Dear Readers,
When I was twelve years old, I was sitting in Bishop Robinson's office having a very serious talk about my future with the Church (the LDS Church, that is). I had been called into his office because a Young Women's leader of mine was concerned about some overly feminist questions and accusations I had brought up in our Beehive class. Bishop Robinson was and still is a favorite leader of mine; he was my soccer coach, as well as one of the most encouraging adults I knew as an adolescent. Because of that respect I had for him, I took it very seriously and to heart when during this meeting he told me that I was becoming a "cynic", and how that concerned him and my ability to stay a faithful member.
To this day, I replay that conversation over and over in my head. My Catholic friends think that they understand guilt, but I am quite sure at this point that guilt hath no friend quite like a Mormon.
Mormonism and my family go way back. I have ancestors that were members from the early beginnings of the church, that walked across the country to settle in Utah and later Idaho. One was a personal assistant to Brigham Young. They helped build and create towns and communities, settle land and to find a place for a people who had faced harsh discrimination and torment to finally find peace. My dad continues to do research on our family, defining our roots more and more. The stories are fascinating. The faith and diligence of my ancestors and other early members is both admirable and incredible. It is with guilt that I say, I don't think I would have lasted five minutes with this group.
When I was 17, I graduated from high school and moved to Logan, UT to attend Utah State University. I had never given much thought of leaving the church up until this point. Honestly, I think I stopped attending church more because it was an inconvenience to my sleeping in rather than it being a movement of conviction or lack of faith. I ended up becoming friends with non-members, because honestly they were more interesting than the members I met. Not long after that I moved to Washington D.C. It was at this time that it occurred to me for the first time in my life that being a Mormon was not a normal thing. Having been raised in Southern Idaho and making the short move to Logan, I had lived my entire 19 years in areas densely populated with Mormons. All of the sudden I found myself in a city that had more people than the entire state of Idaho, and very, very few of them were members. I was amazed at the ridiculous questions that were asked, the assertion that my people were part of a "cult", and the assumption that I was raised in a polygamist family. Honestly, it was somewhat upsetting, but at the same time it was very eye opening.
After moving to Boise, I went through a really rough period where I had little friends, a lot of responsibility (I was working 3 jobs and going to school full time), and a conscience carrying more guilt than an inmate on death row. I hadn't been going to church for quite some time, and I wasn't articulate enough to explain why. I was majoring in philosophy, so I was using all of the these big words to try and fill the void that was at one time faith. I ended up going back though, and in classic Heather fashion I returned with full intentions of being the best dang Mormon ever! I was going to a student ward, had a calling, and was trying to make plans to go on a mission. I even dated a return missionary. I was doing everything I could to insure that I would set a great example as a member. But the whole time, a little over a year, that I was trying so very hard to fit into the classic Mormon-girl mold, I was miserable. I thought it was a lack of faith bringing me down, but in retrospect I was miserable because I was trying so very hard to be a person that I wasn't at all. "Hypocrite" is the word used to describe the person I was.
After I left again, I took a different route then before. Rather than be a "jack mormon", I was going to make sure I was leaving for the right reasons. I read the Bible and Book Mormon in their entirety. I prayed constantly. I read articles and church publications. And I came up empty. At the same time, I started dating Shay. We attended a few non-denominational churches together, but I kept getting the feeling that I didn't belong, and that I was lying to everyone trying to be something I wasn't. The minute Shay and I stopped attending churches, our relationship flourished and we got along better than ever. We have raised our son outside of church, something that I've lost a lot of sleep over in the past. Anymore I realize that he wouldn't learn anything more about the things we feel are important at church, and that he is naturally one of the most loving and compassionate humans I've ever met.
I continue to do research into the LDS Church, for several reasons. I think keeping the connection to my family (immediate, extended, and ancestrally speaking) is important. I find early church history, particularly anything pertaining to Joseph Smith to be fascinating. I have no desire to speak ill of, or bare false witness to the LDS Church, its members, or its practices. I have a huge respect for their humanitarian work, a great admiration of their business and welfare practices, and will always be proud of my family and their involvement in their rolls.
I admire faith. I simply am not capable of having it. I've quoted this song before, but my friend Loren covered my beliefs and sentiments in a song he wrote that says, "I believe in the human bond, I believe in you and me, the love of a family...I find it a little bit hard to believe in the mystical." Bishop Robinson was right to be concerned about my questioning nature as a pre-teen. However, "cynic" was the wrong word to describe me. I don't doubt the intentions of people (well, most people anyway). "Skeptic" would have been a more appropriate word, as I am skeptical to the marrow of my bones. I am fortunate though. In my leaving the church, I was able to keep most of my relationships in tact. I did lose some friends, and I do have some family that insists on bothering me about it. My my parents, my sisters, and a few select friends have been willing to allow me to still be a part of their lives, and I will always be grateful for their love and support. I know it's not an easy thing for them, and it is for them that I write this blog.
It's weird to put all of this out there, not knowing who will read it and what their reaction will be. But I'm glad to do it, if for anything else to allow myself to get rid of some guilt and move on with my happy little life.
Sincerely,
h.
11.07.2010
11.04.2010
Empty-Nest Syndrome
Dear Readers,
Growing up, my family used to make fun of me for my ability to make friends. Yes, it is weird, isn't it? Rather than say, "Good for you! We're so happy you're socially adept and fun to be around!" they'd make snarky remarks about how retarded I am. Even today I get snide remarks from not only my sisters and parents, but from my husband as well. When looking at my Facebook page the other day, and seeing that I had over 300 "friends", he challenged me to tell where I knew each person from, and I not only accepted and completed his challenge but was able to tell him stories at length about most people. He'll never do that again, if for any other reason the sheer boredom he experienced.
I think I developed my ability to meet people through watching my Aunt Ruth. Ruth has always been a favorite person of mine, and from a very young age I found myself trying to pattern my own personality after hers. For instance, my favorite color is yellow. It's also Ruth's. Well, when I put it like that it doesn't seem too significant, but I assure you that at the age of 5 when I made yellow my official favorite color, it was a huge deal. Anyhow, I remember staying with Ruth during my vacation (one week in Boise every summer...I still don't look forward to anything the way I looked forward to that week), and going to Albertson's with her for a gallon of milk, but spending a half hour talking to the several people she knew. And then, while waiting in line to check out, she'd make friends with whoever was next in line. I loved this about her. And now, when I go to Albertson's, the same thing happens. However, Shay and Lucas don't find this to be endearing, but rather annoying. "How do you know these people?" Shay will ask, to which my reply will be a long explanation about how they know so and so and I met them at so and so's party and blah blah blah. "Nevermind" is his general reply.
Beyond my social grocery shopping encounters, I have my friends and then I have my "best" friends. Most people have just one, singular, best friend. I, on the other hand, describe several people with that title. Monica Maxwell is my best friend from growing up. Jessica Knickerbocker is my best friend from college. Scot Klein is my best friend from age 20-21. My cousin Adriana is my best friend for life. And my friends Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron are introduced or described as my "best friend". Who could forget Shay? The ultimate husband best friend. It's a tad ridiculous, I know. But how else would you describe them?
Earlier this week, I had a revelation about myself that kept me crying all night. The last group of people I described as besties, Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron, are people that I have upgraded from "friend" status to "family". When I think about who I want around me for the rest of my life, it's these people (don't worry blood family, you're included in that too). But what I realized was, I've surrounded myself with a group of extremely talented people who have the ability and the potential to follow their passions strait out of my life and into a glorious and famous life beyond Boise. At the same time, my dear sweet baby boy, Lucas, reminded me that he turns 7 next week, and "...isn't that old?". At that point, at the tender young age of 31, I went head long into a menopausal "empty-nest" panic attack. One that ended up requiring a sedative, and will probably require more (keep that Valium coming, doctor!). It's taken three long conversations, one with Andrew, one with Chris, and one with Shay, to assure me that I will never be out of the picture and regardless of what roads they go on (Andrew and Chris, that is. Shay's legally obligated to be in my life), I will always be a part of their lives. Of course I haven't confirmed this with the rest of our group, but I'm going to make an assumption that it will be the same with all of them. My mom told me today that should these amazing people leave my life, I could always make new friends. I suppose she's right. But the idea finding and making new friends at this caliber is an exhausting one. I mean, it takes a special kind of person to find me endearing...I'm foul mouthed, opinionated to a fault, known to force baked goods down your throat all the time, demand a lot of attention, and will make you help me move. Who wants that in their life?
My family will continue to make fun of my social abilities probably until the day I die. After that, they'll find it charming I'm sure. It doesn't bother me so much anymore though. My obnoxious friendliness has enabled me to have a charmed life, full of great jobs (because of people I know), great experiences (because of people I know), opportunities to travel and meet important/famous people (because of people I know), and the comfort of knowing that if I ever need to have a nice conversation I can head to any grocery store or coffee shop in the Boise area and count on finding a friend.
Sincerely,
h.
Growing up, my family used to make fun of me for my ability to make friends. Yes, it is weird, isn't it? Rather than say, "Good for you! We're so happy you're socially adept and fun to be around!" they'd make snarky remarks about how retarded I am. Even today I get snide remarks from not only my sisters and parents, but from my husband as well. When looking at my Facebook page the other day, and seeing that I had over 300 "friends", he challenged me to tell where I knew each person from, and I not only accepted and completed his challenge but was able to tell him stories at length about most people. He'll never do that again, if for any other reason the sheer boredom he experienced.
I think I developed my ability to meet people through watching my Aunt Ruth. Ruth has always been a favorite person of mine, and from a very young age I found myself trying to pattern my own personality after hers. For instance, my favorite color is yellow. It's also Ruth's. Well, when I put it like that it doesn't seem too significant, but I assure you that at the age of 5 when I made yellow my official favorite color, it was a huge deal. Anyhow, I remember staying with Ruth during my vacation (one week in Boise every summer...I still don't look forward to anything the way I looked forward to that week), and going to Albertson's with her for a gallon of milk, but spending a half hour talking to the several people she knew. And then, while waiting in line to check out, she'd make friends with whoever was next in line. I loved this about her. And now, when I go to Albertson's, the same thing happens. However, Shay and Lucas don't find this to be endearing, but rather annoying. "How do you know these people?" Shay will ask, to which my reply will be a long explanation about how they know so and so and I met them at so and so's party and blah blah blah. "Nevermind" is his general reply.
Beyond my social grocery shopping encounters, I have my friends and then I have my "best" friends. Most people have just one, singular, best friend. I, on the other hand, describe several people with that title. Monica Maxwell is my best friend from growing up. Jessica Knickerbocker is my best friend from college. Scot Klein is my best friend from age 20-21. My cousin Adriana is my best friend for life. And my friends Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron are introduced or described as my "best friend". Who could forget Shay? The ultimate husband best friend. It's a tad ridiculous, I know. But how else would you describe them?
Earlier this week, I had a revelation about myself that kept me crying all night. The last group of people I described as besties, Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron, are people that I have upgraded from "friend" status to "family". When I think about who I want around me for the rest of my life, it's these people (don't worry blood family, you're included in that too). But what I realized was, I've surrounded myself with a group of extremely talented people who have the ability and the potential to follow their passions strait out of my life and into a glorious and famous life beyond Boise. At the same time, my dear sweet baby boy, Lucas, reminded me that he turns 7 next week, and "...isn't that old?". At that point, at the tender young age of 31, I went head long into a menopausal "empty-nest" panic attack. One that ended up requiring a sedative, and will probably require more (keep that Valium coming, doctor!). It's taken three long conversations, one with Andrew, one with Chris, and one with Shay, to assure me that I will never be out of the picture and regardless of what roads they go on (Andrew and Chris, that is. Shay's legally obligated to be in my life), I will always be a part of their lives. Of course I haven't confirmed this with the rest of our group, but I'm going to make an assumption that it will be the same with all of them. My mom told me today that should these amazing people leave my life, I could always make new friends. I suppose she's right. But the idea finding and making new friends at this caliber is an exhausting one. I mean, it takes a special kind of person to find me endearing...I'm foul mouthed, opinionated to a fault, known to force baked goods down your throat all the time, demand a lot of attention, and will make you help me move. Who wants that in their life?
My family will continue to make fun of my social abilities probably until the day I die. After that, they'll find it charming I'm sure. It doesn't bother me so much anymore though. My obnoxious friendliness has enabled me to have a charmed life, full of great jobs (because of people I know), great experiences (because of people I know), opportunities to travel and meet important/famous people (because of people I know), and the comfort of knowing that if I ever need to have a nice conversation I can head to any grocery store or coffee shop in the Boise area and count on finding a friend.
Sincerely,
h.
9.30.2010
The Stress of Stress
Dear Readers,
I recently watched a National Geographic documentary on stress. It was absolutely fascinating. Even the hippie from Berkley who has made more advances in the studies of stress then anyone else alive was fascinating to me. I learned several things, such as baboons are just as obnoxious as humans, that mother's of young or disabled children produce more stress hormones than anyone else, and that fat bellies are stress induced. But wait! There's so much more I have to tell you about this! I promise I have a point.
One thing that the smart hippie figured out, and has been proven several times over now by several scientists, is that stress causes the destruction of the cap on DNA helix's. Because I have a short memory for scientific jargon, I can't remember what the cap is called. However, it's very important, as it helps control the rate by which we age. Stress eats away at these caps like Badger girls at Thanksgiving dinner. The faster they deteriorate, the older your body becomes. So, for instance, woman with small and/or disabled children have so much stress that they are actually aging 6 years to every 1 year they live, and have a higher mortality rate at a significantly younger age than mothers of non-disabled kids. But, the hippie and scientists have found a way to combat the ill effects of stress, and actually physically slow down the breakdown of helix's and promote a less stressful lifestyle. Are your ready for this? Alright, here's the secret: compassion.
Doing good works, living the "golden rule", loving thy neighbor, and all that other crap helps to produce dopamine and serotonin as well as several other chemicals that help to rebuild the little caps that help us age at a slower rate. Remember how good it feels when you help someone out? That's because your brain recognizes that you were nice and rewards you with tasty, happy chemicals.
On a completely different note, my mother-in-law, Paula, stopped by earlier this evening. I have to say that I really lucked out when it comes to my husband's mother. She's awesome. She laughs at my jokes, enjoys eating my chocolates, loves my son more than anyone else on the planet, and doesn't yell at me for swearing in front of her. Being around Paula is like being around a good friend that I'm always happy to see. She's also very pretty, extremely kind, and has always (ALWAYS) been there for Shay, Lucas and I. Today she came over to visit and we had a great time talking and catching up a bit. Shay had mentioned some funny financial problems we've been having lately. Well, not lately. Let's just say that we're pros at being broke. But anyhow, it was just mentioned in passing and in no seriousness. Later, after Paula left, I went to give Lucas his dinner, and notice that Paula had quietly left a little financial help on the table. Upon seeing this, my heart filled with gratitude and my eyes filled with tears. It's funny because it's not even the money that matters. I hate money. Rather, it's the unassuming selfless nature of Paula wanting to help that touches my heart. And the thought crossed my mind that she probably has the youngest, healthiest DNA helix's of any one I know.
In closing, I want to have less stress. I also want to be a better person. It's so convenient that I can achieve a more peaceful life by helping others find peace as well. I don't have the means to leave gifts on coffee tables, but I do have the ability to make little differences every day. So if I see you, and I'm mean or obnoxious, just whisper in my ear that I'm starting to resemble an old hag, and somewhere inside I will find the kindness I need to hold myself back from punching you in the face.
Sincerely,
h.
I recently watched a National Geographic documentary on stress. It was absolutely fascinating. Even the hippie from Berkley who has made more advances in the studies of stress then anyone else alive was fascinating to me. I learned several things, such as baboons are just as obnoxious as humans, that mother's of young or disabled children produce more stress hormones than anyone else, and that fat bellies are stress induced. But wait! There's so much more I have to tell you about this! I promise I have a point.
One thing that the smart hippie figured out, and has been proven several times over now by several scientists, is that stress causes the destruction of the cap on DNA helix's. Because I have a short memory for scientific jargon, I can't remember what the cap is called. However, it's very important, as it helps control the rate by which we age. Stress eats away at these caps like Badger girls at Thanksgiving dinner. The faster they deteriorate, the older your body becomes. So, for instance, woman with small and/or disabled children have so much stress that they are actually aging 6 years to every 1 year they live, and have a higher mortality rate at a significantly younger age than mothers of non-disabled kids. But, the hippie and scientists have found a way to combat the ill effects of stress, and actually physically slow down the breakdown of helix's and promote a less stressful lifestyle. Are your ready for this? Alright, here's the secret: compassion.
Doing good works, living the "golden rule", loving thy neighbor, and all that other crap helps to produce dopamine and serotonin as well as several other chemicals that help to rebuild the little caps that help us age at a slower rate. Remember how good it feels when you help someone out? That's because your brain recognizes that you were nice and rewards you with tasty, happy chemicals.
On a completely different note, my mother-in-law, Paula, stopped by earlier this evening. I have to say that I really lucked out when it comes to my husband's mother. She's awesome. She laughs at my jokes, enjoys eating my chocolates, loves my son more than anyone else on the planet, and doesn't yell at me for swearing in front of her. Being around Paula is like being around a good friend that I'm always happy to see. She's also very pretty, extremely kind, and has always (ALWAYS) been there for Shay, Lucas and I. Today she came over to visit and we had a great time talking and catching up a bit. Shay had mentioned some funny financial problems we've been having lately. Well, not lately. Let's just say that we're pros at being broke. But anyhow, it was just mentioned in passing and in no seriousness. Later, after Paula left, I went to give Lucas his dinner, and notice that Paula had quietly left a little financial help on the table. Upon seeing this, my heart filled with gratitude and my eyes filled with tears. It's funny because it's not even the money that matters. I hate money. Rather, it's the unassuming selfless nature of Paula wanting to help that touches my heart. And the thought crossed my mind that she probably has the youngest, healthiest DNA helix's of any one I know.
In closing, I want to have less stress. I also want to be a better person. It's so convenient that I can achieve a more peaceful life by helping others find peace as well. I don't have the means to leave gifts on coffee tables, but I do have the ability to make little differences every day. So if I see you, and I'm mean or obnoxious, just whisper in my ear that I'm starting to resemble an old hag, and somewhere inside I will find the kindness I need to hold myself back from punching you in the face.
Sincerely,
h.
7.10.2010
Thirty-One? Thirty-Fun!
Dear Readers,
In a few short days, another one of my birthdays will roll around. I was telling my friend Jenny this the other day. She asked how old I would be, and I begrudgingly replied "31", which she immediately followed with, "Thirty Fun!".
Jenny's stellar rhyming abilities helped spark some happiness in my mind about getting older. I mean, why should I have to feel bad about something that I can do absolutely nothing about? And let's face it, I don't look a day over 24 (after a lot of time in front of the mirror strategically dressing myself and doing my hair and makeup). So in tribute to turning thirty-fun and to continue to feel good about where I am in life, I thought I would list 31 things that I am happy, thankful, or just generally amused with in my little life. By the way, it won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this. I know it seems like a journal entry my shrink would recommend.
Here it goes:
31. Having two KitchenAid mixers.
30. Knowing and understanding more about everything than anyone else.
29. Making it this far without getting a tattoo.
28. Facebook.
27. Being old enough to understand that when it comes to extended family, there's going to be some that you just don't like and that you can avoid for years at a time if you want.
26. Finding some new music interesting, but knowing in my heart of hearts that it will probably never get better than what we've had for years.
25. I can still drop it like it's hot on the dance floor.
24. That I haven't learned to play my guitar yet, but I'm going to if it's the last thing I do.
23. I still worry that no one will show up to my birthday parties, but they always do,
22. The next big thing in life I'm really looking forward to is retirement.
21. No matter how old I become, one of my favorite things to do is drink coffee and have intellectual conversations with a friend. However, the older I get, the less intellectual I become.
20. Had it not been for Aunt Ruth (not to mention Jorge, Anthony, Mike and Ana) I may not have survived my youth. She continues to be one of my very favorite people on the face of the planet, and the world is a better place for having her in it.
19. I don't need to do any sort of extreme sport anymore. Keep your mountain biking, rock climbing, and week long backpacking trips! I'd rather take a hot bath and read a book!
18. Being nice matters.
17. Knowing that you can't help someone who is not willing to help themselves.
16. I love to travel, but I hate being a tourist, and automatically hate all other tourists when traveling.
15. Understanding that even after years of them being gone, you'll still occasionally feel the sting loss when remembering the people you've loved so much but are no longer with you.
14. I've learned that feeling sorry for yourself for more than 15 minutes in a day is a waste of time and energy. There's always someone out there who has a sadder story than you, and wallowing in self-pity isn't going to make things better.
13. Integrity is a rare and valuable commodity in a person, and I admire and try to model myself after people who are willing to take responsibility for themselves and their action.
12. When I can't count on anything else in the world, I know the cheddar vegetable soup at the Brick Oven Bistro in Boise will be just as awesome as always.
11. In retrospect, growing up in a small town taught me more about life than I previously would admit.
10. High school was horrible, but I think I'm finally over it.
9. My teacher's used to say that I had tremendous potential, if I would just apply myself. I now think that they may have been mistaken, and I've always been meeting my potential and fooling people into believing that I'm capable of doing more. Maybe that's why I wanted to be a politician so bad...
8. I'm a book snob, a coffee snob, and a baked goods snob, and none of these things will ever change.
7. I have wonderful parents, and am thrilled that as of this year I'm able to talk to them as if I'm an adult and feel like we're closer than we've ever been.
6. I have wonderful sisters who have not only provided me with a gaggle of amazing nieces and nephews, but who have always been honest and forthright with me (whether I've wanted them to be or not).
5. I have incredible in-laws who handed their son over to me without thinking twice, and have welcomed me into their lives with open arms.
4. Over the years I've had friends come and go. But I have an incredible first string line-up that I know without a doubt will be in my life until I'm dead and gone. I'd list you all, but I don't think you need me to.
3. My mom was right when she said that we were rich in the important things.
2. When I found out I was pregnant with Lucas, I was mortified. I thought I was too young. Now I know, that had I not had him then, I probably never would have been able to. He is everything that is good in Shay and I, and he amazes me with his compassion and sincerity. I'm so grateful for my son, and for being a mom!
1. I'm not an easy person to live with. I'm extremely independent and opinionated. I need my space and time. And I was lucky enough to find a person that doesn't mind any of these things at all, but finds them to be endearing. Shay changed my life, and gave me a reason to want to be a better person. I've never known unconditional love like he gives me. And I know that whatever my age, he'll always be 6 months older than me.
So there you go. I didn't make it through the list without crying, even though you probably did. Here's to me and my 31 years of mistakes and good decisions, awkward moments and bits of inspiration, of love with family friends, and may the next 31 be similar but with more baked goods.
Sincerely,
h.
In a few short days, another one of my birthdays will roll around. I was telling my friend Jenny this the other day. She asked how old I would be, and I begrudgingly replied "31", which she immediately followed with, "Thirty Fun!".
Jenny's stellar rhyming abilities helped spark some happiness in my mind about getting older. I mean, why should I have to feel bad about something that I can do absolutely nothing about? And let's face it, I don't look a day over 24 (after a lot of time in front of the mirror strategically dressing myself and doing my hair and makeup). So in tribute to turning thirty-fun and to continue to feel good about where I am in life, I thought I would list 31 things that I am happy, thankful, or just generally amused with in my little life. By the way, it won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this. I know it seems like a journal entry my shrink would recommend.
Here it goes:
31. Having two KitchenAid mixers.
30. Knowing and understanding more about everything than anyone else.
29. Making it this far without getting a tattoo.
28. Facebook.
27. Being old enough to understand that when it comes to extended family, there's going to be some that you just don't like and that you can avoid for years at a time if you want.
26. Finding some new music interesting, but knowing in my heart of hearts that it will probably never get better than what we've had for years.
25. I can still drop it like it's hot on the dance floor.
24. That I haven't learned to play my guitar yet, but I'm going to if it's the last thing I do.
23. I still worry that no one will show up to my birthday parties, but they always do,
22. The next big thing in life I'm really looking forward to is retirement.
21. No matter how old I become, one of my favorite things to do is drink coffee and have intellectual conversations with a friend. However, the older I get, the less intellectual I become.
20. Had it not been for Aunt Ruth (not to mention Jorge, Anthony, Mike and Ana) I may not have survived my youth. She continues to be one of my very favorite people on the face of the planet, and the world is a better place for having her in it.
19. I don't need to do any sort of extreme sport anymore. Keep your mountain biking, rock climbing, and week long backpacking trips! I'd rather take a hot bath and read a book!
18. Being nice matters.
17. Knowing that you can't help someone who is not willing to help themselves.
16. I love to travel, but I hate being a tourist, and automatically hate all other tourists when traveling.
15. Understanding that even after years of them being gone, you'll still occasionally feel the sting loss when remembering the people you've loved so much but are no longer with you.
14. I've learned that feeling sorry for yourself for more than 15 minutes in a day is a waste of time and energy. There's always someone out there who has a sadder story than you, and wallowing in self-pity isn't going to make things better.
13. Integrity is a rare and valuable commodity in a person, and I admire and try to model myself after people who are willing to take responsibility for themselves and their action.
12. When I can't count on anything else in the world, I know the cheddar vegetable soup at the Brick Oven Bistro in Boise will be just as awesome as always.
11. In retrospect, growing up in a small town taught me more about life than I previously would admit.
10. High school was horrible, but I think I'm finally over it.
9. My teacher's used to say that I had tremendous potential, if I would just apply myself. I now think that they may have been mistaken, and I've always been meeting my potential and fooling people into believing that I'm capable of doing more. Maybe that's why I wanted to be a politician so bad...
8. I'm a book snob, a coffee snob, and a baked goods snob, and none of these things will ever change.
7. I have wonderful parents, and am thrilled that as of this year I'm able to talk to them as if I'm an adult and feel like we're closer than we've ever been.
6. I have wonderful sisters who have not only provided me with a gaggle of amazing nieces and nephews, but who have always been honest and forthright with me (whether I've wanted them to be or not).
5. I have incredible in-laws who handed their son over to me without thinking twice, and have welcomed me into their lives with open arms.
4. Over the years I've had friends come and go. But I have an incredible first string line-up that I know without a doubt will be in my life until I'm dead and gone. I'd list you all, but I don't think you need me to.
3. My mom was right when she said that we were rich in the important things.
2. When I found out I was pregnant with Lucas, I was mortified. I thought I was too young. Now I know, that had I not had him then, I probably never would have been able to. He is everything that is good in Shay and I, and he amazes me with his compassion and sincerity. I'm so grateful for my son, and for being a mom!
1. I'm not an easy person to live with. I'm extremely independent and opinionated. I need my space and time. And I was lucky enough to find a person that doesn't mind any of these things at all, but finds them to be endearing. Shay changed my life, and gave me a reason to want to be a better person. I've never known unconditional love like he gives me. And I know that whatever my age, he'll always be 6 months older than me.
So there you go. I didn't make it through the list without crying, even though you probably did. Here's to me and my 31 years of mistakes and good decisions, awkward moments and bits of inspiration, of love with family friends, and may the next 31 be similar but with more baked goods.
Sincerely,
h.
7.06.2010
A Blog About Andrea
Dear Readers,
When I was in junior high, I was introduced to a singer/songwriter named Juliana Hatfield. Although she's far from a musical genius, and was better known for singing backup for The Lemonheads than for her solo work, she did produce a song that still haunts me to this day: "My Sister". This song was meaningful to me because it did and it does represent my own sister, Andrea.
I am the middle of three sisters. Andrea is my older, and Kate is my younger. Despite our better judgement, we have grown up to be quite good friends. Of course, it took several years even as adults to admit this. Anyone who has known us our whole lives will know that we spent the better part of our youth in physical and mental brawls, always trying to make one more miserable than the other. But this blog isn't about the three of us. Per her request, this one is dedicated to Andrea (don't worry Kate, I'll write one for you soon enough).
When we were very young, my sister Andrea watched me when my mother was at work. Every day she would walk from Big Valley Elementary and pick me up at Memorial Elementary and we would walk to the Rupert Square, where my mom worked at First Security Bank. We would check in with her, get some change, and walk across the street to the bakery to get a mexican pastry. From there we would walk home, where the next two hours before my father got home were filled with screaming, fighting, and mild forms of torture.
Always quick to remind me that she was older and in charge, Andrea used her power over me to carry out her genius plans. Remember when we were held hostage on the freeway by a gaggle of angry truckers? That was Andrea's idea, carried out by yours truly. Once when playing "Police Sisters" (we would ride our bikes around our neighborhood making siren noises and protecting Rupert from evil), Andrea told me I wouldn't be an official police sister until I vandalized some freshly poured cement with our initials. I started to carry out the plan, when Andrea disappeared and the owner of said cement pulled up in his car, and took out all of his anger on me. Even after being screamed at and scared to death, Andrea still told me that because I didn't complete the mission to her liking, I would not be made an official Police Sister.
When I reached junior high, Andrea was in high school. I don't know why, but I was always attracted to her friends and wanted to be included in her group, particularly during her senior year when she had become a member of the Vincent Van Gough Memorial Visual Arts Club. Mind you, it was rare when any of her friends treated me remotely human, but none the less I was drawn to them and wanted to be a part of their clique. To this day I find myself intimidated by them and am still concerned of their opinions of me.
Around this same time, Andrea was planning on joining my dad on a trip to Europe. Surprisingly, her plans were never confirmed (we think my dad might have a secret agenda to keep us out of Europe as long as we live), and she was left with a handful of cash and no where to go. My mom arranged for us to go and visit my cousin Brent in Seattle as a way to appease her. Andrea was 16 and I was 13. Brent at the time was a bachelor who really didn't know how to handle two teenage girls, did what any sensible adult would do and dropped us off downtown by ourselves to explore and waste all of our money. It was AWESOME. Andrea and I enjoyed the freedom that we had, visiting all the hotspots together and going crazy in the Disney Store. When at Brent's house we found a lot of enjoyment in cleaning his kitchen, mulching his lawn, and watching stolen cable. That trip is still on my top 5 vacations of all time.
When Andrea graduated high school, she went off to spend a semester at Utah State University. She came home every weekend to visit her sweetheart Jeremy, except for one. On that one weekend, I got to go and spend it with her. It was one of the highlights of my sophomore year of high school. Sleeping in the dorms, meeting her cool college buddies, eating crap food and staying out all night...it was everything I had imagined college to be and more! On the ride home, Andrea let me drive the Omega (which only contained an AM stereo so we had a battery powered cd player that we held on our laps), and she read Edgar Allen Poe to me to entertain me. I went home with a firm plan in mind of what my first year of college would be like (and I was damn sure it wouldn't include coming home every weekend), and as far as I can remember I was able to carry it out ver bad-um.
We've shared many unique experiences with each other, from seeing the Smashing Pumpkins play at the Record Exchange to meeting John Maher backstage at his concert. We've said some really horrible things to each other. We've laughed, cried, swore, and cheered at each other's expense. But this I know is true: my life would be missing something great if I didn't have Andrea in it. I'm sure when she reads this, she'll be sure to comment on my writing style and point out any mistakes I made. But underneath the criticism and judgement will reside a thin layer of love and appreciation. As reluctant as she might be to say it, I know she loves me and is happy to have me for a sister. But it is something I'll admit willingly...I love you Andrea, and I'm happy to have you for a sister.
Sincerely,
h.
When I was in junior high, I was introduced to a singer/songwriter named Juliana Hatfield. Although she's far from a musical genius, and was better known for singing backup for The Lemonheads than for her solo work, she did produce a song that still haunts me to this day: "My Sister". This song was meaningful to me because it did and it does represent my own sister, Andrea.
I am the middle of three sisters. Andrea is my older, and Kate is my younger. Despite our better judgement, we have grown up to be quite good friends. Of course, it took several years even as adults to admit this. Anyone who has known us our whole lives will know that we spent the better part of our youth in physical and mental brawls, always trying to make one more miserable than the other. But this blog isn't about the three of us. Per her request, this one is dedicated to Andrea (don't worry Kate, I'll write one for you soon enough).
When we were very young, my sister Andrea watched me when my mother was at work. Every day she would walk from Big Valley Elementary and pick me up at Memorial Elementary and we would walk to the Rupert Square, where my mom worked at First Security Bank. We would check in with her, get some change, and walk across the street to the bakery to get a mexican pastry. From there we would walk home, where the next two hours before my father got home were filled with screaming, fighting, and mild forms of torture.
Always quick to remind me that she was older and in charge, Andrea used her power over me to carry out her genius plans. Remember when we were held hostage on the freeway by a gaggle of angry truckers? That was Andrea's idea, carried out by yours truly. Once when playing "Police Sisters" (we would ride our bikes around our neighborhood making siren noises and protecting Rupert from evil), Andrea told me I wouldn't be an official police sister until I vandalized some freshly poured cement with our initials. I started to carry out the plan, when Andrea disappeared and the owner of said cement pulled up in his car, and took out all of his anger on me. Even after being screamed at and scared to death, Andrea still told me that because I didn't complete the mission to her liking, I would not be made an official Police Sister.
When I reached junior high, Andrea was in high school. I don't know why, but I was always attracted to her friends and wanted to be included in her group, particularly during her senior year when she had become a member of the Vincent Van Gough Memorial Visual Arts Club. Mind you, it was rare when any of her friends treated me remotely human, but none the less I was drawn to them and wanted to be a part of their clique. To this day I find myself intimidated by them and am still concerned of their opinions of me.
Around this same time, Andrea was planning on joining my dad on a trip to Europe. Surprisingly, her plans were never confirmed (we think my dad might have a secret agenda to keep us out of Europe as long as we live), and she was left with a handful of cash and no where to go. My mom arranged for us to go and visit my cousin Brent in Seattle as a way to appease her. Andrea was 16 and I was 13. Brent at the time was a bachelor who really didn't know how to handle two teenage girls, did what any sensible adult would do and dropped us off downtown by ourselves to explore and waste all of our money. It was AWESOME. Andrea and I enjoyed the freedom that we had, visiting all the hotspots together and going crazy in the Disney Store. When at Brent's house we found a lot of enjoyment in cleaning his kitchen, mulching his lawn, and watching stolen cable. That trip is still on my top 5 vacations of all time.
When Andrea graduated high school, she went off to spend a semester at Utah State University. She came home every weekend to visit her sweetheart Jeremy, except for one. On that one weekend, I got to go and spend it with her. It was one of the highlights of my sophomore year of high school. Sleeping in the dorms, meeting her cool college buddies, eating crap food and staying out all night...it was everything I had imagined college to be and more! On the ride home, Andrea let me drive the Omega (which only contained an AM stereo so we had a battery powered cd player that we held on our laps), and she read Edgar Allen Poe to me to entertain me. I went home with a firm plan in mind of what my first year of college would be like (and I was damn sure it wouldn't include coming home every weekend), and as far as I can remember I was able to carry it out ver bad-um.
We've shared many unique experiences with each other, from seeing the Smashing Pumpkins play at the Record Exchange to meeting John Maher backstage at his concert. We've said some really horrible things to each other. We've laughed, cried, swore, and cheered at each other's expense. But this I know is true: my life would be missing something great if I didn't have Andrea in it. I'm sure when she reads this, she'll be sure to comment on my writing style and point out any mistakes I made. But underneath the criticism and judgement will reside a thin layer of love and appreciation. As reluctant as she might be to say it, I know she loves me and is happy to have me for a sister. But it is something I'll admit willingly...I love you Andrea, and I'm happy to have you for a sister.
Sincerely,
h.
5.28.2010
I've Got The Whole World In My Hand...Who Wants It?
Dear Readers,
Remember when I was going to save the world? When I had crazy mad ambition, and a laundry list of causes to champion? I do. And just thinking about it makes me tired.
Politics? No thanks.
Orphans in Africa? Sad, but untouchable.
Poor spelling? It's an epidemic beyond my control.
In my wise old age, I've come to the conclusion that I want things to be as easy as possible. I want a good, healthy meal cooked in less than 15 minutes. I want to read and book and take a bath instead of participating in some inane political debate that will never even leave my dining room table. I want a maid.
Have I become lazy and/or complacent? Perhaps. It's been over a month since I've last blogged, for Hell's sake. Regardless, I feel more at peace now than I think ever have been before. Maybe Shay's Taoist principles have rubbed off on me. I'll just sit back and let the Universe take the reigns, all I have to do is wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night, while putting minimum effort into the goings on during the day.
If I'm really being honest with myself though, there is this part of me that is taking this peaceful route kicking and screaming. I can feel it start to swell up when I listen to NPR about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. It claws it's way up my throat to try to scream for me when I remember that civil rights are given to everyone except gay people, poor people, and underprivileged areas of the nation. And what about Tyra's pick for America's Next Top Model this season? Atrocious!
Okay, so maybe I do still have the spark. But I'm limiting it to just that. I can't change the world, I can't change humanity, I'm not even sure I can convince my 6 year old that changing his underwear everyday is a good idea. But I will do my best to be a nice and gracious person, master making the perfect pie crust, and promise not to listen to partisan radio talk show hosts.
Sincerely,
h.
Remember when I was going to save the world? When I had crazy mad ambition, and a laundry list of causes to champion? I do. And just thinking about it makes me tired.
Politics? No thanks.
Orphans in Africa? Sad, but untouchable.
Poor spelling? It's an epidemic beyond my control.
In my wise old age, I've come to the conclusion that I want things to be as easy as possible. I want a good, healthy meal cooked in less than 15 minutes. I want to read and book and take a bath instead of participating in some inane political debate that will never even leave my dining room table. I want a maid.
Have I become lazy and/or complacent? Perhaps. It's been over a month since I've last blogged, for Hell's sake. Regardless, I feel more at peace now than I think ever have been before. Maybe Shay's Taoist principles have rubbed off on me. I'll just sit back and let the Universe take the reigns, all I have to do is wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night, while putting minimum effort into the goings on during the day.
If I'm really being honest with myself though, there is this part of me that is taking this peaceful route kicking and screaming. I can feel it start to swell up when I listen to NPR about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. It claws it's way up my throat to try to scream for me when I remember that civil rights are given to everyone except gay people, poor people, and underprivileged areas of the nation. And what about Tyra's pick for America's Next Top Model this season? Atrocious!
Okay, so maybe I do still have the spark. But I'm limiting it to just that. I can't change the world, I can't change humanity, I'm not even sure I can convince my 6 year old that changing his underwear everyday is a good idea. But I will do my best to be a nice and gracious person, master making the perfect pie crust, and promise not to listen to partisan radio talk show hosts.
Sincerely,
h.
4.12.2010
Too Late to Sleep
Dear Readers,
I haven't felt well over the last couple days which in turn has rewarded me with a few luxuries, one of them being able to watch some movies I've wanted to see for a while and another has been updating my iPod.
Coincidentally the movies I watched were both about single people staying single. Both involved males being disappointed by their female counterparts. And both had the kind of ending that Disney would go out of business before producing. I'm not sure if you've seen the movies I'm speaking of, but because I hate to spoil anything for anybody, I won't mention their names. It's the theme I'm focusing on anyhow. In case you missed my theme, it's being single.
Before marrying Shay, or before dating Shay I should say, I had no desire to get married. In church it was one of the main focuses, so I guess you could say in my younger years I felt an obligation to get married, but that's different from desire. In a way it was a feminist issue, but really if you get deep down into my psyche it was more of a matter of giving up my independence that I had worked so hard for from a very young age. School, recreation, travel, job, all of these things took the front seat in my life. But then Shay showed up, and one by one school, recreation, travel, and my career all climbed in the back seat (where they fought constantly, I might add) and then when Lucas was born they became strangled hostages locked up in the trunk.
After reading that last paragraph, it makes it sound that Shay and Lucas are strangling me. I assure you, that is not the case (but it was such a clever anecdote I had to leave it, surely you understand). If anything they've taught me to live a different kind of life. One that's sometimes boring, almost always low key, but full of a substance that I was lacking in my single days. Which brings me to my iPod.
One of the artists I put on is one that you've possibly heard of. He's one of my dearest friends, Loren Reed. In his genius work entitled "Honce" he says, "The only words from that good book I could believe, "Man should not be alone...", " along with "I don't believe in God, I believe in the human bond, I believe in you and me, the love of a family...". I haven't sat down and thought about a couple of sentences so hard in a long time. Occasionally, I find myself pining for those younger days where I only had myself to worry about, where I only cooked for one and didn't feel guilty about missing a little league soccer game. But when I hear those lines through my headphones, and I watch the characters in the movies who find their selfishness as some sort of right of passage, I reconsider my rose colored past.
The fact of the matter is that no one else can make you happy but yourself. And I'm lucky enough to have people around me that I want to be happy for. I'm not saying marriage is for everyone; I'm not saying that marriage in general is for me. But I found a spouse that I like to be around, and who likes to be around me; however we allow each other to be what they need to be.
I think this is turning into more of a ramble than a blog, so I'll leave you for now. But before I go, I implore you to listen to Loren's music. You can find it at thechrishunt.com.
Sincerely,
h.
I haven't felt well over the last couple days which in turn has rewarded me with a few luxuries, one of them being able to watch some movies I've wanted to see for a while and another has been updating my iPod.
Coincidentally the movies I watched were both about single people staying single. Both involved males being disappointed by their female counterparts. And both had the kind of ending that Disney would go out of business before producing. I'm not sure if you've seen the movies I'm speaking of, but because I hate to spoil anything for anybody, I won't mention their names. It's the theme I'm focusing on anyhow. In case you missed my theme, it's being single.
Before marrying Shay, or before dating Shay I should say, I had no desire to get married. In church it was one of the main focuses, so I guess you could say in my younger years I felt an obligation to get married, but that's different from desire. In a way it was a feminist issue, but really if you get deep down into my psyche it was more of a matter of giving up my independence that I had worked so hard for from a very young age. School, recreation, travel, job, all of these things took the front seat in my life. But then Shay showed up, and one by one school, recreation, travel, and my career all climbed in the back seat (where they fought constantly, I might add) and then when Lucas was born they became strangled hostages locked up in the trunk.
After reading that last paragraph, it makes it sound that Shay and Lucas are strangling me. I assure you, that is not the case (but it was such a clever anecdote I had to leave it, surely you understand). If anything they've taught me to live a different kind of life. One that's sometimes boring, almost always low key, but full of a substance that I was lacking in my single days. Which brings me to my iPod.
One of the artists I put on is one that you've possibly heard of. He's one of my dearest friends, Loren Reed. In his genius work entitled "Honce" he says, "The only words from that good book I could believe, "Man should not be alone...", " along with "I don't believe in God, I believe in the human bond, I believe in you and me, the love of a family...". I haven't sat down and thought about a couple of sentences so hard in a long time. Occasionally, I find myself pining for those younger days where I only had myself to worry about, where I only cooked for one and didn't feel guilty about missing a little league soccer game. But when I hear those lines through my headphones, and I watch the characters in the movies who find their selfishness as some sort of right of passage, I reconsider my rose colored past.
The fact of the matter is that no one else can make you happy but yourself. And I'm lucky enough to have people around me that I want to be happy for. I'm not saying marriage is for everyone; I'm not saying that marriage in general is for me. But I found a spouse that I like to be around, and who likes to be around me; however we allow each other to be what they need to be.
I think this is turning into more of a ramble than a blog, so I'll leave you for now. But before I go, I implore you to listen to Loren's music. You can find it at thechrishunt.com.
Sincerely,
h.
4.04.2010
Brunchin' Bunch
Dear Readers,
Happy Easter to you! Some of you will be thrilled to know that I started off my day in a very unusual way, singing hymns. I had "Abide With Me" stuck in my head when I woke up, so I Googled the Mormon Tabernacle Choir rendition of it. One time through the song and it was out of my system! Phew!
After that, I got to work on brunch. Holy cooking Batman! Here's the menu:
Orange Pull-Apart Rolls (made from scratch and they are AMAZING...as soon as I find my USB cord I'll post pics)
Ham and Cheddar Quiche
Mushroom, Red Pepper, Onion, and Parmesan Quiche
Bacon (of course)
Belgium Waffles with Strawberries and Cream
It was a lot of work, but more than worth it. Honestly, I am at my happiest when my friends are at home (by "at home" I mean at my house...I wish they would just move in with me) and I get to feed them. It's especially fun now with my big kitchen that opens into the dining and living rooms, because I can actually talk to them! As cheesy and emotional as it sounds, I just have to say that my friends have become such a huge part of my life that I consider them more family than anything else. Don't get me wrong, I love my family family too. Shay, Lucas, and I have been extremely fortunate in being able to surround ourselves with such a great bunch of people though. They're as kind as they are crass, and as loving as they are nerdy. I don't know if they feel the same about me, but they keep coming back so I guess there's a little love in there somewhere!
So there you go. I've one upped you on quality of both brunch and friends...I hope you don't hold it against me, there's not a lot more to me than those two things!
Sincerely,
h.
3.24.2010
The Good Life
Dear Readers,
I had a conversation with my aunt Ruth the other day that has stuck in my mind. I had called her to alert her of my sister Kate being in labor, and one way or another the conversation turned into an analysis of how life for my sisters, cousins, and myself is so different then it was for her, my mom, and aunts and uncles.
She said that it seems like we struggle more in finding our lives now, and I couldn't help but agree. Here I am, 30 years old, changing jobs again, moving to another apartment (not buying a house), and still trying to figure out what it is that I will do when I grow up. I have the basics in tact, I know that I want to be a baker, I know I want Shay to be able to make a living as a full time artist, and I know that I want Lucas to get a full ride scholarship to M.I.T. (because there is no way I'll be able to foot the bill for that one...). And that's it, that's where it ends.
My aunt Ruth, however, married an engineer who landed a great and stable job in Boise, bought a house in a subdivision, and was a wonderful full time stay at home mom. My mom and dad struggled a bit at first, but by the time they were around my age my dad was teaching, they owned their home in Rupert, had three kids, and my mom worked at First Security Bank either part or full time the entire time. Once they were in their purchased homes, they didn't leave (well, my aunt moved a few years back, but for all intensive purposes they were grounded until their children were adults).
I'm not positive, but I think the reason why couples and parents my age struggle more than our aunts and parents did is more of a problem with society than it is a problem within ourselves. College costs a fortune, and it's impossible to pay for without loans. Having kids costs a fortune; not only did it take me three years to pay off the hospital for Lucas' birth, but just paying for his school registration, soccer, and swimming lessons costs almost the amount of a semester of college. Getting a steady job, for instance Shay's teaching job, is extremely hard to do, and when you do land it you still don't make enough to keep your wife at home because the cost of living versus your pay is completely out of whack. Even if his pay was more or cost of living was less, I would still have to work full time to qualify for reasonably priced health insurance, because the cost of it through the school system is ENORMOUS. I'm part of a generation that learned how to spend a lot of money in very little time; I don't know one person my age without credit card debt.
With all of that being said, allow me to make something clear: I AM HAPPY. So things didn't go the way that I planned, or that my parents planned. I'm poor, and will probably continue to be poor for a long time. The good news is that I don't know any different at this point, except the glimpse I get to have of people far more prosperous than me (but they're a hell of a lot grouchier than I am). I have fun. I enjoy my friends and family. My life is, as my mom would say, is "rich in blessings". Couple that with my meager retirement savings, and my lofty dreams for the future, and my life looks pretty good.
I move on Saturday, and start my new job on Monday, I have nothing but optimism in my heart that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be in my life. That's not to say I wouldn't like a little more stability like my aunt and mother had, because I would. For now though, I'll play the hand I've been given.
Sincerely,
h.
I had a conversation with my aunt Ruth the other day that has stuck in my mind. I had called her to alert her of my sister Kate being in labor, and one way or another the conversation turned into an analysis of how life for my sisters, cousins, and myself is so different then it was for her, my mom, and aunts and uncles.
She said that it seems like we struggle more in finding our lives now, and I couldn't help but agree. Here I am, 30 years old, changing jobs again, moving to another apartment (not buying a house), and still trying to figure out what it is that I will do when I grow up. I have the basics in tact, I know that I want to be a baker, I know I want Shay to be able to make a living as a full time artist, and I know that I want Lucas to get a full ride scholarship to M.I.T. (because there is no way I'll be able to foot the bill for that one...). And that's it, that's where it ends.
My aunt Ruth, however, married an engineer who landed a great and stable job in Boise, bought a house in a subdivision, and was a wonderful full time stay at home mom. My mom and dad struggled a bit at first, but by the time they were around my age my dad was teaching, they owned their home in Rupert, had three kids, and my mom worked at First Security Bank either part or full time the entire time. Once they were in their purchased homes, they didn't leave (well, my aunt moved a few years back, but for all intensive purposes they were grounded until their children were adults).
I'm not positive, but I think the reason why couples and parents my age struggle more than our aunts and parents did is more of a problem with society than it is a problem within ourselves. College costs a fortune, and it's impossible to pay for without loans. Having kids costs a fortune; not only did it take me three years to pay off the hospital for Lucas' birth, but just paying for his school registration, soccer, and swimming lessons costs almost the amount of a semester of college. Getting a steady job, for instance Shay's teaching job, is extremely hard to do, and when you do land it you still don't make enough to keep your wife at home because the cost of living versus your pay is completely out of whack. Even if his pay was more or cost of living was less, I would still have to work full time to qualify for reasonably priced health insurance, because the cost of it through the school system is ENORMOUS. I'm part of a generation that learned how to spend a lot of money in very little time; I don't know one person my age without credit card debt.
With all of that being said, allow me to make something clear: I AM HAPPY. So things didn't go the way that I planned, or that my parents planned. I'm poor, and will probably continue to be poor for a long time. The good news is that I don't know any different at this point, except the glimpse I get to have of people far more prosperous than me (but they're a hell of a lot grouchier than I am). I have fun. I enjoy my friends and family. My life is, as my mom would say, is "rich in blessings". Couple that with my meager retirement savings, and my lofty dreams for the future, and my life looks pretty good.
I move on Saturday, and start my new job on Monday, I have nothing but optimism in my heart that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be in my life. That's not to say I wouldn't like a little more stability like my aunt and mother had, because I would. For now though, I'll play the hand I've been given.
Sincerely,
h.
3.11.2010
The End is the Beginning is the End
Dear Readers,
Big news in Heather Land. Yesterday I put in my notice to leave as a property manager, and have accepted a position at Anthropologie. The good news, I won't have to clean the parking garage anymore. The bad news, I won't have stories about cleaning the parking garage anymore.
Along with this job change comes a change in residence as well. I love living in the Idaho Building. I love looking out my window just in time to see a rich kid fall off of his fixed gear bike. I love walking out my front door to the sights, sounds, and smells of the Saturday Farmer's Market. I love that my little boy can sleep through sirens, drunk people screaming, and loud music. I love that if I need chips and salsa I just slip on my shoes and walk a half of block to Pollo Rey. However, the rent is too high, and the confusion for my resident's would be too great to stay.
We're hoping to relocate to the North End. While we were driving around looking at places yesterday, Shay and I noticed quite a few people jogging. "Look!" said Shay, "We'll be able to run now!" Because, as everyone knows, just moving to the North End puts you into unbelievable shape.
Along with my new post at Anthropologie (did I mention how excited I am to work there? Because I am very excited), I will be focusing my energies to getting my baked goods business off the ground. My goal is to have a full menu done by the end of April, new business cards, and a viable way of marketing my business. I guess I could just start now: who wants to buy something tasty today?
I can feel the pages in my story starting to turn, and I'm thrilled to see what happens next.
Sincerely,
h.
Big news in Heather Land. Yesterday I put in my notice to leave as a property manager, and have accepted a position at Anthropologie. The good news, I won't have to clean the parking garage anymore. The bad news, I won't have stories about cleaning the parking garage anymore.
Along with this job change comes a change in residence as well. I love living in the Idaho Building. I love looking out my window just in time to see a rich kid fall off of his fixed gear bike. I love walking out my front door to the sights, sounds, and smells of the Saturday Farmer's Market. I love that my little boy can sleep through sirens, drunk people screaming, and loud music. I love that if I need chips and salsa I just slip on my shoes and walk a half of block to Pollo Rey. However, the rent is too high, and the confusion for my resident's would be too great to stay.
We're hoping to relocate to the North End. While we were driving around looking at places yesterday, Shay and I noticed quite a few people jogging. "Look!" said Shay, "We'll be able to run now!" Because, as everyone knows, just moving to the North End puts you into unbelievable shape.
Along with my new post at Anthropologie (did I mention how excited I am to work there? Because I am very excited), I will be focusing my energies to getting my baked goods business off the ground. My goal is to have a full menu done by the end of April, new business cards, and a viable way of marketing my business. I guess I could just start now: who wants to buy something tasty today?
I can feel the pages in my story starting to turn, and I'm thrilled to see what happens next.
Sincerely,
h.
3.09.2010
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
Dear Readers,
March has been a strange month, hasn't it? We're only nine days in, and I've had enough highs and lows to last me a year. For one, I didn't win an Oscar again this year. Correction: I wasn't even nominated for an Oscar again this year. When will the Academy recognize my accomplishments in film? Probably around the same time the Grammy's will recognize for my contributions to the music world.
Seriously though, I have taken a look at what I give to the world, and the answer is not a whole hell of a lot. I do my best for my friends and my family, but it's been a while since I've made an effort towards the greater good. Sadly, when I consider this, I get really tired and then decide my time might be better spent in my bathtub reading a good book. Then I have to ask myself why I'm so tired? That answer's easy: I work a lot, I take care of my family, I try to fit in a baking business, and I have a few health setbacks.
I think (unless I fall into a lot of money that would allow us to be financially independent and follow our dreams) that what I need to do is seriously reevaluate my career. There was a time that I was more focused on my career than anything else (of course, Shay and Lucas put me on a different path), and I was going to change the world. There is absolutely no reason why I can't do that. I'm not Oprah Winfrey, but I don't have to give up either. Does that mean I'll have to leave the property management world behind me? Yes, probably. I'm not sure what the answer is yet though, so I'll pick up my broom and clean one parking garage at a time until a bigger and better way to change the world comes along.
Sincerely,
h.
March has been a strange month, hasn't it? We're only nine days in, and I've had enough highs and lows to last me a year. For one, I didn't win an Oscar again this year. Correction: I wasn't even nominated for an Oscar again this year. When will the Academy recognize my accomplishments in film? Probably around the same time the Grammy's will recognize for my contributions to the music world.
Seriously though, I have taken a look at what I give to the world, and the answer is not a whole hell of a lot. I do my best for my friends and my family, but it's been a while since I've made an effort towards the greater good. Sadly, when I consider this, I get really tired and then decide my time might be better spent in my bathtub reading a good book. Then I have to ask myself why I'm so tired? That answer's easy: I work a lot, I take care of my family, I try to fit in a baking business, and I have a few health setbacks.
I think (unless I fall into a lot of money that would allow us to be financially independent and follow our dreams) that what I need to do is seriously reevaluate my career. There was a time that I was more focused on my career than anything else (of course, Shay and Lucas put me on a different path), and I was going to change the world. There is absolutely no reason why I can't do that. I'm not Oprah Winfrey, but I don't have to give up either. Does that mean I'll have to leave the property management world behind me? Yes, probably. I'm not sure what the answer is yet though, so I'll pick up my broom and clean one parking garage at a time until a bigger and better way to change the world comes along.
Sincerely,
h.
3.01.2010
There's No Place Like Home
Dear Readers,
Last week, after getting very little sleep and coupling that with too much stress when 5:00pm on Friday rolled around I said, "That's it! I'm leaving this place!" And leave I did. I packed up Lucas and myself in the car, kissed Shay goodbye (he had prior obligations) and drove off into the night towards that beautiful place they call Rupert.
There was a time in my life where the last place I wanted to be was in my parent's house (and I can say confidently that they preferred not to have me there either, I'm afraid). Now when I pull up in front of their house and I see my mom's face look out the window it's a thrilling experience. This past Friday was no exception to that joy! I think my parents might worry that they need to entertain us in some way, but honestly laying on their couch, eating my mom's great food, and watching cable is more than enough for me.
On Saturday Lucas and I had the opportunity to join my parents in their monthly "supply trip" to Twin Falls. It's the day they go to all of the important places, Winco, Target, Costco, and to get my mom's haircut. Not to throw out generalizations of the fine people of Twin, but I noticed a few things that concern me for citizens of the Magic Valley: 1) A lot, I mean A LOT, of women are balding, and 2)Another Winco is badly needed, because the one they got just isn't big enough to house all of their happy shoppers...no wonder someone got shot there a couple of years ago. Trying to squeeze past the other patrons was a feat worth a certificate if not a gold medal.
After my mom came out of her salon with a new sporty look, we ventured over to Cafe Rio for a special dinner. Cafe Rio is now my mom's favorite place in the whole world to eat. I don't blame her; for a reasonable price, you get an ample amount of delicious unauthentic Mexican food, served by people who love to yell in excitement when someone earns a free meal with their punch card. I highly recommend the pork tacos, and Lucas gives the bean burrito two thumbs up. Lucas couldn't help but notice there was a Dairy Queen conveniently located across the parking lot, and was able to persuade Grandma that an ice cream sandwich would be the perfect dessert. "Grandma, they take two cookies, and smoosh ice cream in between them!"
Lucas and I also had a chance to catch up with my old friend Monica, her husband Rob, and their beautiful little girls Ellie and Piper. I'm quite taken with little 3 year old Ellie, not only is she adorable but she's smart as a whip and nice as can be. I was thrilled that she and Lucas hit it off so well...we could hear them giggling from upstairs and I heard Lucas say, "Don't laugh so hard that you pee yourself!" to which they giggled even more. Baby Piper is the dang cutest baby I've ever seen, with a shock of red hair and rolls of baby fat that I could squeeze all day. It was nice to be in the Maxwell's basement again! I'm pretty sure I spent more time there in high school then I did my own house...I should pay back rent.
I'm glad we were able to get away for a couple days, and just as glad to come home to Shay. Thanks Mom and Dad for letting us come home once in a while!
Sincerely,
h.
Last week, after getting very little sleep and coupling that with too much stress when 5:00pm on Friday rolled around I said, "That's it! I'm leaving this place!" And leave I did. I packed up Lucas and myself in the car, kissed Shay goodbye (he had prior obligations) and drove off into the night towards that beautiful place they call Rupert.
There was a time in my life where the last place I wanted to be was in my parent's house (and I can say confidently that they preferred not to have me there either, I'm afraid). Now when I pull up in front of their house and I see my mom's face look out the window it's a thrilling experience. This past Friday was no exception to that joy! I think my parents might worry that they need to entertain us in some way, but honestly laying on their couch, eating my mom's great food, and watching cable is more than enough for me.
On Saturday Lucas and I had the opportunity to join my parents in their monthly "supply trip" to Twin Falls. It's the day they go to all of the important places, Winco, Target, Costco, and to get my mom's haircut. Not to throw out generalizations of the fine people of Twin, but I noticed a few things that concern me for citizens of the Magic Valley: 1) A lot, I mean A LOT, of women are balding, and 2)Another Winco is badly needed, because the one they got just isn't big enough to house all of their happy shoppers...no wonder someone got shot there a couple of years ago. Trying to squeeze past the other patrons was a feat worth a certificate if not a gold medal.
After my mom came out of her salon with a new sporty look, we ventured over to Cafe Rio for a special dinner. Cafe Rio is now my mom's favorite place in the whole world to eat. I don't blame her; for a reasonable price, you get an ample amount of delicious unauthentic Mexican food, served by people who love to yell in excitement when someone earns a free meal with their punch card. I highly recommend the pork tacos, and Lucas gives the bean burrito two thumbs up. Lucas couldn't help but notice there was a Dairy Queen conveniently located across the parking lot, and was able to persuade Grandma that an ice cream sandwich would be the perfect dessert. "Grandma, they take two cookies, and smoosh ice cream in between them!"
Lucas and I also had a chance to catch up with my old friend Monica, her husband Rob, and their beautiful little girls Ellie and Piper. I'm quite taken with little 3 year old Ellie, not only is she adorable but she's smart as a whip and nice as can be. I was thrilled that she and Lucas hit it off so well...we could hear them giggling from upstairs and I heard Lucas say, "Don't laugh so hard that you pee yourself!" to which they giggled even more. Baby Piper is the dang cutest baby I've ever seen, with a shock of red hair and rolls of baby fat that I could squeeze all day. It was nice to be in the Maxwell's basement again! I'm pretty sure I spent more time there in high school then I did my own house...I should pay back rent.
I'm glad we were able to get away for a couple days, and just as glad to come home to Shay. Thanks Mom and Dad for letting us come home once in a while!
Sincerely,
h.
2.25.2010
Confessions
Dear Readers,
I want to get a few things off my chest. I'm sick of carrying the extra weight of secrets about myself that I hide to avoid being made fun of. Go ahead! Make fun of me! I don't care! Here it goes...
1. Even though I give my husband a hard time about it, I sometimes eat Kraft Cheese and Macaroni straight from the pan.
2. I like the band The Eagles, especially the songs "Hotel California" and "Desperado". I know The Dude hates The Eagles, but I like them anyway.
3. I've read the Twilight series 5 times. I enjoyed them every time.
4. Sometimes, I swear (sorry Mom!).
5. I really, really hate going to touristy places like Fisherman's Wharf in San Fransisco or The Space Needle in Seattle. I really, really like going to the seedy underbelly of big cities and seeing real live hookers and drug dealers. I don't know why.
6. For a long time I've felt like I owe apologies to a lot of people for not going to church anymore. However, rather than apologize, I'd like to say thank you to the people in my life who have taught me the important lessons in life, whether through church or friendship. Because of you, I know love, compassion, humility, friendship, family, and have given me the tools I need to make good choices and take responsibility for myself. Please know that the LDS church will always have a special place in my heart, even if I never go again.
7. I make fun of people. Mostly random people I don't know on the street. I don't mean any harm, but sometimes you just have to laugh.
8. I'm always on time for work. I'm rarely on time for anything else.
9. Really wealthy people scare me more than they impress me.
10. I'm making plans to visit the new Harry Potter theme park at Universal Studios Florida. Ironically, it will be super touristy...but I'm hoping it will be super cool as well.
Wow, I feel so much better! Like I've lost 10 lbs! Thanks for letting me get these things off of my chest.
Sincerely,
h.
I want to get a few things off my chest. I'm sick of carrying the extra weight of secrets about myself that I hide to avoid being made fun of. Go ahead! Make fun of me! I don't care! Here it goes...
1. Even though I give my husband a hard time about it, I sometimes eat Kraft Cheese and Macaroni straight from the pan.
2. I like the band The Eagles, especially the songs "Hotel California" and "Desperado". I know The Dude hates The Eagles, but I like them anyway.
3. I've read the Twilight series 5 times. I enjoyed them every time.
4. Sometimes, I swear (sorry Mom!).
5. I really, really hate going to touristy places like Fisherman's Wharf in San Fransisco or The Space Needle in Seattle. I really, really like going to the seedy underbelly of big cities and seeing real live hookers and drug dealers. I don't know why.
6. For a long time I've felt like I owe apologies to a lot of people for not going to church anymore. However, rather than apologize, I'd like to say thank you to the people in my life who have taught me the important lessons in life, whether through church or friendship. Because of you, I know love, compassion, humility, friendship, family, and have given me the tools I need to make good choices and take responsibility for myself. Please know that the LDS church will always have a special place in my heart, even if I never go again.
7. I make fun of people. Mostly random people I don't know on the street. I don't mean any harm, but sometimes you just have to laugh.
8. I'm always on time for work. I'm rarely on time for anything else.
9. Really wealthy people scare me more than they impress me.
10. I'm making plans to visit the new Harry Potter theme park at Universal Studios Florida. Ironically, it will be super touristy...but I'm hoping it will be super cool as well.
Wow, I feel so much better! Like I've lost 10 lbs! Thanks for letting me get these things off of my chest.
Sincerely,
h.
2.23.2010
Humble Beginnings
Dear Readers,
Yesterday I was listening to NPR (a shock, I know) and was lucky enough to hear an interview with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. A few years ago I had the wonderful experience of getting to see him speak in person in Sun Valley. Funny enough, just hearing him on the radio evoked the same reaction that I had when I heard him speak before. I can feel myself become enthralled in what he has to say; his messages of compassion, humility, and servitude toward your fellow men is so logical and precise that it almost doesn't make sense to have it come from a religious leader.
One of the things he spoke about on the radio was how as a child, after he had been found to be the Dalai Lama and was removed from his poor village to live in the monastery, he didn't have other children to play with. But he found playmates in the monks who swept the floors and were the care takers of the buildings. They taught him games, and although he was one of the foremost religious figures in the world, the care takers would not let him win the games they played unless it happened of his accord. They didn't have to do it. How many times do we as parents let our children win to spare them disappointment? His Holiness spoke of his gratefulness for losing those games though, as they planted the seeds of understanding humility in him.
I've put a lot of though into this concept over the last 24 hours. What is it to be humble? Is it the act of being shamed, or taught a lesson? Or is it the quiet reflection we experience after the shame or lesson, that helps us to understand what we did wrong and how we could do it better next time?
I hope I'm not what you would call a pretentious person. I have my areas of snobbery for sure, like literature, baking, and fine grades of heroin. But in my everyday life I would like to think that I'm a pretty easy going and understanding person. But after taking the last day and really reflecting my life, I know that there are improvements to be made, attitudes to change, and habits to kick. I'm a very fortunate person; I have a husband I adore, the best son in the world, and friends that fill my heart with joy every time I see them. I've had several wonderful opportunities present themselves as of late, and it humbles me just to know that I would be considered as a possible candidate for said opportunities. It's a wonderful feeling to step back from my life and be able to recognize that it's full of love, happiness, and potential. I've realized that having humility doesn't mean you have to be embarrassed or shamed or feel loss to recognize what's good in your life; rather it means to find the good in life, acknowledge and be grateful for it, and in turn try to spread the joy you have through service and compassion to those who are lacking.
Also, if you ever get the chance to listen to the Dalai Lama, I highly suggest you do so. For such a small man, he has a huge message to spread...and the greatest laugh in the world to boot.
Sincerely,
h.
Yesterday I was listening to NPR (a shock, I know) and was lucky enough to hear an interview with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. A few years ago I had the wonderful experience of getting to see him speak in person in Sun Valley. Funny enough, just hearing him on the radio evoked the same reaction that I had when I heard him speak before. I can feel myself become enthralled in what he has to say; his messages of compassion, humility, and servitude toward your fellow men is so logical and precise that it almost doesn't make sense to have it come from a religious leader.
One of the things he spoke about on the radio was how as a child, after he had been found to be the Dalai Lama and was removed from his poor village to live in the monastery, he didn't have other children to play with. But he found playmates in the monks who swept the floors and were the care takers of the buildings. They taught him games, and although he was one of the foremost religious figures in the world, the care takers would not let him win the games they played unless it happened of his accord. They didn't have to do it. How many times do we as parents let our children win to spare them disappointment? His Holiness spoke of his gratefulness for losing those games though, as they planted the seeds of understanding humility in him.
I've put a lot of though into this concept over the last 24 hours. What is it to be humble? Is it the act of being shamed, or taught a lesson? Or is it the quiet reflection we experience after the shame or lesson, that helps us to understand what we did wrong and how we could do it better next time?
I hope I'm not what you would call a pretentious person. I have my areas of snobbery for sure, like literature, baking, and fine grades of heroin. But in my everyday life I would like to think that I'm a pretty easy going and understanding person. But after taking the last day and really reflecting my life, I know that there are improvements to be made, attitudes to change, and habits to kick. I'm a very fortunate person; I have a husband I adore, the best son in the world, and friends that fill my heart with joy every time I see them. I've had several wonderful opportunities present themselves as of late, and it humbles me just to know that I would be considered as a possible candidate for said opportunities. It's a wonderful feeling to step back from my life and be able to recognize that it's full of love, happiness, and potential. I've realized that having humility doesn't mean you have to be embarrassed or shamed or feel loss to recognize what's good in your life; rather it means to find the good in life, acknowledge and be grateful for it, and in turn try to spread the joy you have through service and compassion to those who are lacking.
Also, if you ever get the chance to listen to the Dalai Lama, I highly suggest you do so. For such a small man, he has a huge message to spread...and the greatest laugh in the world to boot.
Sincerely,
h.
2.17.2010
Being an Adult
Dear Readers,
I just read a post on my friend Loren's Facebook page that got me to thinkin'. What makes a person a man or a woman? When do we stop being "boys and girls" and work our way up to the top of the ladder? Is it age? Experience? Knowledge?
Coincidentally, these questions come to mind on the same day that Shay and I talked to a bank about buying a home. We don't have a particular home in mind, but we've considered looking because the market is so good and thought we would see what we would qualify for. Here's what I learned: buying a home is a nauseatingly grown up thing to do. I'm sure if the bank just interviewed us as normal human beings, we would be approved for just about any house we wanted on charm and savvy alone. Mucking up said interview with credit scores, income, taxes, etc. etc. makes it a bit more difficult though.
So do you determine whether you're a man or a woman by credit score? I imagine real adults have credit scores surpassing 900.
Remember when graduating from college seemed like such a big deal? What about getting your driver's license? I suppose you could use milestones like these to determine when you step into adulthood as well. Perhaps it's when you realize that you can't do whatever you want, or be whoever you want to be, and realize that they were kind of lying to you as a kid when they said your potential is endless. Because honestly, it has to stop at some point! Don't get me wrong, I think my potential by far surpasses being a resident manager, that's not to say that I can call up NASA and tell them I'm joining the space program tomorrow, does it?
For me, the answer to the question at hand really depends on the day. There are some days I'm a woman, where I am an outstanding adult making healthy grownup decisions and eating broccoli on purpose. But there are other days that I am around 16 years old, where I want to hole up in my best friend's basement (that would be you, Monica), dip a giant spoon first in peanut butter and next in M&M's and watch Mystery Science Theater 3000 all day.
After speaking to the banker today, tomorrow will be best spent in Monica's basement.
Sincerely,
h.
I just read a post on my friend Loren's Facebook page that got me to thinkin'. What makes a person a man or a woman? When do we stop being "boys and girls" and work our way up to the top of the ladder? Is it age? Experience? Knowledge?
Coincidentally, these questions come to mind on the same day that Shay and I talked to a bank about buying a home. We don't have a particular home in mind, but we've considered looking because the market is so good and thought we would see what we would qualify for. Here's what I learned: buying a home is a nauseatingly grown up thing to do. I'm sure if the bank just interviewed us as normal human beings, we would be approved for just about any house we wanted on charm and savvy alone. Mucking up said interview with credit scores, income, taxes, etc. etc. makes it a bit more difficult though.
So do you determine whether you're a man or a woman by credit score? I imagine real adults have credit scores surpassing 900.
Remember when graduating from college seemed like such a big deal? What about getting your driver's license? I suppose you could use milestones like these to determine when you step into adulthood as well. Perhaps it's when you realize that you can't do whatever you want, or be whoever you want to be, and realize that they were kind of lying to you as a kid when they said your potential is endless. Because honestly, it has to stop at some point! Don't get me wrong, I think my potential by far surpasses being a resident manager, that's not to say that I can call up NASA and tell them I'm joining the space program tomorrow, does it?
For me, the answer to the question at hand really depends on the day. There are some days I'm a woman, where I am an outstanding adult making healthy grownup decisions and eating broccoli on purpose. But there are other days that I am around 16 years old, where I want to hole up in my best friend's basement (that would be you, Monica), dip a giant spoon first in peanut butter and next in M&M's and watch Mystery Science Theater 3000 all day.
After speaking to the banker today, tomorrow will be best spent in Monica's basement.
Sincerely,
h.
2.15.2010
Random Thoughts on Derbies and Pie
Dear Readers,
Happy President's Day to you! And a belated Happy Valentine's as well! I spent the weekend with friends, family, and cooking. Although it was exhausting, it was a lot of fun.
An interesting happened to me on Friday night. I was at my dear friend Caitlyn's house, and a man I don't know (I should mention this man was wearing a khaki kilt) told me I should "join the derby". "What?" I said. Apparently his girlfriend is on the Boise roller derby team, and he thought it would be a good idea for me to try out for the team.
Let's take a look at my graceful history:
-I've fallen countless times while just walking
-Hit by a car on my bike
-The last time I put on shoes with wheels was over 10 years ago and it ended with me falling in front of a large crowd of people who said "ow" in unison
-Broke my leg first time skiing (which led to 2 knee surgeries)
That's just what I can remember. I've whacked my head pretty hard a few times and it's very possible that I have lasting brain damage. Shay also pointed out to me that laying in bed hurts my old lady hip, not to mention walking. Assuming that logical advice is the best advice to follow, I'm going to surmise that avoiding roller derby whether as a participant or a spectator is probably the best thing for everyone. But thanks guy, I appreciate the suggestion.
With the exception of the idea to join "the derby", I had several people once again tell me that I should open a bakery. Are you sick of hearing about this yet? I hope not, because it will be a topic of conversation for a while. I made mini-blueberry pies, petite sugar cookies with vanilla frosting, and devil's food cupcakes with chocolate ganache frosting. I had a really good response from my goodies from perfect strangers, which I always enjoy. Not to discount the opinions of my loved ones, but they're required to be somewhat nice to me. Having a stranger pop a little pie in their mouth and say "That's amazing!" when they're not bound by friendship is a true compliment. I'm just waiting for the day that a stranger pops one my little treats in their mouth and says, "I want to give you $10,000 to open a bakery right now!".
One more little note, I just need to give my husband a shout out. We normally don't celebrate Valentine's Day, but this year Shay brought me flowers. It's stupid, but the sentiment was so sweet and heartfelt I can't help but smile every time I look at them. I'm very fortunate to have so a wonderful and thoughtful person in my life! If only he could say the same about me...
Sincerely,
h.
Happy President's Day to you! And a belated Happy Valentine's as well! I spent the weekend with friends, family, and cooking. Although it was exhausting, it was a lot of fun.
An interesting happened to me on Friday night. I was at my dear friend Caitlyn's house, and a man I don't know (I should mention this man was wearing a khaki kilt) told me I should "join the derby". "What?" I said. Apparently his girlfriend is on the Boise roller derby team, and he thought it would be a good idea for me to try out for the team.
Let's take a look at my graceful history:
-I've fallen countless times while just walking
-Hit by a car on my bike
-The last time I put on shoes with wheels was over 10 years ago and it ended with me falling in front of a large crowd of people who said "ow" in unison
-Broke my leg first time skiing (which led to 2 knee surgeries)
That's just what I can remember. I've whacked my head pretty hard a few times and it's very possible that I have lasting brain damage. Shay also pointed out to me that laying in bed hurts my old lady hip, not to mention walking. Assuming that logical advice is the best advice to follow, I'm going to surmise that avoiding roller derby whether as a participant or a spectator is probably the best thing for everyone. But thanks guy, I appreciate the suggestion.
With the exception of the idea to join "the derby", I had several people once again tell me that I should open a bakery. Are you sick of hearing about this yet? I hope not, because it will be a topic of conversation for a while. I made mini-blueberry pies, petite sugar cookies with vanilla frosting, and devil's food cupcakes with chocolate ganache frosting. I had a really good response from my goodies from perfect strangers, which I always enjoy. Not to discount the opinions of my loved ones, but they're required to be somewhat nice to me. Having a stranger pop a little pie in their mouth and say "That's amazing!" when they're not bound by friendship is a true compliment. I'm just waiting for the day that a stranger pops one my little treats in their mouth and says, "I want to give you $10,000 to open a bakery right now!".
One more little note, I just need to give my husband a shout out. We normally don't celebrate Valentine's Day, but this year Shay brought me flowers. It's stupid, but the sentiment was so sweet and heartfelt I can't help but smile every time I look at them. I'm very fortunate to have so a wonderful and thoughtful person in my life! If only he could say the same about me...
Sincerely,
h.
2.10.2010
INTEGRILUTION!
Dear Readers,
There are times in life that we make mistakes. It happens all the time, every day almost. Forgetting your mom's birthday. Burning a dozen cookies. Talking on the phone while driving a causing a wreck. Or occasionally, you leave your backpack in one of the theater rooms at the Holocaust Museum and it causes a bomb scare that requires an entire evacuation, a bomb squad, and a trained dog to resolve the situation. Whatever the mistake may be, I implore you as responsible adults to do me a favor:
Accept Responsibility.
I'm losing tolerance for the human race, and the reason why all stems back to a sincere lack of integrity. Really, the one thing that we all have in common with each other is that none of us are immune from being stupid from time to time. The thing that I don't understand is how we as a society have made up so many excuses to cover up those mistakes that we've lost the grace and ability to stand up and say, "You know, I messed up. I'm sorry. What can I do to fix it?" People aren't always going to understand, and they're not always going to forgive you. But if you made a mistake, if you caused someone or something harm in any respect, even if you knowingly and willingly make a choice that goes ari, take the first opportunity to make it right.
I apologize for the lecture. I don't attend church so I have to get preachy through my blog, I guess. But I'm trying to start a revolution, an "integrilution" if you will (if you won't, I understand...it's a stretch as far as made up words go). Be the bigger person. Put on your big boy or girl or unisex panties. Use expletives in lieu of "messed up" if you need to (I'd give better examples, but my mom reads this). Whatever you need to do instead of making excuses and trying to get out of the consequences, just do it. You'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you're human and you've got no one to blame but you. Funny enough, it's more rewarding then you'd think.
Sincerely,
h.
There are times in life that we make mistakes. It happens all the time, every day almost. Forgetting your mom's birthday. Burning a dozen cookies. Talking on the phone while driving a causing a wreck. Or occasionally, you leave your backpack in one of the theater rooms at the Holocaust Museum and it causes a bomb scare that requires an entire evacuation, a bomb squad, and a trained dog to resolve the situation. Whatever the mistake may be, I implore you as responsible adults to do me a favor:
Accept Responsibility.
I'm losing tolerance for the human race, and the reason why all stems back to a sincere lack of integrity. Really, the one thing that we all have in common with each other is that none of us are immune from being stupid from time to time. The thing that I don't understand is how we as a society have made up so many excuses to cover up those mistakes that we've lost the grace and ability to stand up and say, "You know, I messed up. I'm sorry. What can I do to fix it?" People aren't always going to understand, and they're not always going to forgive you. But if you made a mistake, if you caused someone or something harm in any respect, even if you knowingly and willingly make a choice that goes ari, take the first opportunity to make it right.
I apologize for the lecture. I don't attend church so I have to get preachy through my blog, I guess. But I'm trying to start a revolution, an "integrilution" if you will (if you won't, I understand...it's a stretch as far as made up words go). Be the bigger person. Put on your big boy or girl or unisex panties. Use expletives in lieu of "messed up" if you need to (I'd give better examples, but my mom reads this). Whatever you need to do instead of making excuses and trying to get out of the consequences, just do it. You'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you're human and you've got no one to blame but you. Funny enough, it's more rewarding then you'd think.
Sincerely,
h.
2.07.2010
Sitting With a Six Year Old
Dear Readers,
Well, the dream is over. I'm healing, as promised, and should be heading back to work tomorrow. I wish it were to my kitchen to bake instead of my office, but alas that is not my reality as of yet. I can't say that I haven't somewhat enjoyed laying around for the past several days though, because I absolutely have. Sure it's been somewhat painful, and most of it was lost in a drug haze, but hanging out with my family everyday has been really nice.
Today, for instance, was spent mostly with Lucas on the couch. He was feeling a little under the weather too, which meant that he wanted me to cuddle with him. What joy! What rapture! The bigger he gets, the less he wants to sit close to me, so when he welcomes it I take full advantage. I let him choose a movie, and we watched "Batman and Robin". This is the Batman that stars George Clooney, Chris O'Donnell, Arnold Schwarzenager (sp?), Alicia Silverstone, and Uma Thurman. I've seen some pretty lame movies in my time, but this one tops the charts. It was so stupid that I caught myself rolling my eyes at Yoshi (our cat), and could tell from his look that he agreed with me. Warner Brother's must have had 6 year old boys in mind for the demographic though because Lucas found it to be profoundly awesome and has been quoting the thought provoking dialogue all day. As I type this he's hiding around a corner from me with a Nerf gun in hand muttering some Iceman line under his breath about having to go to Arkum Asylum.
Those of you who have had the pleasure of meeting my son probably know what a sweet child he is. Relatively calm and collected, he's soft spoken like his dad and logical like his mom. He has an extremely dry sense of humor, has no patience for kids who throw fits, and is a real whiz at video games. Of course all parents think their kids are amazing, and I'm certainly not excluded from that group. What stands out to me as a very unique quality in Lucas is his level of compassion. His sensitivity is both a blessing and a curse, but I have no doubt that it will serve him well throughout his life. Sometimes I feel like he's growing up too fast and that he can already see through me and Shay (my sister Andrea likes to say that Lucas is raising us), but he would be too nice to say anything and will just go along with what we have planned for him.
I could write for days about my Lucas. About how proud of him I am. About how I never in a million years deserve such a wonderful child. There really isn't enough room for that though, is there? So instead I think I'll join him on the couch for another cuddle, even if it is accompanied by a crappy movie.
Sincerely,
h.
2.04.2010
From Hospital Room to the Streets of Compton
Dear Readers,
The last couple of days are a kind of blur, thanks to pain and pain killers. But there are a few happenings that I would like to share with you that I've experienced on my little vacation from reality.
First off, the St. Alphonsus surgery center is pretty high class. You get your own pre-surgery room, complete with glass doors, a shared bathroom, a small HDTV with DirectTV, and a few ceiling panels featuring photos of the tops of pine trees next to blue sky. Please note that the panels did not correspond, and had regular white panels scattered around them. I told my mom it was so you would be forced to use your imagination...a cruel trick in the hospital.
For some reason, they had me show up for my surgery at 11:00am. They didn't wheel me under the knife until 3:30pm. So with a lot of time to kill, I made friends with my nurse, Lucy, and watched a lot of tv. Lucy was from Uganda. She hummed and made quiet little jokes and was careful to tuck my prewarmed blanket all around me. Next to my mother, she's the closest I've ever come to encountering a saint.
As for television viewing, it was strange how many of the shows on featured food. Please note that I had not eaten since 9:00pm the previous night, so this was a horrible way to treat a hungry Badger girl. None the less, I still got some enjoyment out of watching a show on the Travel Channel about sandwiches. It really grossed my mom and I out, watching people gorge themselves on ridiculously huge piles of meat in between two measly pieces of bread. My favorite featured sandwich was a BLT that had 20 strips (or 2 lbs) of bacon on it. I love bacon as much as the next guy, but is two pounds in a meal really necessary? The restaurant owner when asked about it just chuckled and said, "I like my customers to leave full and happy.". It almost seems like a form of assisted suicide to me.
My other experience I'd like to share was my viewing of "Boyz in da Hood". Shay and I came across this title last night as we worked our way through our Netflix options. We both remember this Cuba Gooding Jr./Ice Cube flick as being extremely badass and hardcore. The sad truth of the matter was that it reminded us both of an after school special about black people. The violence was minimal, the drug use was non existent, and the action was best displayed at a barbecue scene where one of the girls insists on being called something other than a "ho". It made Compton look like a subdivision in Meridian. I guess after watching "The Wire" we'll never look at gangsta movies the same. After all, Shay and I know what it's like to be from the streets, y'all.
Sincerely,
h.
The last couple of days are a kind of blur, thanks to pain and pain killers. But there are a few happenings that I would like to share with you that I've experienced on my little vacation from reality.
First off, the St. Alphonsus surgery center is pretty high class. You get your own pre-surgery room, complete with glass doors, a shared bathroom, a small HDTV with DirectTV, and a few ceiling panels featuring photos of the tops of pine trees next to blue sky. Please note that the panels did not correspond, and had regular white panels scattered around them. I told my mom it was so you would be forced to use your imagination...a cruel trick in the hospital.
For some reason, they had me show up for my surgery at 11:00am. They didn't wheel me under the knife until 3:30pm. So with a lot of time to kill, I made friends with my nurse, Lucy, and watched a lot of tv. Lucy was from Uganda. She hummed and made quiet little jokes and was careful to tuck my prewarmed blanket all around me. Next to my mother, she's the closest I've ever come to encountering a saint.
As for television viewing, it was strange how many of the shows on featured food. Please note that I had not eaten since 9:00pm the previous night, so this was a horrible way to treat a hungry Badger girl. None the less, I still got some enjoyment out of watching a show on the Travel Channel about sandwiches. It really grossed my mom and I out, watching people gorge themselves on ridiculously huge piles of meat in between two measly pieces of bread. My favorite featured sandwich was a BLT that had 20 strips (or 2 lbs) of bacon on it. I love bacon as much as the next guy, but is two pounds in a meal really necessary? The restaurant owner when asked about it just chuckled and said, "I like my customers to leave full and happy.". It almost seems like a form of assisted suicide to me.
My other experience I'd like to share was my viewing of "Boyz in da Hood". Shay and I came across this title last night as we worked our way through our Netflix options. We both remember this Cuba Gooding Jr./Ice Cube flick as being extremely badass and hardcore. The sad truth of the matter was that it reminded us both of an after school special about black people. The violence was minimal, the drug use was non existent, and the action was best displayed at a barbecue scene where one of the girls insists on being called something other than a "ho". It made Compton look like a subdivision in Meridian. I guess after watching "The Wire" we'll never look at gangsta movies the same. After all, Shay and I know what it's like to be from the streets, y'all.
Sincerely,
h.
2.01.2010
Lessons in Shopping
Dear Readers,
I went to the hobby store with Shay and Lucas yesterday. By hobby store, I mean the market place for the socially awkward and slightly eccentric.
When you enter the store, it seems relatively harmless. Different painting projects and small toys greet you. But as you head into the heart of the store, you find yourself surrounded by dragon figurines, model trains, very realistic looking toy guns, and model remote control planes from the very small to the ridiculously large soar overhead. They have aisles dedicated to Dungeons and Dragons, model glue, and really strange and unheard of boardgames. Did you know that you can create your own miniature universe with miniature Star Wars figures? I didn't, until Hobby Town U.S.A. told me differently.
The most intriguing part of Hobby Town were the people. It gave me a whole new understanding of geekhood. You have the model train geeks, usually middle aged divorced men that wear t-shirts that say things about their ex-wives. Next in line are the real looking toy gun boys, who wear camo and reminded me a lot of Dwight from The Office. The model airplane guys take life too seriously. The board game guys aren't too bad, but you'll never see them at a hip club. But the D&D and other roleplaying geeks are in their own world...speaking with stereotypical nerdy voices, wearing taped glasses, and using correct enunciation of elven languages.
I should, at this point, let you know that I was the only female in the place. Just my very presence seemed to make the entire store nervous. Being married to Shay and surrounded by my sweet nerdy friends I've learned to speak in geek terms, but my attempts to communicate with the Hobby Town natives just made them anxious. No eye contact was made, nor friendships for that matter.
Earlier in the day we went to Costco. I can break that crowd down too; there are the jerks, the pushy people, the people who have too many kids and can't control them, the people who will run you down to get a giant pumpkin pie even though there are still 50 left, the people who don't know how to go with the cart flow, and the people sitting in the food court eating hot dogs as fast as they can. There are a few normal people here and there, and a few niceties are passed along. For the most part, it's a store full of anxiety and stress.
After thinking about the experiences I had in both stores, I've realized that my inner Costco shopper has crushed my inner Hobby Town shopper, and it made me feel a little sad. Why must I fight my way through the crowds in a walk in vegetable cooler when I could take my sweet time picking the perfect color to paint my model train engine? Perhaps we high anxiety types could learn a lesson or two from our nerdly counterparts. Maybe we should take time to stop and smell the model glue.
Sincerely,
h.
I went to the hobby store with Shay and Lucas yesterday. By hobby store, I mean the market place for the socially awkward and slightly eccentric.
When you enter the store, it seems relatively harmless. Different painting projects and small toys greet you. But as you head into the heart of the store, you find yourself surrounded by dragon figurines, model trains, very realistic looking toy guns, and model remote control planes from the very small to the ridiculously large soar overhead. They have aisles dedicated to Dungeons and Dragons, model glue, and really strange and unheard of boardgames. Did you know that you can create your own miniature universe with miniature Star Wars figures? I didn't, until Hobby Town U.S.A. told me differently.
The most intriguing part of Hobby Town were the people. It gave me a whole new understanding of geekhood. You have the model train geeks, usually middle aged divorced men that wear t-shirts that say things about their ex-wives. Next in line are the real looking toy gun boys, who wear camo and reminded me a lot of Dwight from The Office. The model airplane guys take life too seriously. The board game guys aren't too bad, but you'll never see them at a hip club. But the D&D and other roleplaying geeks are in their own world...speaking with stereotypical nerdy voices, wearing taped glasses, and using correct enunciation of elven languages.
I should, at this point, let you know that I was the only female in the place. Just my very presence seemed to make the entire store nervous. Being married to Shay and surrounded by my sweet nerdy friends I've learned to speak in geek terms, but my attempts to communicate with the Hobby Town natives just made them anxious. No eye contact was made, nor friendships for that matter.
Earlier in the day we went to Costco. I can break that crowd down too; there are the jerks, the pushy people, the people who have too many kids and can't control them, the people who will run you down to get a giant pumpkin pie even though there are still 50 left, the people who don't know how to go with the cart flow, and the people sitting in the food court eating hot dogs as fast as they can. There are a few normal people here and there, and a few niceties are passed along. For the most part, it's a store full of anxiety and stress.
After thinking about the experiences I had in both stores, I've realized that my inner Costco shopper has crushed my inner Hobby Town shopper, and it made me feel a little sad. Why must I fight my way through the crowds in a walk in vegetable cooler when I could take my sweet time picking the perfect color to paint my model train engine? Perhaps we high anxiety types could learn a lesson or two from our nerdly counterparts. Maybe we should take time to stop and smell the model glue.
Sincerely,
h.
1.30.2010
A Sad Apology
Dear Readers,
I apologize for not keeping up with my blog this past week, I just never got caught up enough at work or at home to be able to sit down long enough to think of something clever to write. It's possible that I may have just exhausted all of my cleverness too, but I'll do my best to muster some tidbit of wit from the ashtray of my mind.
Just to give you an idea of how lost my normal self is, I just selected a romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant to watch tonight. Weird.
Last night we ended the work week on a high note by getting all dressed up for a cocktail party. I got to wear my yellow dress, and it was by far the highlight of my week. Not only did my husband think I was beautiful, but a couple of strangers thought so too. I love it when Shay tells me I look pretty, but let's face it, I look pretty to him any time I step out of my "casual wear" and put on a clean shirt. But for a man that I don't know whom seems reasonably sober to step up to me and say, "You look incredible," it really meant something to me. Although it will be another day or two before my hip's in workable order again, it was worth walking around in heels all night.
So, I have now reached a new level of exhaustion, and will end this note for now. Please look forward to my upcoming posts, as I'm having my surgery on Tuesday and will be writing some rather creative drug induced pieces.
Sincerely,
h.
I apologize for not keeping up with my blog this past week, I just never got caught up enough at work or at home to be able to sit down long enough to think of something clever to write. It's possible that I may have just exhausted all of my cleverness too, but I'll do my best to muster some tidbit of wit from the ashtray of my mind.
Just to give you an idea of how lost my normal self is, I just selected a romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant to watch tonight. Weird.
Last night we ended the work week on a high note by getting all dressed up for a cocktail party. I got to wear my yellow dress, and it was by far the highlight of my week. Not only did my husband think I was beautiful, but a couple of strangers thought so too. I love it when Shay tells me I look pretty, but let's face it, I look pretty to him any time I step out of my "casual wear" and put on a clean shirt. But for a man that I don't know whom seems reasonably sober to step up to me and say, "You look incredible," it really meant something to me. Although it will be another day or two before my hip's in workable order again, it was worth walking around in heels all night.
So, I have now reached a new level of exhaustion, and will end this note for now. Please look forward to my upcoming posts, as I'm having my surgery on Tuesday and will be writing some rather creative drug induced pieces.
Sincerely,
h.
1.27.2010
Dreams of Sleep
Dear Readers,
I distinctly remember being a child that hated to take naps. I found them to be a ridiculous waste of time, and I was forever fighting them. Early bedtimes were a nuisance as well. It seemed like the party started after we went to bed at 8:00pm! After all, why would mom and dad be so anxious for us to go to sleep if there wasn't something awesome going on?
My sister Kate and I shared a room during our childhood. Our twin beds ran parallel to each other, and we spent many a night practicing our acrobatic skills as quietly as possible. In all honesty, it's the only time that we really got along. We'd make each other laugh so hysterically that we'd have to bite our pillows to muffle the joy. And if Kate fell asleep before me, I always had my trusty flashlight and a book. To this day I still read every night before bed, I guess old habits die hard.
Oh, how times have changed. I'm only halfway kidding when I say that today I would commit murder if it meant I could sleep for a half hour this afternoon. And when my clock hits 9:30pm, I'm excited to go to bed! Last week I stayed out talking to some friends until midnight, and I thought I was going to die. I can just picture my younger self shaking her head with a "you're so pathetic" look on her face. Whatever, young self, you don't know what your missing.
Sincerely,
h.
I distinctly remember being a child that hated to take naps. I found them to be a ridiculous waste of time, and I was forever fighting them. Early bedtimes were a nuisance as well. It seemed like the party started after we went to bed at 8:00pm! After all, why would mom and dad be so anxious for us to go to sleep if there wasn't something awesome going on?
My sister Kate and I shared a room during our childhood. Our twin beds ran parallel to each other, and we spent many a night practicing our acrobatic skills as quietly as possible. In all honesty, it's the only time that we really got along. We'd make each other laugh so hysterically that we'd have to bite our pillows to muffle the joy. And if Kate fell asleep before me, I always had my trusty flashlight and a book. To this day I still read every night before bed, I guess old habits die hard.
Oh, how times have changed. I'm only halfway kidding when I say that today I would commit murder if it meant I could sleep for a half hour this afternoon. And when my clock hits 9:30pm, I'm excited to go to bed! Last week I stayed out talking to some friends until midnight, and I thought I was going to die. I can just picture my younger self shaking her head with a "you're so pathetic" look on her face. Whatever, young self, you don't know what your missing.
Sincerely,
h.
1.23.2010
M is for Meringue Cupcakes
Dear Readers,
Today I did something wonderful. I made a cupcake like one I've never made before. Meringue cupcakes with fresh strawberry and raspberry compote and finished with a little whipped creme fraiche.
The downside to making these cupcakes is that they take over 3 hours to bake (not to mention a good 45 minutes of prep), are EXTREMELY fragile to work with, and after all that hard work you'll only end up with about a dozen cupcakes. Because they're so fragile, I only ended up with 7 workable cupcakes.
The upside to these cupcakes: they taste amazing. The meringue is crispy, yet it melts in your mouth like a sweet treat from heaven. The berry compote is just the right combination of tart and sweet and compliments the melting sugar sensation you get from the cake. And the creme fraiche (french sour cream) adds just a tad of savory to calm the sweet.
Shay, Chris, Lucas, and myself taste tested these divine morsels, and the verdict is:
Chris: 15 thumbs up. He said it's the best treat I've ever made.
Shay: Delicious, but a bit to sweet and rich for his tastes. He finished it though.
Lucas: Yum.
Heather: Although I typically prefer a chocolate dessert, this cupcake had such a variety of flavors and textures that I could never turn it down.
Please note that this is not a recipe for the weak hearted baker. Meringue is very temperamental and requires more patience than a two year child with ADD.
All in all, it was a Saturday well spent!
Sincerely,
h.
1.22.2010
The Land of the Free, the Home of the Billion Dollar Corporations
Dear Readers,
Now what sort of a blue blooded Democrat would I be if I didn't express my utter distaste and annoyance at our Supreme Courts decision to allow corporations to give as much money as they like to campaigning? Personally, I feel we've reached an all time low in our country if this is what's acceptable. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure even some of my republican friends would agree with me on this.
The minute that we open the floodgates of open campaign contributions from the wealthiest conglomerates in the nation is the minute that you and I as the voting public give up our voice. It's amazing what dollars and cents can buy you these days, and even the presidency has a price that someone can afford. Just imagine the kind of money Sarah Palin will get from the oil companies. Hell, the insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies won't even need special interest lobbyists working for them any more, they'll pay to have the White House and Capitol filled with the leaders of their choosing.
Am I being a bit too doomsday here? Does it sound like I've opened a Bible to Revelations? Maybe it does. It's against my nature to be so pessimistic. But I can't help but feel let down. Occasionally I make the mistake of thinking that my voice matters, that somewhere along the way I will be able to make a difference; it's always disheartening to be reminded that I'm only fooling myself. Democracy is just a word after all, an idea at most. It could be a tyranny, and oligarchy, even communistic and it would be the same at this point.
I'm a patriotic American. I love my country. I know what people have gone through to become citizens of this nation. I appreciate our troops both present and past who fought and died for our freedom. And that is why I feel obliged to say: give the country back to it's people. We may squabble over the details, but that's our business, not the business of corporations and self interest groups. President Obama inspired us with visions of hope and change, and I haven't let those visions go. However, unless we as everyday citizens band together and make our voice one that's loud and clear, we can let go of those ideas. So on the count of three, everyone yell "GIVE US BACK OUR COUNTRY!". It's worth a shot, isn't it?
Sincerely,
h.
Now what sort of a blue blooded Democrat would I be if I didn't express my utter distaste and annoyance at our Supreme Courts decision to allow corporations to give as much money as they like to campaigning? Personally, I feel we've reached an all time low in our country if this is what's acceptable. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure even some of my republican friends would agree with me on this.
The minute that we open the floodgates of open campaign contributions from the wealthiest conglomerates in the nation is the minute that you and I as the voting public give up our voice. It's amazing what dollars and cents can buy you these days, and even the presidency has a price that someone can afford. Just imagine the kind of money Sarah Palin will get from the oil companies. Hell, the insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies won't even need special interest lobbyists working for them any more, they'll pay to have the White House and Capitol filled with the leaders of their choosing.
Am I being a bit too doomsday here? Does it sound like I've opened a Bible to Revelations? Maybe it does. It's against my nature to be so pessimistic. But I can't help but feel let down. Occasionally I make the mistake of thinking that my voice matters, that somewhere along the way I will be able to make a difference; it's always disheartening to be reminded that I'm only fooling myself. Democracy is just a word after all, an idea at most. It could be a tyranny, and oligarchy, even communistic and it would be the same at this point.
I'm a patriotic American. I love my country. I know what people have gone through to become citizens of this nation. I appreciate our troops both present and past who fought and died for our freedom. And that is why I feel obliged to say: give the country back to it's people. We may squabble over the details, but that's our business, not the business of corporations and self interest groups. President Obama inspired us with visions of hope and change, and I haven't let those visions go. However, unless we as everyday citizens band together and make our voice one that's loud and clear, we can let go of those ideas. So on the count of three, everyone yell "GIVE US BACK OUR COUNTRY!". It's worth a shot, isn't it?
Sincerely,
h.
1.21.2010
Ode to Dr. Carlson
Dear Readers,
Today was a good day. Why? Because I got to visit my gynecologist, Dr. Carlson. Dr. Carlson has been in my life for several years, and is just about the greatest man (if not the greatest man) on the face of the planet. None of my other doctors hug me when I come in their office. None of my other doctors offer to push back their next appointment so they can hang out a chat with me. And none of my other doctors make me feel so well liked and comfortable, and I'm usually fully clothed in their office.
So what is it about Dr. Carlson that makes him so wonderful? My friend Andrew pointed out today that I'm the only girl he knows that gets excited about going in for her annual exam. I feel bad that other women don't have the comfort and confidence in their OB-GYN. And I know I'm not alone in my love for Dr. C., my sister Andrea is a member of his fan club, as well as some of our other friends. He's finally been in practice long enough now that he's not taking any new patients...I love the idea that he belongs to just a select few of us now and is no longer a public commodity.
Shay understands that should Dr. Carlson ask for my hand in marriage, I would be obliged to accept. It's not that I don't love Shay, I do with most of my heart. But I've known Dr. Carlson longer than I've known him, and I gave him a piece of my heart the first time I walked in his exam room.
And so this exceptionally lame blog is dedicated to Dr. Carlson, whom I wish I could write about in a sing-songy tone, but my heart song just doesn't want to transpire to a basic essay script. Much love, Dr. Carlson.
Sincerely,
h.
Today was a good day. Why? Because I got to visit my gynecologist, Dr. Carlson. Dr. Carlson has been in my life for several years, and is just about the greatest man (if not the greatest man) on the face of the planet. None of my other doctors hug me when I come in their office. None of my other doctors offer to push back their next appointment so they can hang out a chat with me. And none of my other doctors make me feel so well liked and comfortable, and I'm usually fully clothed in their office.
So what is it about Dr. Carlson that makes him so wonderful? My friend Andrew pointed out today that I'm the only girl he knows that gets excited about going in for her annual exam. I feel bad that other women don't have the comfort and confidence in their OB-GYN. And I know I'm not alone in my love for Dr. C., my sister Andrea is a member of his fan club, as well as some of our other friends. He's finally been in practice long enough now that he's not taking any new patients...I love the idea that he belongs to just a select few of us now and is no longer a public commodity.
Shay understands that should Dr. Carlson ask for my hand in marriage, I would be obliged to accept. It's not that I don't love Shay, I do with most of my heart. But I've known Dr. Carlson longer than I've known him, and I gave him a piece of my heart the first time I walked in his exam room.
And so this exceptionally lame blog is dedicated to Dr. Carlson, whom I wish I could write about in a sing-songy tone, but my heart song just doesn't want to transpire to a basic essay script. Much love, Dr. Carlson.
Sincerely,
h.
1.20.2010
You're Hired!
Dear Readers,
I've been put in charge of hiring a new employee for our company. Specifically, a new property manager. This is more fun than I thought it would be, as I get to go through all of the resumes and do all of the initial interviews with my own questions. Of course, the things I want to ask have nothing to do with the job itself, but I think they're reasonable none the less. For example:
Have you ever found yourself in a compromising position which caused you to lose your friends and family?
or
Should we walk into your apartment unannounced, what kind of literature would be on your coffee table?
I very badly wanted to put something in the job posting about how I will only interview people who turn in creative resumes, or who comment on my clever use of the word "ambiguity" in the ad. I also wanted to ad that I prefer not to waste my time interviewing idiots or republicans (which I don't always assume to be synonymous, mind you), but my inner voice told me that I might get in trouble for that.
I've never found myself to be envious of Donald Trump, but I would really like to handle this process like he does on national television. I don't know that the networks would pick up a spin off of "The Apprentice" that revolves around a property manager in Boise that makes less than $30,000 a year. It's a better idea than the Jay Leno Show, at least (zing!).
Anyhow, I'll keep you posted on the resumes I receive and how the interviews go. I know while I worked at Starbucks, conducting job interviews gave me some of my best stories. So until then, I remain
Sincere,
h.
I've been put in charge of hiring a new employee for our company. Specifically, a new property manager. This is more fun than I thought it would be, as I get to go through all of the resumes and do all of the initial interviews with my own questions. Of course, the things I want to ask have nothing to do with the job itself, but I think they're reasonable none the less. For example:
Have you ever found yourself in a compromising position which caused you to lose your friends and family?
or
Should we walk into your apartment unannounced, what kind of literature would be on your coffee table?
I very badly wanted to put something in the job posting about how I will only interview people who turn in creative resumes, or who comment on my clever use of the word "ambiguity" in the ad. I also wanted to ad that I prefer not to waste my time interviewing idiots or republicans (which I don't always assume to be synonymous, mind you), but my inner voice told me that I might get in trouble for that.
I've never found myself to be envious of Donald Trump, but I would really like to handle this process like he does on national television. I don't know that the networks would pick up a spin off of "The Apprentice" that revolves around a property manager in Boise that makes less than $30,000 a year. It's a better idea than the Jay Leno Show, at least (zing!).
Anyhow, I'll keep you posted on the resumes I receive and how the interviews go. I know while I worked at Starbucks, conducting job interviews gave me some of my best stories. So until then, I remain
Sincere,
h.
1.19.2010
Closer to 40
Dear Readers,
Last night I had insomnia, and I had a lot of random thoughts running through my head. The thought that stuck with me until today was that I'm 30. I've known this for a while now, but I didn't realize that 30 puts me closer to 40 than 18 until last night. Two things really struck me about this: 1) I did math without having a good reason to and 2) I've never pictured myself at 40, and it's coming all to quickly.
With that in mind, today I went to Anthropologie to visit my friend Jenny. While there, she reminded me that I need a nice dress for a cocktail party I'm going to soon. Please know that 99% of my wardrobe consists of clothes I've bought at either Target or Old Navy, and 99% of those are over a year old. I buy one pair of shoes a year (just got a pair of Danskos that I'm hoping will last two years instead). I haven't paid full price for a dress since I got married. So anyway, here I am in Anthropologie, with a dressing room full of dresses that Jenny has picked out for me to try on. Knowing how cheap I am, she made sure the dresses were on sale.
But Jenny is sly.
Intermingled with the sale dresses is this yellow number that I eye with suspicion. Yellow is my favorite color, but it's never been one that I pull off well. Regardless of my initial reaction, I try the dress on. All of the sudden, I'm not a 30 year old that's closer to 40 than 18. Heck, I'm not even a mom with piles of laundry at home, or a slum lord with tenants to clean up after. I am young, I am beautiful, I am back to the size I was before husband or baby, and I look amazing in the color yellow. I walk out of my dressing room, and Jenny and our friend Alexa start yelling "Yes! Yes! This is the dress! Yes!".
It's full price.
After having a counseling session with Jenny and Alexa, and then calling Shay, the consensus was in: I had just enough Christmas money left to pay for it. And pay for it I did.
I'm in love with a dress, and I don't care who knows it!
Sincerely,
Heather
1.18.2010
Lemon
Dear Readers,
Today Lucas was eating a pudding snack, his new favorite thing. As he was dipping his spoon into the pudding he said, "Hey Mom! Do you know what you get when you mix white and yellow?" To which I replied, "No, what?" And with a big smile on his face he pronounced "Lemon!". It wasn't the answer I was expecting, but it was the answer that made me laugh. I think I'm going to use the word "lemon" to answer a lot of questions now.
How are you? Lemon.
How much money do you make? Lemon.
How do you feel about the economy? Lemon.
See, it works in any situation!
Speaking of lemons, doesn't a lemon meringue cupcake sound good? I went into the hospital today to get my blood work done for my upcoming surgery. As the nurse was digging the needle into my arm ("Usually this isn't so hard for me!" she said), she asked me what I was looking forward to eating after having my gallbladder out. Of course pie and cupcakes were my answers. After I said those words, we became great friends.
This is why I want to open a bakery. There are very few people that talk about pie and cupcakes and become depressed as a result of it. What would life be like if your job was to make people happy? One day...
Sincerely,
h.
Today Lucas was eating a pudding snack, his new favorite thing. As he was dipping his spoon into the pudding he said, "Hey Mom! Do you know what you get when you mix white and yellow?" To which I replied, "No, what?" And with a big smile on his face he pronounced "Lemon!". It wasn't the answer I was expecting, but it was the answer that made me laugh. I think I'm going to use the word "lemon" to answer a lot of questions now.
How are you? Lemon.
How much money do you make? Lemon.
How do you feel about the economy? Lemon.
See, it works in any situation!
Speaking of lemons, doesn't a lemon meringue cupcake sound good? I went into the hospital today to get my blood work done for my upcoming surgery. As the nurse was digging the needle into my arm ("Usually this isn't so hard for me!" she said), she asked me what I was looking forward to eating after having my gallbladder out. Of course pie and cupcakes were my answers. After I said those words, we became great friends.
This is why I want to open a bakery. There are very few people that talk about pie and cupcakes and become depressed as a result of it. What would life be like if your job was to make people happy? One day...
Sincerely,
h.
1.16.2010
Bread and Gravy
Dear Readers,
When I was little, I loved hanging out with my Grandma Hazel and Grandpa Cal. Their cinderblock house still holds many of my favorite memories. Good times, wonderful family, amazing food. At their house I learned how to drink a Pepsi, shoot a B.B. gun, climb on a cement mixer, and that if you run out of meat and potatoes you can use extra gravy on a slice of bread and enjoy it just as much. All lessons that have come in handy at one time or another, particularly the bread and gravy trick.
A big chunk of my time at Grandma and Grandpa's was spent with my sisters and cousins. There were five of us girls that were close in age, and together we made the K.A.A.S.H. Club (Kate, Andrea, Adriana, Sarah, Heather). Andrea was the self-proclaimed leader of the group. Our club met in various places: the pantry, the yellow bedroom, the office, and finally an abandoned horse trailer. For having no real function, we were very organized. Andrea made folders, and we each took turns writing news letters. Our two major functions every year were Christmas and our family reunion always held at Banbury Hot Springs.
When it came time in June to head to Banbury, it was simply the most exciting time of the year. Since a young age it has been my "happy spot", the place my mom would tell me to go to in my mind when I was overwhelmed with stress or anxiety. I can picture the Snake River, wide and smooth. The tall ancient trees that loomed over the camp ground. The rock that sat next to the fire pit. The sound of the bug zapper next to the shockingly white bathrooms. The stillness of the swimming pool with the log floating in the middle before they would let us in to spend our entire day there. Even writing about it makes me dizzy with nostalgia!
The K.A.A.S.H. Club had t-shirts made up for this special time of year, a long with itineraries, pool events, and award ceremonies. We excluded those who weren't official members, honestly thought that we might have a future in synchronized swimming, and ate more s'mores than a football team could handle.
This last year we had a reunion at Banbury again. It was so fantastic to be with family that I haven't spent time with in a long time. We were missing the second A. in K.A.A.S.H, but the rest of us had fun catching up. We got to reunite with some family that was much missed. And although there was some awkwardness, overall it was a rewarding experience. I hope to do it again this year, with even more family. I know it would make Grandma and Grandpa happy to think of us all getting together, and since we can't do Christmas at their house anymore, why not Banbury? If for any other reason, we can all have a giant ice cream cone and a pile of s'mores.
Sincerely,
h.
When I was little, I loved hanging out with my Grandma Hazel and Grandpa Cal. Their cinderblock house still holds many of my favorite memories. Good times, wonderful family, amazing food. At their house I learned how to drink a Pepsi, shoot a B.B. gun, climb on a cement mixer, and that if you run out of meat and potatoes you can use extra gravy on a slice of bread and enjoy it just as much. All lessons that have come in handy at one time or another, particularly the bread and gravy trick.
A big chunk of my time at Grandma and Grandpa's was spent with my sisters and cousins. There were five of us girls that were close in age, and together we made the K.A.A.S.H. Club (Kate, Andrea, Adriana, Sarah, Heather). Andrea was the self-proclaimed leader of the group. Our club met in various places: the pantry, the yellow bedroom, the office, and finally an abandoned horse trailer. For having no real function, we were very organized. Andrea made folders, and we each took turns writing news letters. Our two major functions every year were Christmas and our family reunion always held at Banbury Hot Springs.
When it came time in June to head to Banbury, it was simply the most exciting time of the year. Since a young age it has been my "happy spot", the place my mom would tell me to go to in my mind when I was overwhelmed with stress or anxiety. I can picture the Snake River, wide and smooth. The tall ancient trees that loomed over the camp ground. The rock that sat next to the fire pit. The sound of the bug zapper next to the shockingly white bathrooms. The stillness of the swimming pool with the log floating in the middle before they would let us in to spend our entire day there. Even writing about it makes me dizzy with nostalgia!
The K.A.A.S.H. Club had t-shirts made up for this special time of year, a long with itineraries, pool events, and award ceremonies. We excluded those who weren't official members, honestly thought that we might have a future in synchronized swimming, and ate more s'mores than a football team could handle.
This last year we had a reunion at Banbury again. It was so fantastic to be with family that I haven't spent time with in a long time. We were missing the second A. in K.A.A.S.H, but the rest of us had fun catching up. We got to reunite with some family that was much missed. And although there was some awkwardness, overall it was a rewarding experience. I hope to do it again this year, with even more family. I know it would make Grandma and Grandpa happy to think of us all getting together, and since we can't do Christmas at their house anymore, why not Banbury? If for any other reason, we can all have a giant ice cream cone and a pile of s'mores.
Sincerely,
h.
1.15.2010
When I Grow Up...
Dear Readers,
As a child, I had a list of jobs that I felt were not only plausible, but perfectly reasonable to obtain. The list includes:
1. Astronaut (mind you, I was in Young Astronauts from 2nd-6th grade)
2. Marine Biologist
3. Olympic Athlete
4. Artist
5. Senator
Astronaut went by the wayside for two reasons: 1) my parents wouldn't pay for Space Camp and 2) I learned that there was a lot of math involved, and I really didn't have any interest in doing math.
I mistook the term "Marine Biologist" to mean that I would get to play with the dolphins and whales at Sea World. Once I learned that it was more than blowing whistles and riding Shamu (sp?) I moved on to my next career choice.
Now, I have to say that I think given the proper training and performance enhancing drugs, I would have made at least a mediocre athlete. I remember as a child setting up an entire olympic track and field event in my back yard; I used my dad's saw horses for hurdles, ran laps around the house, made a javalon out of a tree branch, and practiced my limited knowledge of gymnastics as a back up. My parents didn't have the same faith in me as an olympic contender, but they won gold medals in making fun of me.
Art was a possibility, but my sensitivity caused me to drop out of the art program at USU after 2 semesters. I wasn't too bad, at least I thought. But then I married Shay and I realized that I really sucked. Really, really sucked. I'm proud to say I haven't done a painting in close to 9 years, and I don't miss it at all.
I haven't given up on my dream of being a Senator, but there has to be some radical changes in the government as it currently stands. Plus I should probably leave Idaho (what are the chances of a ladie democrat being voted in here?), and quit my heavy drug use. Then again, George W. Bush got to be a high ranking official!
The sad reality is that I've let my childself down. I did do some things I never thought I would though, such as getting married, having Lucas, and owning a cat. And I'm pretty sure I enjoy doing those things more than I would traveling to space at this point in my life. It's strange how your priorities change the older you get. Career at one point was my central goal, and now it's just a biproduct. Regardless, I've finally settled on what I want to be when I grow up: a baker. And a good person. And a support to those who need it. And maybe a pole dancer too, but just to mix it up a bit.
Sincerely,
h.
As a child, I had a list of jobs that I felt were not only plausible, but perfectly reasonable to obtain. The list includes:
1. Astronaut (mind you, I was in Young Astronauts from 2nd-6th grade)
2. Marine Biologist
3. Olympic Athlete
4. Artist
5. Senator
Astronaut went by the wayside for two reasons: 1) my parents wouldn't pay for Space Camp and 2) I learned that there was a lot of math involved, and I really didn't have any interest in doing math.
I mistook the term "Marine Biologist" to mean that I would get to play with the dolphins and whales at Sea World. Once I learned that it was more than blowing whistles and riding Shamu (sp?) I moved on to my next career choice.
Now, I have to say that I think given the proper training and performance enhancing drugs, I would have made at least a mediocre athlete. I remember as a child setting up an entire olympic track and field event in my back yard; I used my dad's saw horses for hurdles, ran laps around the house, made a javalon out of a tree branch, and practiced my limited knowledge of gymnastics as a back up. My parents didn't have the same faith in me as an olympic contender, but they won gold medals in making fun of me.
Art was a possibility, but my sensitivity caused me to drop out of the art program at USU after 2 semesters. I wasn't too bad, at least I thought. But then I married Shay and I realized that I really sucked. Really, really sucked. I'm proud to say I haven't done a painting in close to 9 years, and I don't miss it at all.
I haven't given up on my dream of being a Senator, but there has to be some radical changes in the government as it currently stands. Plus I should probably leave Idaho (what are the chances of a ladie democrat being voted in here?), and quit my heavy drug use. Then again, George W. Bush got to be a high ranking official!
The sad reality is that I've let my childself down. I did do some things I never thought I would though, such as getting married, having Lucas, and owning a cat. And I'm pretty sure I enjoy doing those things more than I would traveling to space at this point in my life. It's strange how your priorities change the older you get. Career at one point was my central goal, and now it's just a biproduct. Regardless, I've finally settled on what I want to be when I grow up: a baker. And a good person. And a support to those who need it. And maybe a pole dancer too, but just to mix it up a bit.
Sincerely,
h.
1.14.2010
*Insert Dance Montage Here*
Dear Readers,
Last night Shay surprised me with a screening of that 80's classic, Footloose. A brilliantly made film starring Kevin Bacon, John Lithgow, Sarah Jessica Parker, and that other girl who starred in the movie but is now jealous that Sarah Jessica Parker went on to star in "Sex in the City" and not her. There are two things about this movie that particularly stand out to me: 1)This little podunk town high school has a gymnastics team and 2)that dancing was so important to the teenagers that they started a political movement over it...heck, they even read the Bible over it. I don't know about you, but in high school I don't remember attending one city council meeting, let alone getting involved with anything enough that I had to organize protesters for it. Then again, dancing was already legal in Rupert.
After watching the movie, I was laying in bed thinking about it. It occurred to me that this movie was only one of many made in the 80's that emphasized the conflict and importance of dancing. Where did this passion come from? Was it Michael Jackson's music videos, that showed the power of dance gangs? Or was it just a more peaceful time in America, where we didn't have to worry about deficits and wars and the economy, so dancing surfaced as our biggest political problem? Here are some more examples of movies I could think of where body movement was essential to the plot or used as a political protest (please feel free to remind me of those I may have forgotten):
1) Dirty Dancing
2) Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
3) The Breakfast Club
4) Flashdance
5) Fame
Okay, so I thought of more while I was in bed last night, but you get the point. Now the only time you hear of dancing is from Lady Gaga, and that's only because she's had so much to drink that she's confused and doesn't know what else to do. I would also like to point out that in the 80's movies I've seen lately, the parents are very concerned about the way the kids dress and dance, but no one really seems concerned at the amount of underage drinking and smoking that's going on. "Smoke all you want kiddo, but by george if I see you dancing I'm gonna send you to the moon!"
I think there's a valuable lesson to learn from the 80's Dance Movie genre. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's there. I'll think about it more after I get done dancing my angst out in an abandoned warehouse.
Sincerely,
h.
Last night Shay surprised me with a screening of that 80's classic, Footloose. A brilliantly made film starring Kevin Bacon, John Lithgow, Sarah Jessica Parker, and that other girl who starred in the movie but is now jealous that Sarah Jessica Parker went on to star in "Sex in the City" and not her. There are two things about this movie that particularly stand out to me: 1)This little podunk town high school has a gymnastics team and 2)that dancing was so important to the teenagers that they started a political movement over it...heck, they even read the Bible over it. I don't know about you, but in high school I don't remember attending one city council meeting, let alone getting involved with anything enough that I had to organize protesters for it. Then again, dancing was already legal in Rupert.
After watching the movie, I was laying in bed thinking about it. It occurred to me that this movie was only one of many made in the 80's that emphasized the conflict and importance of dancing. Where did this passion come from? Was it Michael Jackson's music videos, that showed the power of dance gangs? Or was it just a more peaceful time in America, where we didn't have to worry about deficits and wars and the economy, so dancing surfaced as our biggest political problem? Here are some more examples of movies I could think of where body movement was essential to the plot or used as a political protest (please feel free to remind me of those I may have forgotten):
1) Dirty Dancing
2) Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
3) The Breakfast Club
4) Flashdance
5) Fame
Okay, so I thought of more while I was in bed last night, but you get the point. Now the only time you hear of dancing is from Lady Gaga, and that's only because she's had so much to drink that she's confused and doesn't know what else to do. I would also like to point out that in the 80's movies I've seen lately, the parents are very concerned about the way the kids dress and dance, but no one really seems concerned at the amount of underage drinking and smoking that's going on. "Smoke all you want kiddo, but by george if I see you dancing I'm gonna send you to the moon!"
I think there's a valuable lesson to learn from the 80's Dance Movie genre. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's there. I'll think about it more after I get done dancing my angst out in an abandoned warehouse.
Sincerely,
h.
1.13.2010
Dear Readers,
All I've baked in the last week is one measly pie for Shay's birthday. This weather is killing my creative drive. It's time to make something, but what? Cookies? Cake? Bread takes to long, so it's not an option. It looks like tonight I need to sift through my recipes and find something that works.
One of my resident's stopped by my office the other day. She's a raw chef, meaning she makes really dull food that she tries to pass off as fancy because it costs a lot of money. She's super nice though, and I was complaining that I can't eat my baked goods until I get my gallbladder out. She totally trumped my sad low fat diet story with one of her own; her homeopathic doctor banned her from all sugar. ALL sugar. No honey, no fruit, and thankfully she already despises sugar substitutes, because she's been banned from those as well. Poor thing. At least she enjoys the challenge of finding foods she can eat, and then barely cooking them, otherwise she really wouldn't have a reason to live.
Until I'm allowed fat again, I've been trying to get my sweet fix from nonfat chocolate milk and handfuls of cereal. But it's not the same as a delicious chocolate cupcake with ganache frosting, or a slice of raisin cream pie. And have you ever heard of a fat free bread pudding? Me either. You know why? Because it would suck.
All good things include either butter, sugar, or cream. The best of things include all three. Thankfully, I just have a couple short weeks left before they rip this wretched sack of bile out of me and I can once again enjoy the treats I put so much love into. But until then, I'll barely cook some broccoli and rice and try really hard to pretend it's a splendid dessert. Let's just say I'm getting used to disappointment.
Sincerely,
h.
All I've baked in the last week is one measly pie for Shay's birthday. This weather is killing my creative drive. It's time to make something, but what? Cookies? Cake? Bread takes to long, so it's not an option. It looks like tonight I need to sift through my recipes and find something that works.
One of my resident's stopped by my office the other day. She's a raw chef, meaning she makes really dull food that she tries to pass off as fancy because it costs a lot of money. She's super nice though, and I was complaining that I can't eat my baked goods until I get my gallbladder out. She totally trumped my sad low fat diet story with one of her own; her homeopathic doctor banned her from all sugar. ALL sugar. No honey, no fruit, and thankfully she already despises sugar substitutes, because she's been banned from those as well. Poor thing. At least she enjoys the challenge of finding foods she can eat, and then barely cooking them, otherwise she really wouldn't have a reason to live.
Until I'm allowed fat again, I've been trying to get my sweet fix from nonfat chocolate milk and handfuls of cereal. But it's not the same as a delicious chocolate cupcake with ganache frosting, or a slice of raisin cream pie. And have you ever heard of a fat free bread pudding? Me either. You know why? Because it would suck.
All good things include either butter, sugar, or cream. The best of things include all three. Thankfully, I just have a couple short weeks left before they rip this wretched sack of bile out of me and I can once again enjoy the treats I put so much love into. But until then, I'll barely cook some broccoli and rice and try really hard to pretend it's a splendid dessert. Let's just say I'm getting used to disappointment.
Sincerely,
h.
1.12.2010
Heather Vs. Weather
Dear Readers,
My hip hurts. Do you know why? Because it's raining outside. And not only does my hip hurt, my knee is swollen, the joints in my hands and feet are stiff, and my head is twitching.
It is signs like these, along with my constant afflictions and love for prunes that have helped me to decide I'm the oldest 30 year old in the world.
Every few months I have to go and see a Rheumotologist because I have an auto-immune disease. In the waiting room it's me, the seemingly healthy woman, sitting in the middle of several elderly patients who bodies gave up on them a while ago. They look at me with speculation, wondering what I'm doing there. And I just want to stand up and say for all to hear, "It's okay, I'm one of you! My hip goes out when I walk up stairs and I fall over! My hands swell to the point that they're numb for several hours! I like Matlock, and am sure one day soon buffets will appeal to me!", but even if I did, they wouldn't believe me.
Instead, I appeal to my friends and husband for sympathy. If I stand up and groan because of the pain in my hip, the response is a round of laughter. When the weather changes and I can predict when it will rain or snow, I'm asked which retirement community will best suit me. And on my really bad days that I feel just awful and I have to complain, I'm reminded that there a lot of people worse off then me.
Strangely enough, it's the sarcasm and laughter and gentle reminders to be glad it's not worse that help me to get through a bad day, or even a bad rainstorm.
But dang, this rain does make my hip hurt.
Sincerely,
h.
My hip hurts. Do you know why? Because it's raining outside. And not only does my hip hurt, my knee is swollen, the joints in my hands and feet are stiff, and my head is twitching.
It is signs like these, along with my constant afflictions and love for prunes that have helped me to decide I'm the oldest 30 year old in the world.
Every few months I have to go and see a Rheumotologist because I have an auto-immune disease. In the waiting room it's me, the seemingly healthy woman, sitting in the middle of several elderly patients who bodies gave up on them a while ago. They look at me with speculation, wondering what I'm doing there. And I just want to stand up and say for all to hear, "It's okay, I'm one of you! My hip goes out when I walk up stairs and I fall over! My hands swell to the point that they're numb for several hours! I like Matlock, and am sure one day soon buffets will appeal to me!", but even if I did, they wouldn't believe me.
Instead, I appeal to my friends and husband for sympathy. If I stand up and groan because of the pain in my hip, the response is a round of laughter. When the weather changes and I can predict when it will rain or snow, I'm asked which retirement community will best suit me. And on my really bad days that I feel just awful and I have to complain, I'm reminded that there a lot of people worse off then me.
Strangely enough, it's the sarcasm and laughter and gentle reminders to be glad it's not worse that help me to get through a bad day, or even a bad rainstorm.
But dang, this rain does make my hip hurt.
Sincerely,
h.
1.11.2010
Screw You, Mercury!
Dear Readers,
I don't know if you noticed, but January has not been an easy month thus far. And it seems like every time I vent a complaint about something that happened, the response I get is "Mercury's in retrograde". So today I Googled that term, hoping to finally have an understanding of what people mean when they say that.
Apparently, Mercury is pulling back on it's axis. This messes things up for creative people. Contracts go bad, lovers break up, and appointments are missed. It's a time to avoid making decisions, doing math, and eating out. I'm not kidding when I say that I read each of these things on astrological websites today. Why can't I be told everyday to avoid doing math? And what a great excuse..."I'm sorry I missed my ________ appointment, but you see Mercury's in retrograde and it prevented me from being here.". And heaven forbid I ask my darling spouse to pick a restaurant to eat at during the retrograde, it's a double whammy to eat out and make a decision!
But fear not, Dear Readers, the retrograde is scheduled to end on January 15th. So schedule your appointments, contract signings, and love affairs later in the month, and you should be able to get through them without Mercury interfering. I can't make any promises about the rest of the solar system though...
Sincerely,
h.
I don't know if you noticed, but January has not been an easy month thus far. And it seems like every time I vent a complaint about something that happened, the response I get is "Mercury's in retrograde". So today I Googled that term, hoping to finally have an understanding of what people mean when they say that.
Apparently, Mercury is pulling back on it's axis. This messes things up for creative people. Contracts go bad, lovers break up, and appointments are missed. It's a time to avoid making decisions, doing math, and eating out. I'm not kidding when I say that I read each of these things on astrological websites today. Why can't I be told everyday to avoid doing math? And what a great excuse..."I'm sorry I missed my ________ appointment, but you see Mercury's in retrograde and it prevented me from being here.". And heaven forbid I ask my darling spouse to pick a restaurant to eat at during the retrograde, it's a double whammy to eat out and make a decision!
But fear not, Dear Readers, the retrograde is scheduled to end on January 15th. So schedule your appointments, contract signings, and love affairs later in the month, and you should be able to get through them without Mercury interfering. I can't make any promises about the rest of the solar system though...
Sincerely,
h.
1.10.2010
This I Believe
Dear Readers,
As an avid NPR fan, I was especially fond of a program called "This I Believe", a throwback to an old Edward R. Murrow show. It's a program where every day American's do a radio essay on the things they feel passionately about; patriotism, religion, grammar, etc. Because I've never been invited to announce my beliefs on national radio, I figured my blog would suffice. So here I go...
I believe there are universal virtues inherent to the the human soul: integrity, loyalty, honesty, kindness, empathy, and love. I believe that every time we lie, cheat, steal, or otherwise intentionally deny these virtue it detracts from our soul and produces a negative energy that not only wears on the person producing it, but that it adds just a little bit more chaos to the world. On the flipside, I believe that when we are selfless, stand for what's right, and try our best to be good people that our positive energy rewards us and adds a little bit of nourishment to the world. I don't believe that a religion can substitute for these virtues, nor that it's virtuous to be religious. There's a sweetness and an ingenuity to a person who is good for the sake of being good, rather than being good for the sake of the influence telling them to be good.
I believe that humankind has the ability to be as great as they choose to be. I believe that people for the most part have good intentions, although they don't always materialize that way. I believe that imagination is imperative to our success, and that education should help it to flourish rather than squander it. I believe in the power of communication, and that many of our world's problems could be solved over a cup of good coffee if we would just take the time to listen to each other.
I believe that pie is one of the greatest accomplishments of human history. I believe that Scrabble is the best board game. And I believe that I have a lot to learn about a lot of things, but not as many things as my sister Andrea would lead you to believe.
And I believe it's time to end this post.
Sincerely,
h.
As an avid NPR fan, I was especially fond of a program called "This I Believe", a throwback to an old Edward R. Murrow show. It's a program where every day American's do a radio essay on the things they feel passionately about; patriotism, religion, grammar, etc. Because I've never been invited to announce my beliefs on national radio, I figured my blog would suffice. So here I go...
I believe there are universal virtues inherent to the the human soul: integrity, loyalty, honesty, kindness, empathy, and love. I believe that every time we lie, cheat, steal, or otherwise intentionally deny these virtue it detracts from our soul and produces a negative energy that not only wears on the person producing it, but that it adds just a little bit more chaos to the world. On the flipside, I believe that when we are selfless, stand for what's right, and try our best to be good people that our positive energy rewards us and adds a little bit of nourishment to the world. I don't believe that a religion can substitute for these virtues, nor that it's virtuous to be religious. There's a sweetness and an ingenuity to a person who is good for the sake of being good, rather than being good for the sake of the influence telling them to be good.
I believe that humankind has the ability to be as great as they choose to be. I believe that people for the most part have good intentions, although they don't always materialize that way. I believe that imagination is imperative to our success, and that education should help it to flourish rather than squander it. I believe in the power of communication, and that many of our world's problems could be solved over a cup of good coffee if we would just take the time to listen to each other.
I believe that pie is one of the greatest accomplishments of human history. I believe that Scrabble is the best board game. And I believe that I have a lot to learn about a lot of things, but not as many things as my sister Andrea would lead you to believe.
And I believe it's time to end this post.
Sincerely,
h.
1.09.2010
Yoshi, Cat of the Hour
Dear Readers,
A poem for you.
There once was a girl called h.
Who slapped her large cat in the face.
When her spouse asked why,
Dear h. replied,
"It was that or a spray of pepper mace."
Woila.
Sincerely,
h.
A poem for you.
There once was a girl called h.
Who slapped her large cat in the face.
When her spouse asked why,
Dear h. replied,
"It was that or a spray of pepper mace."
Woila.
Sincerely,
h.
1.08.2010
An Ode to Shay
Dear Readers,
There's someone I'd like to introduce you to, if you haven't met already. His name is Shay, and today's his birthday.
Shay and I worked together at Moxie Java almost a decade ago. I begged him to cover a shift for me the first day we met. He reluctantly agreed, and I promised to bake him cookies and I gave him a hug. I never came through with the cookies.
On Sunday's, Shay would come in and hang out at the counter while I made drinks. He'd strike up political conversations with me just to watch me get mad. One day we made arrangements to hang out at the art museum together. I showed up at the museum, found it to be closed, and left. Shay showed up about 10 minutes later, and waited for me for an hour. He thought I had stood him up. The next day, after his mother encouraged him to, he called me to see if I wanted to grab something to eat. I didn't, but a little voice told me to go anyway. We talked until 5:30 the next morning. We've been together every day since.
We went for a walk one day. It was a very cold day, the Tuesday after Valentine's Day. He acted very strange that day, he wouldn't let me touch him or get to close. He took me on a walk through the MK Nature Center. We found a quiet place to sit down, and he went off on this speech about how people get to a place in their lives where they have to make changes blah blah blah. I thought he was breaking up with me, and I was making plans in my head to move back to the east coast to get away from him. Instead of breaking up though, he pulled out a ring and asked me to marry him. Most girls hope for a romantic experience...I like one laced with a little cruelty. I punched him. And then I said yes.
Since then, I have had the privilege of being around Shay most every single day. I know just about everything about him. I know about his talent as an artist, and it never ceases to amaze me. I know his patience and love as a father. I also know that he can spend hours with video games and comic books, enjoyed going to Comicon more than he will admit, and that his taste in music is so vast to the point it's obnoxious. Perhaps his most outstanding quality is his ability to put up with me. Lord knows I've tested him over the last 8 years. That's why he makes such a good high school teacher...next to me, teenagers are a piece of cake.
And so I dedicate this blog to my dear, sweet Shay, and wish him the happiest of happy birthdays. I hope that his 31st year is among his best. And in case this message doesn't scream it, allow me to say: "I'm in love! I'm in love! And I don't care who knows it!".
Sincerely,
h.
There's someone I'd like to introduce you to, if you haven't met already. His name is Shay, and today's his birthday.
Shay and I worked together at Moxie Java almost a decade ago. I begged him to cover a shift for me the first day we met. He reluctantly agreed, and I promised to bake him cookies and I gave him a hug. I never came through with the cookies.
On Sunday's, Shay would come in and hang out at the counter while I made drinks. He'd strike up political conversations with me just to watch me get mad. One day we made arrangements to hang out at the art museum together. I showed up at the museum, found it to be closed, and left. Shay showed up about 10 minutes later, and waited for me for an hour. He thought I had stood him up. The next day, after his mother encouraged him to, he called me to see if I wanted to grab something to eat. I didn't, but a little voice told me to go anyway. We talked until 5:30 the next morning. We've been together every day since.
We went for a walk one day. It was a very cold day, the Tuesday after Valentine's Day. He acted very strange that day, he wouldn't let me touch him or get to close. He took me on a walk through the MK Nature Center. We found a quiet place to sit down, and he went off on this speech about how people get to a place in their lives where they have to make changes blah blah blah. I thought he was breaking up with me, and I was making plans in my head to move back to the east coast to get away from him. Instead of breaking up though, he pulled out a ring and asked me to marry him. Most girls hope for a romantic experience...I like one laced with a little cruelty. I punched him. And then I said yes.
Since then, I have had the privilege of being around Shay most every single day. I know just about everything about him. I know about his talent as an artist, and it never ceases to amaze me. I know his patience and love as a father. I also know that he can spend hours with video games and comic books, enjoyed going to Comicon more than he will admit, and that his taste in music is so vast to the point it's obnoxious. Perhaps his most outstanding quality is his ability to put up with me. Lord knows I've tested him over the last 8 years. That's why he makes such a good high school teacher...next to me, teenagers are a piece of cake.
And so I dedicate this blog to my dear, sweet Shay, and wish him the happiest of happy birthdays. I hope that his 31st year is among his best. And in case this message doesn't scream it, allow me to say: "I'm in love! I'm in love! And I don't care who knows it!".
Sincerely,
h.
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