For lunch, I had sourdough bread with garden tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozzarella cheese. What a dream lunch.
And now our laptop battery is running out of battery on my lap and I don't really want to go and grab the computer cord.
He just said, "I want you to have strong bones." I don't really know what he means by that.
Such is our night.
31 August 2011
29 August 2011
A Day of Emails
Excerpts from "Sent" email folder: August 29, 2011
This is a homemade ice cream that I don't think I could give away.
Can I get the permissions to edit the spreadsheet?
If you could, I'd like it printed in green.
I didn't want to spend much time going over policies in class today, because hello, that's boring.
That was definitely not more pictures than I would ever want. More!!!
8:30 am on Wednesday works for me, though I need to be on campus by 9:50 am for a class.
I'm totally going to use it. Love the Sigur Ros clip. Ha!
Yummy: Sweet Onion Marinara
I really like the look. I'm so glad it worked. I'll be in contact early next week.
I've told him that when I die, he must, must access my emails and preserve them. So much of me is preserved in what I say and share with other people.
I worry that our digital communications will be disregarded and lost and as a society we'll lose the documentation of correspondence, which I think is perhaps the most important, and most genuine, documentation of life.
28 August 2011
It's late and I'm worried.
Worried about life, the future, and walking into my classroom tomorrow and calling myself the professor.
Worried that it's so late at night and I'm awake worrying.
Night.
Worried that it's so late at night and I'm awake worrying.
Night.
27 August 2011
A Special Day
We're lying in bed with the window open above our heads. The drips from the rain gutter patter on the cement just outside and I love how it sounds, and smells.
After sleeping in the backyard last night, we made a pancake breakfast this morning. He picked up my produce basket from the Bountiful Basket co-op. He mowed the lawn; I cleaned up breakfast, swept, and took a long shower. We-- actually he-- weeded the side yard. We cheered at my brother's soccer game and held a family diving competition in a swimming pool. I lost, but he won.We remembered to return our lingering redbox movie before 9pm (a rarity), got another one for free, watched it, enjoyed it (another rarity-- we always seem to get dud movies from redbox), ate frozen yogurt, and simply loved the simplicity of a casual Saturday.
Like we're enjoying the simplicity of the thunder's grumbling and the rain outside our window at this very moment.
Let's pretend I remembered to post yesterday, okay? For my sake? Remember how I made that goal to post everyday until my birthday? I still want to feel successful when I make it-- even if I missed yesterday. Okay?
After sleeping in the backyard last night, we made a pancake breakfast this morning. He picked up my produce basket from the Bountiful Basket co-op. He mowed the lawn; I cleaned up breakfast, swept, and took a long shower. We-- actually he-- weeded the side yard. We cheered at my brother's soccer game and held a family diving competition in a swimming pool. I lost, but he won.We remembered to return our lingering redbox movie before 9pm (a rarity), got another one for free, watched it, enjoyed it (another rarity-- we always seem to get dud movies from redbox), ate frozen yogurt, and simply loved the simplicity of a casual Saturday.
Like we're enjoying the simplicity of the thunder's grumbling and the rain outside our window at this very moment.
Let's pretend I remembered to post yesterday, okay? For my sake? Remember how I made that goal to post everyday until my birthday? I still want to feel successful when I make it-- even if I missed yesterday. Okay?
25 August 2011
24 August 2011
The Strange Thing About Change is that Nothing Really Changes
At the Museum of Art in Phoenix a few weeks ago, we saw photographs of old photographs positioned just in the right place in front of the same spot, years later. It was much like the photos from this charming website: DearPhotograph.com. Thank you, Carolyn.
I've been thinking about these pictures of pictures and how everything changes, but nothing really changes.
I still think about what I'm going to wear in the morning. And I still daydream about dinner (and more often dessert). I am always attached to being a school girl and I fear I always will be. I still have a little side job; I've had a job for years. And tonight I went to mutual-- the weekly activity for teenagers in the Church-- because now I am the leader. That's silly because I've been going to mutual consistently since I was a wee 12-year-old. I live in the same one block radius and shop at the same grocery. I look up at the same mountains, green-cloaked in Spring and red-flecked in Fall.
I've been thinking about these pictures of pictures and how everything changes, but nothing really changes.
I still think about what I'm going to wear in the morning. And I still daydream about dinner (and more often dessert). I am always attached to being a school girl and I fear I always will be. I still have a little side job; I've had a job for years. And tonight I went to mutual-- the weekly activity for teenagers in the Church-- because now I am the leader. That's silly because I've been going to mutual consistently since I was a wee 12-year-old. I live in the same one block radius and shop at the same grocery. I look up at the same mountains, green-cloaked in Spring and red-flecked in Fall.
23 August 2011
Good People
I rode our hand-me-down blue Schwinn bike to school today. The front-wheel break is broken. Stopping is precarious. My skirt billowed on either side as I pedaled. I kept imagining the fabric getting caught in the wheel. I forgot to bring a bike lock, but trusted people's goodness and left the bike leaning on the kickstand. People are good.
They are truly good. I'm thinking of the person who didn't take my bike, even though it may have looked lonely and lost, untethered. I'm thinking of my mothers. Of sisters who care deeply for people-- care and take care. A friend who said, I hoped you'd sit there when I slipped into the chair right by. I'm thinking of brothers who lift couches for sisters. And one particular husband who just walked in the door.
They are truly good. I'm thinking of the person who didn't take my bike, even though it may have looked lonely and lost, untethered. I'm thinking of my mothers. Of sisters who care deeply for people-- care and take care. A friend who said, I hoped you'd sit there when I slipped into the chair right by. I'm thinking of brothers who lift couches for sisters. And one particular husband who just walked in the door.
22 August 2011
One Thing Interesting
The classic get-to-know-you request, "tell one thing interesting about yourself," always stumps me.
This morning, in a training meeting, I found myself pacing my life trying to grasp at something to share that was just the right level of interesting. I didn't want to sound too dorky, too boring, too conceited, too mundane, too showy. I needed just the right thing to share-- this is people's first impression we're talking about.
As the people nearer and nearer to me began sharing their interesting facts, I was getting more and more stuck. I kept thinking about food. I could only think about food. (This could be because we were eating breakfast while introducing ourselves, and also because every other person was mentioning how many more "interesting things" they could, and would, be elaborating on at lunch.) But saying-- I love food-- would not do my love, nor the subject, due respect. And it also sounds boring and well, normal. Everyone loves food.
I daresay, however, that I love food a totally crazy, wanna-cook-all-the-time, sleep-with-my-pans-and-parchment, obscene amount. When it was my turn, I hesitated, searching once more through my brain files for something better before saying, Uh, I spend an embarrassing amount of time on Cook's Illustrated every day. Which is true. Interesting though? Only if you happen to share my kitchen.
Lucky guy.
This morning, in a training meeting, I found myself pacing my life trying to grasp at something to share that was just the right level of interesting. I didn't want to sound too dorky, too boring, too conceited, too mundane, too showy. I needed just the right thing to share-- this is people's first impression we're talking about.
As the people nearer and nearer to me began sharing their interesting facts, I was getting more and more stuck. I kept thinking about food. I could only think about food. (This could be because we were eating breakfast while introducing ourselves, and also because every other person was mentioning how many more "interesting things" they could, and would, be elaborating on at lunch.) But saying-- I love food-- would not do my love, nor the subject, due respect. And it also sounds boring and well, normal. Everyone loves food.
I daresay, however, that I love food a totally crazy, wanna-cook-all-the-time, sleep-with-my-pans-and-parchment, obscene amount. When it was my turn, I hesitated, searching once more through my brain files for something better before saying, Uh, I spend an embarrassing amount of time on Cook's Illustrated every day. Which is true. Interesting though? Only if you happen to share my kitchen.
Lucky guy.
21 August 2011
Sunday
It's Sunday -- and I don't think I want to blog on Sunday. Day of rest? Look at us, we're resting.
Happy Sunday.
20 August 2011
Today Was a Drag
In the title above, do I or do I not capitalize the was?
I'm starting an English masters program and you'd never know it. I think I tricked them into letting me in. They forgot to ask me if I knew the rules for capitalizing titles, which I don't. Most of the time I base the upper-case vs. lower-case decision on aesthetics.
A deathly migraine whalloped me like a swatter to a fly today. And then, the migraine plucked me apart, piece by piece, and flushed me down the toilet. It was that bad.
Did that metaphor work? Don't tell the graduate committee, I'm still working on implementing metaphors.
The part about having a nauseous (I had to look up the spelling) headache all day is true and miserable.
Goodnight. May tomorrow be better.
19 August 2011
Our Truck
So, I drive a truck.
It's grey and big and it's really actually his truck. But I drive it because well, it's a long story about how he has a job that lets him use another car and we already have this grey truck and I don't have my own car, so if I want to drive at all, I get to take a gas-guzzling, diesel-fuel-running, neighborhood-noise-ordinance-violating truck.
This is something I never expected. Not that I ever really expected anything that's happened to me up to this point in my life. Okay, maybe I expected to graduate college (which I did! last April! wahoo!). And maybe I expected to be married someday-- but even that's iffy.
But I definitely never expected the truck. When he picked me up for my first date and I walked out my front door to see a big truck in the driveway, I thought-- Dang, a truck guy?! Why didn't I see this one coming? Of course it would be a truck. Shoot. This will never work. I was smitten with him before we even went on the first date. I've never been smitten with trucks. The association of him and the truck, the truck and him, was entirely disappointing.
I don't know why I'm telling you this, perhaps it's a prelude to this picture, which for some reason brings out all sorts of lovey feelings in me, not because the picture looks like an epic, manly truck advertisement, which it kind of does, right?
We got engaged in this truck. We would've gotten out of the truck, but it was a frozen ice-land outside. And silly me, I wasn't expecting the big proposal, so I didn't wear shoes when he suggested we go on a "drive." (See paragraph three where I allude to the fact that I didn't expect marriage.)
We've dated in this truck, kissed in this truck, driven countless country roads in this truck. I sit in the middle, right next to him in this truck. See this song. We took this truck to Bryce National Park for our anniversary, and we took this picture-- my man and his truck.
And I would never admit this to anyone's face, because I've spent so much energy building-up the "I hate trucks" image (especially with him); but some days, today being one of them, I love our truck and all things unexpected.
It's grey and big and it's really actually his truck. But I drive it because well, it's a long story about how he has a job that lets him use another car and we already have this grey truck and I don't have my own car, so if I want to drive at all, I get to take a gas-guzzling, diesel-fuel-running, neighborhood-noise-ordinance-violating truck.
This is something I never expected. Not that I ever really expected anything that's happened to me up to this point in my life. Okay, maybe I expected to graduate college (which I did! last April! wahoo!). And maybe I expected to be married someday-- but even that's iffy.
But I definitely never expected the truck. When he picked me up for my first date and I walked out my front door to see a big truck in the driveway, I thought-- Dang, a truck guy?! Why didn't I see this one coming? Of course it would be a truck. Shoot. This will never work. I was smitten with him before we even went on the first date. I've never been smitten with trucks. The association of him and the truck, the truck and him, was entirely disappointing.
I don't know why I'm telling you this, perhaps it's a prelude to this picture, which for some reason brings out all sorts of lovey feelings in me, not because the picture looks like an epic, manly truck advertisement, which it kind of does, right?
We got engaged in this truck. We would've gotten out of the truck, but it was a frozen ice-land outside. And silly me, I wasn't expecting the big proposal, so I didn't wear shoes when he suggested we go on a "drive." (See paragraph three where I allude to the fact that I didn't expect marriage.)
We've dated in this truck, kissed in this truck, driven countless country roads in this truck. I sit in the middle, right next to him in this truck. See this song. We took this truck to Bryce National Park for our anniversary, and we took this picture-- my man and his truck.
And I would never admit this to anyone's face, because I've spent so much energy building-up the "I hate trucks" image (especially with him); but some days, today being one of them, I love our truck and all things unexpected.
18 August 2011
My Big Commitments
I'm typing this out on a new phone and I feel like I'm in the future. Woah.
And I'm going to be here, on this blog, everyday until I'm 23.
I don't know what I'm gonna say everyday, but by golly, I'm gonna say something.
Oh, and I'm also going to learn to run before my birthday. Three miles by September 29. I've hardly run more than a mile at one time ever in my life.
I told him that I was going to run 3 miles in 23 minutes for my birthday. You know, because I'm turning 23 and all. But he looked at me with big eyes that said to me, maybe you should start with a goal to put on your running shoes...
And so I've dropped any time limit and I'm just going to run straight, no stopping.
And that'll be a good start, with writing here and running.
No stopping. Ready, set, go.
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