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.
1.30.2010
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.
1.07.2010
Timshel
Dear Readers,
Last night I finished reading my favorite book, "East of Eden", for the 7th time since 2004. It's a work of genius by John Steinbeck, a book that I consider to have the same status that most people give to religious text. Worn out, ratty, written in, and torn, my copy has reached the highest level of use that a book can aspire to. Because I love this book so much, there are a few things I would like to pass on to you. I hope you find them useful.
1. Chapter 34. Only 2 1/2 pages long, this chapter gives me the reasoning I need to live a good life. Discussing the eternal struggle of good and evil, it approaches the subject of living a life of success and wealth at the expense of others, or living a life void of wealth but full of friendship and service. I've suggested to Shay and a few of our close friends that if nothing else is said at my funeral, this chapter must be read. Here's a tasty little morsel of Chapter 34 for you to enjoy: "In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world." Genius, isn't it?
2. Samuel Hamilton. The character of Samuel Hamilton is based on John Steinbeck's maternal grandfather. Jolly, funny, clever, and a self made intellectual, Samuel is the embodiment of the best sides of humankind. His character reminds me of the men in my life that I adore, but all for different reasons. My Grandpa Cal for his self education and conversation. My Grandpa Jack for his craftiness. My dad for his gift of humor and speech and his love of reading. And when Samuel describes his affection for his unproductive ranch, "I love that dust heap...I love it the way a bitch loves her runty pup. I love every flint, the plow-breaking outcroppings, the thin and barren topsoil, the waterless heart of her. Somewhere in my dust heap there's a richness..." I can't help but get a little homesick for Rupert.
3. Timshel. The book East of Eden is based on the story of Cain and Abel, sixteen verses from the 4th chapter of Genesis in the Bible. 601 glorious pages of literature based on 16 verses of scripture. Lee, another wonderful central character (described as a "philosopher who can cook, or a cook who can think") goes to great lengths to study a one word inconsistency that he found in the verses of Cain and Abel. One translation says "thou shalt", another translation says "do thou", but the literal hebrew translation (which Lee finds after years of study with his Chinese elders) is the word "timshel" which translates to mean "thou mayest". I can't describe the importance better than Lee, so I'll just put it down in his words: "Don't you see? The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise that 'thou shalt;, meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel--'Thou mayest'--that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if 'Thou mayest'--it is also true that 'Thou mayest not.'" I could write an entire dissertation on this concept; it gives us the choice, it holds us responsible. Really, I love to talk about this concept, so please humor me one day in a coffee shop and let me have a chance to go on and on about it!
Well, there's a smidgen of the glory that is called "East of Eden". Perhaps us impious types have to latch on to whatever philosophies make a lick of sense to us to grasp onto as a type of faith. I'm convinced that not any one man has the answers to the secrets of life and beyond, but between Steinbeck, Salinger, Vonnegut, and Garfield I'm learning to put some of the pieces together. Props to my dad for introducing me to Steinbeck, and for instilling in me a love of reading that surpasses most everything else in my life.
Sincerely,
h.
Last night I finished reading my favorite book, "East of Eden", for the 7th time since 2004. It's a work of genius by John Steinbeck, a book that I consider to have the same status that most people give to religious text. Worn out, ratty, written in, and torn, my copy has reached the highest level of use that a book can aspire to. Because I love this book so much, there are a few things I would like to pass on to you. I hope you find them useful.
1. Chapter 34. Only 2 1/2 pages long, this chapter gives me the reasoning I need to live a good life. Discussing the eternal struggle of good and evil, it approaches the subject of living a life of success and wealth at the expense of others, or living a life void of wealth but full of friendship and service. I've suggested to Shay and a few of our close friends that if nothing else is said at my funeral, this chapter must be read. Here's a tasty little morsel of Chapter 34 for you to enjoy: "In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world." Genius, isn't it?
2. Samuel Hamilton. The character of Samuel Hamilton is based on John Steinbeck's maternal grandfather. Jolly, funny, clever, and a self made intellectual, Samuel is the embodiment of the best sides of humankind. His character reminds me of the men in my life that I adore, but all for different reasons. My Grandpa Cal for his self education and conversation. My Grandpa Jack for his craftiness. My dad for his gift of humor and speech and his love of reading. And when Samuel describes his affection for his unproductive ranch, "I love that dust heap...I love it the way a bitch loves her runty pup. I love every flint, the plow-breaking outcroppings, the thin and barren topsoil, the waterless heart of her. Somewhere in my dust heap there's a richness..." I can't help but get a little homesick for Rupert.
3. Timshel. The book East of Eden is based on the story of Cain and Abel, sixteen verses from the 4th chapter of Genesis in the Bible. 601 glorious pages of literature based on 16 verses of scripture. Lee, another wonderful central character (described as a "philosopher who can cook, or a cook who can think") goes to great lengths to study a one word inconsistency that he found in the verses of Cain and Abel. One translation says "thou shalt", another translation says "do thou", but the literal hebrew translation (which Lee finds after years of study with his Chinese elders) is the word "timshel" which translates to mean "thou mayest". I can't describe the importance better than Lee, so I'll just put it down in his words: "Don't you see? The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise that 'thou shalt;, meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel--'Thou mayest'--that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if 'Thou mayest'--it is also true that 'Thou mayest not.'" I could write an entire dissertation on this concept; it gives us the choice, it holds us responsible. Really, I love to talk about this concept, so please humor me one day in a coffee shop and let me have a chance to go on and on about it!
Well, there's a smidgen of the glory that is called "East of Eden". Perhaps us impious types have to latch on to whatever philosophies make a lick of sense to us to grasp onto as a type of faith. I'm convinced that not any one man has the answers to the secrets of life and beyond, but between Steinbeck, Salinger, Vonnegut, and Garfield I'm learning to put some of the pieces together. Props to my dad for introducing me to Steinbeck, and for instilling in me a love of reading that surpasses most everything else in my life.
Sincerely,
h.
1.06.2010
A Rant of Sorts
Dear Readers,
27% of my day today was fielding complaints about bikes being parked in a parking spot in the garage. The complaint? That a total of 6 bikes were parked in a parking spot, and a car should be able to park there instead.
Please note: The bikes are owned by a couple that just moved into my building. They don't own a car. They own 6 bikes. They pay $1300.00 a month in rent, and included in that amount is a free parking spot. There is no clause in their contract that states they have to park an automobile in said spot.
When I delivered the same message above to the complainers of the bikes, the majority response was, "Who rides a bike in the winter? That's stupid. Why don't they park their bikes somewhere else?"
So the solution we came to, after much squabbling was to build a fenced area for the nice couple can park their bikes there, and a car can park in their spot. Ridiculous.
Also, someone broke into the fire stairwell and drew a giant penis on the wall. There have been zero complaints about that.
So this is what I've learned today: Feel free to graffiti public areas with male genitals, because no one seems to mind. But never, NEVER, park your bike where a car could fit, because you're a complete moron if you don't drive a car.
Sincerely,
h.
27% of my day today was fielding complaints about bikes being parked in a parking spot in the garage. The complaint? That a total of 6 bikes were parked in a parking spot, and a car should be able to park there instead.
Please note: The bikes are owned by a couple that just moved into my building. They don't own a car. They own 6 bikes. They pay $1300.00 a month in rent, and included in that amount is a free parking spot. There is no clause in their contract that states they have to park an automobile in said spot.
When I delivered the same message above to the complainers of the bikes, the majority response was, "Who rides a bike in the winter? That's stupid. Why don't they park their bikes somewhere else?"
So the solution we came to, after much squabbling was to build a fenced area for the nice couple can park their bikes there, and a car can park in their spot. Ridiculous.
Also, someone broke into the fire stairwell and drew a giant penis on the wall. There have been zero complaints about that.
So this is what I've learned today: Feel free to graffiti public areas with male genitals, because no one seems to mind. But never, NEVER, park your bike where a car could fit, because you're a complete moron if you don't drive a car.
Sincerely,
h.
1.05.2010
Rainy Days = Rainy Memories
Dear Readers,
Beyond the excitement from the Boise State football fans last night (all night), and my over active gallbladder, nothing too exciting has happened today. Thanks to the rain, I can't clean the parking garage. Thanks to my lack of energy, I can't clean the laundry rooms. And thanks to my new shoes that I don't want to scuff up, I'm planted at my desk until that magical moment in time when I lock my office door and walk upstairs to my apartment.
And so, Dear Readers, I would love to take this opportunity to travel down memory lane. This dreary, cold, rainy day reminds me of a kinder, gentler time. A time when I was young and carefree, living at home with my parents, David and Kristie, and sisters, Andrea (older) and Kate (younger)in Rupert, Idaho. To the outside observer walking 10 or more blocks away, nothing was amiss. But should you come within a 9 block radius of our humble abode between the hours of 3:00pm-4:30pm, it's possible you confused the screaming that my sisters and I produced for a witch burning. At the top of our shrill young lungs we would use our most colorful language to describe our "affection" for each other.
What's this? The Badger sisters fought?
Oh yes, Dear Readers. A typical day consisted of coming home from school, where left unattended and to our own devices we tortured each other with everything from hairspray in the eyes to two sisters ganging up on one and tying her up in front of the television to force her to watch the evangelical religion channel.
The form of torture that sticks out in my mind today was one that Andrea had mastered. Being the kind, sensitive child that I was (and still am), Andrea knew that the best way to drive me to tears was to involve my favorite stuffed animal, Lambie. Lambie was near and dear to me, having been a friend of mine since birth. A small, woolly stuffed lamb with a rattle inside and a darling little pink nose, it needed me as not only a friend, but as a sage and a protector as well.
And so, Dear Readers, on a day like today, my poor little Lambie found it's way into the hands of a most evil adversary, Andrea. I recall things around the house being unusually quiet. And then, Andrea calling me outside. Without a coat or a key, I run out to see what's going on, and am shocked to see Lambie hanging from a little noose from the apple tree. Cackling like a mad woman, Andrea rushed in doors while I frantically tried to release Lambie from the deadly knot. And, before I could make it back in, Andrea locked all of the doors and left me shoeless, coatless, and keyless outside in the rain, with my little pathetic stuffed animal and my tears for company.
When my dad pulled into the driveway a while later, he found me screaming and pounding on the door. Rather than offer me the sympathy I felt I deserved, I received some lecture about being able to hear me scream a mile a way and he then demanded that the door be opened. And that was it. Andrea, giving me a smirk, knew that she was leagues away from punishment. Justice, by the only person who could bring it, was denied.
The moral of this memory is two fold: 1) Don't leave your precious stuffed animals unattended, for they are helpless without you and, 2) If Andrea calls you outside, be sure to have a key.
More tomorrow.
Sincerely,
h.
Beyond the excitement from the Boise State football fans last night (all night), and my over active gallbladder, nothing too exciting has happened today. Thanks to the rain, I can't clean the parking garage. Thanks to my lack of energy, I can't clean the laundry rooms. And thanks to my new shoes that I don't want to scuff up, I'm planted at my desk until that magical moment in time when I lock my office door and walk upstairs to my apartment.
And so, Dear Readers, I would love to take this opportunity to travel down memory lane. This dreary, cold, rainy day reminds me of a kinder, gentler time. A time when I was young and carefree, living at home with my parents, David and Kristie, and sisters, Andrea (older) and Kate (younger)in Rupert, Idaho. To the outside observer walking 10 or more blocks away, nothing was amiss. But should you come within a 9 block radius of our humble abode between the hours of 3:00pm-4:30pm, it's possible you confused the screaming that my sisters and I produced for a witch burning. At the top of our shrill young lungs we would use our most colorful language to describe our "affection" for each other.
What's this? The Badger sisters fought?
Oh yes, Dear Readers. A typical day consisted of coming home from school, where left unattended and to our own devices we tortured each other with everything from hairspray in the eyes to two sisters ganging up on one and tying her up in front of the television to force her to watch the evangelical religion channel.
The form of torture that sticks out in my mind today was one that Andrea had mastered. Being the kind, sensitive child that I was (and still am), Andrea knew that the best way to drive me to tears was to involve my favorite stuffed animal, Lambie. Lambie was near and dear to me, having been a friend of mine since birth. A small, woolly stuffed lamb with a rattle inside and a darling little pink nose, it needed me as not only a friend, but as a sage and a protector as well.
And so, Dear Readers, on a day like today, my poor little Lambie found it's way into the hands of a most evil adversary, Andrea. I recall things around the house being unusually quiet. And then, Andrea calling me outside. Without a coat or a key, I run out to see what's going on, and am shocked to see Lambie hanging from a little noose from the apple tree. Cackling like a mad woman, Andrea rushed in doors while I frantically tried to release Lambie from the deadly knot. And, before I could make it back in, Andrea locked all of the doors and left me shoeless, coatless, and keyless outside in the rain, with my little pathetic stuffed animal and my tears for company.
When my dad pulled into the driveway a while later, he found me screaming and pounding on the door. Rather than offer me the sympathy I felt I deserved, I received some lecture about being able to hear me scream a mile a way and he then demanded that the door be opened. And that was it. Andrea, giving me a smirk, knew that she was leagues away from punishment. Justice, by the only person who could bring it, was denied.
The moral of this memory is two fold: 1) Don't leave your precious stuffed animals unattended, for they are helpless without you and, 2) If Andrea calls you outside, be sure to have a key.
More tomorrow.
Sincerely,
h.
1.04.2010
Blogging For Free
Dear Readers,
It's been suggested, it's been discussed, and it's been demanded. So here it is, by popular demand, my first official blog.
I watched the movie "Julie and Julia" last week, and I found it inspiring. I seriously considered ripping off the entire concept of the movie, and after a year of cooking and blogging I'd land myself a book deal and be sitting pretty on a million dollar advance. but I'm assuming that other people have already done this. So instead of blogging with a purpose and a link to a Paypal account, I thought I would just expand on my Facebook updates and go into depth about my daily life. Who knows? At the end of my first year of blogging, I may be sitting on a million dollar advance for the rights to my fascinating life story.
So please, stop by and say hello as often as you can. My goal is to brighten your day just a little more, even if it means showing you the dark side of mine.
Oh, if you really want me to add a Paypal account so you can pay me for my precious blogging time, I'd be happy to do so.
Sincerely,
h.
It's been suggested, it's been discussed, and it's been demanded. So here it is, by popular demand, my first official blog.
I watched the movie "Julie and Julia" last week, and I found it inspiring. I seriously considered ripping off the entire concept of the movie, and after a year of cooking and blogging I'd land myself a book deal and be sitting pretty on a million dollar advance. but I'm assuming that other people have already done this. So instead of blogging with a purpose and a link to a Paypal account, I thought I would just expand on my Facebook updates and go into depth about my daily life. Who knows? At the end of my first year of blogging, I may be sitting on a million dollar advance for the rights to my fascinating life story.
So please, stop by and say hello as often as you can. My goal is to brighten your day just a little more, even if it means showing you the dark side of mine.
Oh, if you really want me to add a Paypal account so you can pay me for my precious blogging time, I'd be happy to do so.
Sincerely,
h.
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