Ya caught me...

Somedays











You need doughnuts to survive.







This one was particularly tasty...







Courtesy of Bakers Dozen in Idaho Falls.







Directions here.







Photo by yours truly.

Traumatophobia

Medical Dictionary Main Entry: trau·ma·to·pho·bia

Pronunciation: "tro-maat-aa-'fO-bE-aa"

"traumatophobia: noun: excessive or disabling fear of physical injury usually resulting from experiences in hunting with one or more overconfident individuals operating vehicles in an unsafe manner."

Huh. Yeah that fits...

Makes me think of sliding backwards at 25 mph down a snowy backcountry hill with your so called "4 wheel drive truck" with your so called "snow tires". Toward a tree.

Also makes me think of five minutes before that happened when I suggested chaining up those so called "snow tires" and was laughed at.

Medical Dictionary Main Entry: accu·satri·bardo·pho·bia

Pronunciation: Akü-sAt-r@-bar-do-'fO-bE-aa"

"accusatribardophobia: noun: excessive or disabling fear of being told you are incompetent by a woman typically used in reference to one who has numerous experiences with faulty decision making in unsafe situations."

Huh. Yeah that sounds about right too...

*giggle*

And the women were sobbin' sobbin' sobbin' fit to be tied...

Scotland got home from Kentucky last night at about 3:30 in the morning. I woke up and threw my arms around him, and then started crying uncontrollably. Poor guy, he couldn't figure out what was wrong!

But there was nothing wrong. I was just happy he was back home.

Women as a species have the reputation for crying. They cry when something is bad, they cry when something is good. They cry over books and movies, children and elderly, home, family, and work.

Or at least, this is the consensus.

Searching the recesses of my mind, I don't believe I know a woman that doesn't cry at all. And that being said, the male species should be used to it by now. But really, what man deals well with a crying female?

Not very many!

Last night as I was enjoying dinner with my dear friend Kerrie, the topic of our conversation progressed to marriage, and she mentioned how her husband hates it when she cries. Like, for any reason. He hates it.

And I kind of feel bad for her because of that. Sometimes, we just need to cry and it doesn't make it any easier if we get flack about it. I think that it even sort of hinders intimacy with a spouse because if you can't open up and cry around him, who can you cry around?

I went to a play while I was down in Pocatello this weekend and when then ending scene rolled around, while Maria is crying over the body of her beloved Tony, the guy in the row in front of me started shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking around for an escape route. Over an actress crying in a freaking play!

And I can't tell you the number of times I have heard the expression "Oh for crying out loud" when someone gets irritated. What does that even mean?

Sometimes, it makes me feel better to cry. Sometimes I get so bottled up and that is the only release that lets me down safely. Why does it have to be bad? Why does it make other people uncomfortable?

I know why I get uncomfortable. Because other people crying makes me feel like I am going to start crying. And then I will make someone else uncomfortable.

A vicious circle.

But I don't suppose everyone is like that. I suppose some people feel helpless to "fix" the problem (whatever it is that is making someone cry) and that bothers them.

But whatever it is, I have learned to accept it. I no longer suppress my desire to cry, but I also attempt to leave others out of it. I recognize that it is an entirely personal thing to do, and I don't think that I have the same view of it as I did before. It is not a weakness, it is simply an expression of emotion; whether it be good, bad or ugly.

And last night as the tears were pouring down my face and I was sniffling and sobbing, I remembered that. And he just held me in his arms and smiled down at my tear-stained face. And I just kept crying.

And I am ok with it now. And thankfully, so is he.

Memoir: Friday the 13th

On my way to work this morning, it occurred to me that today is Friday the 13th.

I had to chuckle to myself.

You see, after the trip down to Utah midway through this week and seeing/talking to the women I went through the trauma/drama of high school with, I have been thinking about those days and the experiences we had together. Every now and then I have been known to take those memories out of my pocket and shuffle through them. I remember goofing off at lunch with the girls, classes and boys, first dates, first kisses, dances and plays. And the memory I pulled out this morning? Our Friday the 13th parties.

But when I tell people about memories that I have of those times, I am not sad. I don't wish for those times back, and I don't dream of reliving them again. I was happy then, yes. But I am also happy now. I know that every experience has changed or molded me in some way, and I am grateful for that, but I am not that person anymore.

I can remember them though. Without longing for the past, I can think of the silly things we did, the fun we had and the trouble we inevitably got into. I can shuffle through those memories, and when I am done, put them back in my pocket and continue on with the current. It does not hold me back, it does not make me sad.

That is who I was, just like I am now who I am,
and don't know who I will become.
(read it again, it makes sense, I promise!)

Baby's got the blues

Help! I'm drowning and I can't wake up!

I had one of those drowning dreams last night. Struggling in the sheets, flailing arms, and the feeling of suffocation. I remember having the thought that I was probably dreaming, but I couldn't force myself to wake up.

Real life is forcing me into that pattern also. I can't break the surface of anything I want to get done. I am barely doing enough to survive, and yet it is taking every ounce of energy that I have.

Ugh.

a little surprise

I got up this morning and as I walked into the kitchen, I found a surprise out my window.

It snowed.

And I decided that Grandma's Playhouse looks really creepy in the early morning hours with snow on the ground.

And I also decided that my lamppost surrounded by snow covered trees and bushes looks a bit like the lamppost in the famous children's books "The Chronicles of Narnia" by CS Lewis.

And of all the characters in those famous books/movies, I would want to be the white witch.

What a fantastic costume that would be...

If only I had a white fur coat and an icicle headpiece. But who really has those things just hanging around...

Oh well...There's always next year...

"Being married to goldilocks" or alternately titled, "Where shall we sleep tonight?"

My husband and I are commuting sleepers.

We travel from bed to bed depending upon which bed is higher on his list of preferences for the evening. Last weekend when we had the "hunting party sleepover" we set up two additional beds for our guests.

So now we have four beds. Four beds for one married couple. Does anyone else think this is a bit excessive???

Scotland loves it. His current favorite? The bonus room bed. He likes to turn up the heater and close the door to the rest of the house. My thoughts on this? He roasts me out.

We used to alternate between our guest room and our real bedroom. I would ask him where he wanted to sleep each night. He would ponder for a moment and then proclaim our bed-stination.

(*snicker*, yeah I think I'm pretty clever!)

I tease him that it is like living with Goldilocks

"This bed is toooooo soft!"

"This bed is toooooo hard!"

"This bed is juuuusssttttt right!"

My opinion? I would rather just stick to one bed. Less sheets to change and all of that. But that is the practical thing to do.

Scott would rather have an adventure. That's my boy... Brave little Goldilocks...never practical... living with the bears and all that. Or just one bear I guess...

(kindly keep your bear/bare jokes to yourself. I have heard them all...)

27 hours

5:00 pm got home from work, Scotland is in pocatello
5:15 pm went outside to play with kittens
5:30 pm spoke to former landlord about getting my deposit money from THREE MONTHS AGO
5:50 pm put the cats away and went back inside. Brrrr! Cold and windy Idaho!
5:55 pm sat down to read out of my favorite book, "Gone With the Wind"
6:00 pm remembered that my favorite way to read is with ice cream. Got some out of the freezer.
6:45 pm decided the best way to get warm from the ice cream is to take a hot bath
6:50 pm climbed into hot bath and started reading book again
7:50 pm realized I had fallen asleep in bathtub, wondered where my husband is, got out and dried off
8:00 pm made myself some dinner instead of waiting for him. He always takes too long anyway...
8:15 pm am really tired of waiting for him to come home. Sit patiently in the living room and admire my pink furniture.
8:30 pm wake up to my cell phone ringing, Scotland says he going to leave Pocatello now.
8:35 pm decide to wait for him in bed where it is warmer. Snuggle up in fleece sheets... mmmhhh...
12:40 pm husband crawls into bed with me, I ask what took him so long and he says "I was stopped by an old man in a hot tub" This takes me a minute to translate in my sleepy stupor. Oh. my father.
12:45 pm get up with husband and sit with him while his steak cooks in the toaster oven. Don't ask. He is crazy.
1:30 am sit in bonus room talking to husband. Realize it is 1:30 in the morning and ask myself what I am doing up! I am crazy!
2:00 am go to sleep in bonus room
6:30 am have crazy dream about dead carpet children. They have carpet for hair. Am totally freaked out.
7:00 am get crying phone call from employee who has flu
7:05 am text boss that employee has flu and will not be in, go back to sleep
9:15 am Scotland gets up and gets ready for work. I continue to sleep in (yay for late nights!)
9:55 am Scotland leaves for work, I get up and start getting ready
10:45 am I am wearing dress to work because we have appointment with bishop as soon as I get off work. I am scared he might give me a calling. Scotland already has one. I am in such trouble!
11:05 am get to work five minutes late.
3:00 pm Scotland calls and says the meeting was canceled. I am so MAD that I wore a dress all day! Scotland says bishop had to "reconsider things". Namely me. Yikes!
7:30 pm Sick of working so I post on my blog
8:00 pm Get to go home from work. I hate late nights...

An open letter to my papa

Dear papa,

Tomorrow is your birthday.

Tomorrow is your birthday and I am veclempt at what to give you. Every gift seems inadequate to give to a person as important as you are. Everything I think of is not nearly enough. Anything I could get you would pale in comparison.

You are the foundation of my life, the basis of my personality and the conscience on my shoulder. I would be lost without you.

In addition to my feelings of inadequacy, I am also experiencing distress over what you need that you don't already have, something I have struggled with ever since I realized that you already have everything you want. (Or don't want, depending upon how you look at it) I remember buying you a movie one year after begging you to not buy it for yourself in the days leading up to your birthday. I was so positive that you would beat me to the punch that I actually told you what I was getting you so you would not give in to the impulse to purchase it beforehand!

So with these two struggles in mind, please accept my pre-birthday-gift-apology for my meager offerings this year. Please understand that although I am limited in my choices for this, it represents how much I love you and wish I could show you what you mean to me.

And since you don't read my blog, I will say that I hope you like the Carhartts. I think that you could use them when you are clearing the driveway of snow this winter, hunting for elk up in the mountains and chasing down your son as he gets into all sorts of trouble. I want you to stay warm and take care of yourself, and this is the best way I know to help you do that.

And dad, I know that you feel like you have some regrets from my wedding in July. Please don't feel that way. I am happy that you supported me that day and were there with me. That is all I need.

Love always,

~K~

Hand me downs

As you may know, I am child number 2 of 5 in my family, which means the concept of hand me downs is not new to me. I grew up wearing most of the clothing that my older sister once wore. It wasn't until my feet got bigger than her and then I got bigger than her that I stopped wearing hand me downs. (Not a positive, but inevitable. Have you seen her? We are not cut from the same cloth, capice?)

Anyhow, I have lived my whole life with hand me downs as a major source of my items. (Items? What I mean is for more than just clothing.) Well, when my sister was at my house this weekend, she mentioned that my mom is wanting to get rid of her old end tables and "coffee" table, and I immediately perked up.

My living room consists of two bookshelves, a love seat and a rocker seat.

I would really like a set of end tables and a coffee table.

Then, Kari pointed out that the majority of the items in my house are hand me downs. Including my entertainment center, dining room table and chairs, recliner, rocker and both love seats as well as various desks and shelving units scattered throughout Grandma's Playhouse. I think I have only ever made three furniture purchases, one of which was a used piece. But while my initial thoughts vaguely brushed upon the "poor me" sort of idea, my next thought was much more positive.

How amazing that I have such wonderful friends/family that are so generous with their belongings to just GIVE stuff to me! How fantastic that I could furnish the many crazy rooms at Grandma's Playhouse with gifts from the people that I love to remind me of them! I could be sitting on milk crates to eat my dinner or lounging in an empty living room, but I am not! I have a place for my home teachers to sit when they come to visit me, I have a table to place my food on and I am so blessed!

Hand me downs rock!

And so does my family.

"Family tradition" or alternately titled "um what was our goal again part two"

I have no camera cord. So I have no picture for you.

Yet.

But, I will write the second part of a former post entitled "um what was our goal again"

You remember that one, right?

About the purple door?




You see, the women in my family have a longstanding tradition. It all started with my great grandmother Effie Jane.

Darling Effie had a lovely little loft in her home, for her three little ones to sleep in. However, she was rather bereft that the poor things had to climb up a ladder from the outside of the house to get to it, so she asked her sweet husband if he would put in a staircase for her. Nothing fancy, mind you. Just a safer way for her kiddos to get up and down from their sleeping quarters.

But Orion, busy farmer that he was, never had time to get to the Honey Do list project of the proposed stairway. He had plowing and cutting and baling to attend to as well as the numerous other responsibilities that plague a farm man.

One day, after Orion went out to the fields, Effie decided that she would just have to build that staircase herself.

So, she cut a hole in the ceiling for her staircase.

When Orion got home, he had to finish the project for her, and hence the tradition started.



My mother waited until my dad went out of town for a day or two, and when he returned, he was enlisted to help finish up the complete renovation of the family room. He was handed a paintbrush amidst his protestations and they finished the project a few days later.



So when Scotland went to work on Friday, I scurried off to the Home Depot to obtain my painting supplies for the front door. I chose the darkest plum purple that they had and rushed home to begin my project.

I had removed the handles and locks and applied three coats of paint before Scotland called to say he was coming home for lunch. Luckily, the door was mostly dry as I hurriedly attempted to secure the lock mechanisms before he arrived. I left the garage door open so he would come in the back way, and after eating lunch, he went to the front door to check the mailbox.

Whoa!

He was surprised, yes.

And the next day when he went down to Pocatello to help Mo with his firewood adventure, I painted the back door the same lovely color.

And when he got home that night, I asked him to reassemble the locks mechanism.

So yes, it is a family tradition.

And he is going hunting this weekend..........

So many walls and so many options......

I promise...

...I have a really great blog for you.

I do.

But I can't find the blasted cord to transfer the pictures from my camera to the computer.

It's really good.

I'm really frustrated.

What does one do when one's creative expressions are stopped up, quietly suppressed by the world she lives in?

Indeed. What does one do...

Wretched cord!

Why I deserve a magic wand

I know, I know. Everyone thinks they deserve a magic wand. But I am really serious! I need one. Let’s see, what are my arguments…

I would only use the magic wand for good. I would never use it when I was in a bad mood, (because really, who could be in a bad mood if they had a magic wand) so there would be no concern about other people not wanting me to have it. I would only use it for myself just a teeny weeny bit, mostly I would use it for others.

My husband would be much happier if our house was clean and all the laundry was done. I promise, I would use it to do that for him.

My cats would love it if the litter box magically cleaned itself every time they used it. They would be happier and healthier if I used my magic wand for that.

My brother would be less overworked and stressed if I used my magic wand to fix my car so he didn’t have to. And he would probably appreciate it if I also used it to install a new car stereo so he doesn’t have to worry about that.

My parents would be so very pleased if I were able to use that magic wand to procure another motor home, so that they wouldn’t be so crowded when Scotland and I join them in camping adventures. And we would probably have to keep it since the last thing they need is another vehicle to worry about.

My sister (the hairstylist) would be so happy if I used that magic wand to give myself long thick hair so that she would have more fun playing with it. It would really be doing her a favor…

My sister (the attorney) would be ecstatic if that magic wand gave her more time with me, by way of a private jet so I can zip on over to Boise any time she needs me.

So you see, I, unlike other unworthy egocentric people would be a commendable recipient of such a prestigious honor.

By the way I would also be willing to fill in when the tooth fairy is out of town, but only if they give me the ability to fly. And not just when I am filling in, but all the time.

Sweet Dreams (parental supervision strongly suggested)

In my office, I hold the reigning title of "queen of the strangest dreams," an honor, to be sure.

I am sure everyone loves it when I start a sentence with "I had a dream last night about..."

No really, I think they do.

Unfortunately, in holding such a prestigious title, I have to deal with somewhat violent dreams as well. Actually, mostly violent dreams is more like it.

Three weeks ago, Scotland and I ran into Pete from the singles branch at the west side Wal-Mart. That night, I remember dreaming that Pete cut two peoples heads off and wrapped them in plastic wrap so he could take them to the airport. Naturally, I was a bit disturbed that such a dream would come into my mind, especially about harmless little, innocent Pete.

Huh. That came out a little less manly than I wanted him to sound. Sorry Pete.

Anyway, last night I had a dream that I found two children abandoned in a store so I decided to take them home with me. Then their father showed up, but being that I had already decided that his parental skills were in question, I refused to give them up. Yes that is right, I essentially kidnapped two innocent dream kids. And then I stabbed the father. (minor detail)

And what about the time I was on a date with Randy Travis (of all people) and there was a violent mob at the restaurant that we were at and he pulled out his six shooters and killed everyone?

So what does all this mean exactly?

Am I a violent person? Or is my fear of violence what is driving these strange dreams? Or perhaps do I have some kind of cosmic connection to the universe that helps me predict future violent occurrences.

What, you believe that Pete could behead people and I could stab someone but Randy Travis taking me on a date is really that unbelievable?

Psh. Whatever.

And yes, I am still the "queen of the strangest dreams." Nobody but nobody is takin that crown from me anytime soon....

Three months

Yesterday Scotland and I hit our three month anniversary.

I know, you are saying to yourself, "Three months? What is three months? Who cares about three months?"

Three months is the amount of time you are on probation when you start a new job.

Three months is the amount of time you are given to learn a class full of information in college.

Three months is one third of the way through the time it takes to grow a baby

Three months is all the time you have to grow a garden (at least in Idaho)

(Ok maybe I am stretching a bit on that last one...)

But still, three months is three months...

No, we really didn't do much. We went to church, we made cookies, we danced in the kitchen, just newlywed stuff...

But last night, I started thinking about it after we had already gone to bed, and I was supposed to be asleep. In three months, our relationship has taken leaps and bounds. In three months we have developed a strong trust in one another and in ourselves. We depend upon each other and share things with each other.

Everyone says marriage changes things. Yeah it does. Things are very different from when we were dating. But it is good. We grow and stretch together and it makes us stronger people, better people.

I love him with every beat of my heart. I cannot imagine my life without him. I hate saying stuff like that because I think it always comes out hollow sounding and mushy, but I have no other words. So instead maybe I will post some pictures for you...

random pics from my cell phone...

Lancelot with the peacock hat that looks like a bad toupee.

Kari with the old lady hat. I like the flowerpot hat better but it looks like the sun is shining out of it....

A freezer full of meat, the most random and yummy of our wedding gifts.

My dirty husband after a day of riding in the mud. He looks like a gum commercial, "Dirty mouth? Clean it up!"

New baby kittens, sugar and trixy.

Funny self portraits.

um, what was our goal again?

Last night, I was just starting to drift off to sleep after writing in my journal and finishing a bowl of perfectly cinnamony fried ice cream, when Scotland came into the bedroom toting the laptop beneath his arm.

My eyes were closed when he sat on the bed next to me, and he started to explain the benefits of replacing our windows for energy efficiency. I was only half way listening, and then he mentioned something about doors. I sleepily mentioned that I wanted to remove the front storm door.

"What do you want to replace it with?" He questioned.

"Nothing" I replied, my eyes still closed.

Then he proceeded to tell me all of the ways that storm doors can help with energy efficiency with a wooden door. Apparently, if you have a metal door, the effects of a storm door are minimal because the steel doors are efficient enough without them.

"Ok" I sleepily replied, "Then I want a new front door so I can paint it and not have a storm door."

Amused, he asked me what color I would paint it.

"Mmmmm, a deliciously plum purple, dark and rich. The trim would have to be white with two brushed silver lantern style lights on either side of it, and a big silver knocker at eye level with a shiny mail slot too... That would be perfect...." I purred to him with my head on the pillow and eyes still closed.

"But that would defeat our goal!" He exclaimed with frustration...

"Um, what was our goal again?" I asked innocently.

"Energy efficiency!" He proclaimed.

Huh. That's not my goal. My goal is to have a cute house... a stylish and fashionable house with a plum front door....

Then he asked me where he was going to live when I painted the front door plum.

With the cats, in the garage.

And then I went back to sleep.

Fresh bread and sugary jam

I am really not the Betty Crocker type most times. I rarely make breakfast for my husband, I eat leftovers for lunch and usually my dinners consist of items I remember my mother making over and over again. I just don't fit the fantastic cook and housewife mold.

But, the other day, I succumbed to the desire to be housewifey.

I spent hours and hours on a Saturday morning to make homemade jam.

Two flats of berries, twenty five pounds of sugar and 103 containers later, we had jam.

And then I realized we were out of bread.

No problem, I can just whip some up...

This would have been the point that I should have had my head examined. Who was I kidding? I hadn't made bread in years and I had never made bread successfully.

Three misshapen loaves later, we had bread to put our jam on.

If I start churning my own butter, please check me into Blackfoot South.

A letter to my cat

Dear Kiki,

I am so sorry.



I tried so desperately to find you.



I called your name for hours the night I discovered you were gone.



And now I know that all the time I was calling, you were very far away.



You had already died.



Some kind stranger pulled your little body to the side of the road



So that the humane society could pick you up



And he called the number on your collar



Only to have no one answer.



And almost four weeks later, I found out.



I never gave up hoping that you would come home.



And I cried and cried after that kind man told me what happened.



I am so sorry Kiki.



At least I know now



And I won't worry about if you are being fed and taken care of



Because I know you will be



Love, "mama"

I'm still here...

...just slowly getting back to a reasonable speed of life....





...the breakneck one is just not working for me...





...but of course you probably figured that...

coconuts

We went to Boise last weekend for my birthday and went to a Brazilian grill for dinner on Saturday. It was quite the dining experience, and that was before Scotland decided to pluck a whole coconut off the top of the salad bar.

Me: That is not for you to eat! It is on display!

He poked a straw into the "soft eye" of the coconut and took a sip. He convinced John to have some too. After draining the first coconut, he went to fetch a second one. My father was embarrassed, the waiters were laughing, I was amused.

He instructed John on how to effectively insert a straw into the coconut to drink from it. The coconut got passed all the way around the table, each of us sampling a sip (ew, from the same straw!) and then handing it on.

The waitress that was offering us dessert giggled at his audacious behavior. He pulled out the Kentucky drawl and charmed her into a conversation about coconuts. She laughed and said she didn't know how long they had been on display up there, but figured since it was on the salad bar, it must be up for grabs.

He asked the waiter if he could have a bag to take them home. When the waiter came back with a small grocery sack, he asked why it was empty and if the waiter could throw one more coconut in there "for the road!" The waiter, with a grin on his face, came back with the requested item. All three coconuts went into the bag, to the consternation of my father.

Dad: (to the waitress) Just go ahead and add the cost of those coconuts, all three of them, onto the bill...

And later, as we were about to head for home, he pulled out one of the empty coconuts, cracked it open on a cement curb in the parking lot we were in, and handed out pieces of it to each of us. He then got another straw and without hesitation stuck it into the third coconut and drank it as we went down the road.

He puts the "nut" in coconut... *chuckle*

(You knew that was coming, don't even pretend you didn't!)

The antiquities

Next weekend I am going down to my parents house to finish the sorting and dividing of my grandmother's things. Although I am hesitant about the process (ie; it has been stored in the garage for a year, it will be quite a process to clean them all up!) and the subsequent placement of such items in my home, (ie; where will I put all of it!) I am very pleased to think of seeing and handling grandma's precious things. It always makes me a bit misty eyed when I see the things that remind me of her the most, her antiques.

~

Just the other day I was talking with dad about why I want some of her antiques. I explained to him that I am not interested in buying antiques from dealers or ebay or whatever. I will not be scouring garage sales for the oldest, most valuable items I can find. I don't collect antiques as a whole, I only collect Grandma's antiques. Grandma's antiques are far more valuable to me than any steal of a deal one could find on ebay. Grandma's antiques have a history, some are short (she bought it at a garage sale) some are longer (her mother/grandmother used it when she was a child) some are historical (the newspaper detailing what was going on the day she was born) some are familial (the dish she received for her wedding) but whatever the story is, it is important to me because it was hers, not because it could be valuable to another individual. Essentially, I am bringing home a memory of my grandmother, no matter what the size, type or age each piece is. They will never be sold or given away. They will be mine until I am unable to keep them any longer. They will be a little piece of her that I can see, a little piece that reminds me of her, a little piece of her story, her legacy and the memories that I have of her.

~

When people ask what I collect, I tell them antiques. What I don't tell them is that I only collect antiques that belonged to her.