Labels

So I finally got around to figuring out how to do a label cloud on the sidebar. *I know, it sounded like incoherent rambling to me too when I first heard it.* But, it looks like it will be helpful in organizing my posts.

And now that I have it up and running on the sidebar, I am systematically going back through each of my former posts and putting labels on them. 266 posts to be specific. *Sigh*

***

I mentally assign labels to all sorts of things. People (even though we shouldn't, we still do), places, experiences. And sometimes we forget that we can choose how we label something, and hence, how we view it. I was just talking with a woman yesterday, who was telling me about breaking her right hip at age 45, and how she made the decision when it happened that she was not going to label the experience as bad. I have to tell you, that just floored me. What a great way to assert power over your own life! You make the decision of how to label something and by doing so you determine how it will affect you.

I have decided to label this portion of my life as the time to enjoy things.
Everything.

Last weekend while we were on the boat out at Palisades, I sat up in the open bow while we zipped across the cool water. I soaked that moment in so thirstily. I couldn't get enough of it, it was amazing.

And yesterday, when I was driving home and stuck in traffic, I enjoyed looking around at the stores and people that I am typically too busy driving to notice. I enjoyed that.

The Sisterwife

My darling husband has this motorcycle. Well, technically he has three motorcycles, but I will forget that just for today.

Where was I? Oh yes the motorcycle. Scotland has spent many hours fixing up this particular project bike, and it only became drive-able about two weeks ago.

Needless to say he has been on it every blessed second of every blessed day. I call it the sisterwife.

"Are you going to take the sisterwife to the store today honey?"

"Are you buying more presents for the sisterwife?"

And I suppose when I am in a slightly more sassy mood, my comments include the sisterwife and various references to "riding" but I don't think we need to explore that here...

Anyhow, last weekend he insisted on bringing her along, and since I obviously have no say in the matter, along she came. And since she doesn't have a headlight, he had to take her up to the campsite extra early on Friday night to beat the approaching nightfall. Minor detail, headlights...

I think they just wanted some time alone, but whatever.

The fam picked me up and headed to the campsite a little later, and when we got there, Scotland got busy telling Dad, Mo and Pants all about the bike and by the next morning, they were just itching to take a ride on her. They cruised up and down the highway by our campsite at unbearable speeds. I was content to play with the baby kittens Judge Kari* brought.

Cute, huh?

Anyhow, eventually we went boating and had a grand time out on Palisades Reservoir whilst dodging the occasional water soaked driftwood. Then, on Sunday we had to take Mo to the Cheese Factory (where he works three days a week) in Star Valley and drop him off there.

But guess what the most amazing part was?

I rode on the back of the sisterwife the whole way there. Hello! Never been on that bike before. Have only spent like .2 seconds on motorcycle with Scotland before! Major accomplishment!

(Although, is it still considered an accomplishment if the only thing you managed to do was hold on and make your knees stop shaking 30 minutes after you get off the dadgumed thing? Accomplish might be a stretch there...)

(And who says dadgumed anyway? Sheesh, not on this blog, NoSirEEEE.)

*****

As a side note, the name Judge Kari comes from a conversation about how my anti-child sister hates being called Aunt Kari by all of Pants's nieces and nephews. So I told her when I have children they can call her The Honorable Judge Kari. But we shortened it for my sake. Really, when do you think I am going to have time to teach a two year old how to say "Honorable"??? He is going to have a hard enough time recognizing that his name also refers to a delicious graham snack!!! Cracker can just refer to her as Judge Kari for all I care!


Over and OUT!

IF I did Twitter {which I don't}

Tweet: Why don't they make drive up windows that work the opposite way? I want a microphone at my office where I can announce into it what I want and have every food place in the vicinity deliver to my window. I officially patent that idea right here and now!

Tweet: I have a love/hate relationship with cantaloupe. I love it when you first cut it open and it is juiciness personified. I hate it when it has been in the refrigerator for a day and it doesn't dribble down my chin. Did I really just say that? Yes. I like the dribble down the chin. Must be why I am so drawn to six month old bald men.

Tweet: Would it be strange if I got a statue of a child and put it on my coffee table? Because I am sure that my "obsessed with other peoples children" phase would, well, phase out faster if I had one of my own to stare at day to day. Although it may be a bit counterproductive because if a woman with children saw my creepy table statue, they might remove their children from my presence thinking I am some kind of weirdo.

Tweet: CampFishBoating weekend was a great success! I rode the deathtrap motorcycle with Scotland and I do believe I am still scraping the bugs from my neck. Ew! That is reason enough to wear a helmet even without all those silly head injury precautions!

Tweet: I wonder if there is some poor, desperate soul out there that I could pay to hold a garage sale for me. I vehemently despise hosting garage sales, which is probably why I am being slowly inched out of my house by the {stuff} that consumes it. Can I pay you to do it for me? Would ten dollars work?

Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden...oops

I have to persuade myself to weed my backyard. Yeah, I know. But really, who ever wants to weed? I mean, when we were kids my parents made us weed to punish us, see so my brain really can't think of it as anything more than a big fat restitution for whatever it is I failed at for the day. And so I set little tiny time limits so it doesn't seem so bad.

I find that during this persuasion, it helps if I speak to myself like a two year old so as to trick myself into weeding.

Ok Kristi, you just have to weed for five minutes today all right pumpkin? You can do five minutes. Look, it will be fun! Yay!

So I trudge outside to do my daily weeding penance once again and grab my trowel and gloves. I find a section of my flower beds that looks particularly fuzzy and plop myself down on the grass in front of it.

Then, I see a lovely purple flower to my right. I stop to examine it closely and think of how nice it would be if I had lots of these instead of just a handful. They look like bluebells or something, but since I am not such an expert in the plant area, I could be totally wrong.

And then, I examine their stalk. And I realize that it looks exactly like the weeds I was pulling out by the bucketful last week.

The stalk that I thought was milkweed.

The stalk that I ripped from the lush earth with a vengance whilst attempting to rid my flowerbeds of anything I didn't recognize. The stalks that I filled an entire five gallon bucket with in the space of ten minutes.

Oh yes.

In other news, Scotland tentatively asked me if perhaps I cut the rose bushes back too far last fall. He wondered aloud if that could possibly be the reason that there are only TWO blooms so far this year.

My thought is, if he loved those flowers so much he should have hired a {professional} gardener.

And now I am forced to find another form of restitution for my failures. As it appears weeding is not working for me.