Fudgy Bon Bon Time Travel

I am tired.

I get really loopy when I'm tired.

When I was a freshman in college I pulled my first all-nighter to write an English paper researching the world-wide reach of the Cinderella story -- it's found in most cultures of the world which leads me to surmise that the story is a.) ancient and b.) based in reality -- but that's a story for another time.

Today I am loopy as a leprechaun at Disneyland who has just discovered fudgy bon bons.

This is bad.

Anyway, back to freshman me.

I'd never really stayed up all night long and BYU doesn't offer caffeinated beverages. Not that caffeine has ever given me a boost of energy, I usually feel no effects from it whatsoever. So, anyway, I'm pretty sure I would have been gravely injured or killed several times that day if it weren't for my friends pulling me out of road and oncoming traffic a few times, suggesting we take the elevator instead of the stairs, and making sure I was ok after walking into doors. I think I may have completely lost the ability to transverse doors that day. It was bad. Especially with the glass doors.

Doors into the the future!

Doesn't every door lead into the future? It only takes a moment and then all of a sudden, you have passed through a door and the second hand of the clock has ticked forward to another place.

Well, tonight, despite my loopiness, we all get to experience some real time travel! Unless you live in Arizona. A whole hour will be rewound and played over for us in our sleep! Isn't that just amazing! The sun will rise a little differently in the morning. We will wake a little more refreshed. We will have one more hour worth of dreams. There might even be time for pancakes in the morning! That almost never happens!

I love time travelling!

And fudgy bon bons. Mmmmmm.

Happy Daylight Savings!

The Holidays have officially commenced!!

. . .

Check this out! Here's where I got the first picture. It's just too cute to not reference and give credit where credit is due: http://www.southnfrance.com/faq_bon_bons

Her Morning Elegance / Oren Lavie

Elegance, Black Pearls, Hard Work

A few years ago I picked up a darling little book on a whim.

A Guide to Elegance: for every woman who wants to be well and properly dressed on all occasions
by Genevieve Antoine Dariaux

It was first published in 1964 but the advice is still very much applicable to today's standard of fashion and living. My opinion is that more people ought to pay attention to what they wear and why. The world would be filled with happier individuals who feel good about the way they look.

The main purpose of the book is to educate readers on how to use appropriate clothing based on figure, situation, and personal taste to approach any of life's many circumstances with elegance.

What is Elegance? It is a sort of harmony that rather resembles beauty, with the difference that the latter is more often a gift of nature and the former the result of art.

There are some items I believe every woman ought to own. My favorite are pearls.

I have always loved pearls. When I was nine a sweet, grandmotherly lady in my ward gifted me with a single, perfect pearl on a silver chain. So much in awe of this generous gift, I hung it in my mother's room so as not to loose it accidentally. I don't remember exactly what happened to my little treasure, but it did end up missing and was never found.

When I was 18 my grandmother gifted me with a traditional white pearl set including a necklace, bracelet and earrings. They are smooth, milky, and perfect.

Last year I treated myself to a string of black pearls.

I now have several pieces with pearl accents and I love each one for a different reason.

Pearls are understated, not flashy, and seem to round out any ensemble with a nod to the elegance of past decades. They are timeless, perfect in their imperfections, and all together lovely.

Today I wore my black pearls and a spritz of perfume.

Today I walked probably four miles in three inch heels, engaged in plenty of heavy lifting, and crawled around on a dusty floor assembling shelving units for the pantry.

Today I felt elegant.

I am a work of art. Perfect in my imperfection.

Soup, Babies, and Dating for Rent

Tonight I attended my first grown up "Meeting" with the church ladies. 

We had potluck soups and rolls.

I was asked for my recipe for butternut squash soup several times. (I'll have to invent one because I don't really cook by recipe; it just happens in a pot or pan and just happens to be delicious. I don't know how I do it! I think I have a sixth sense for delicious! Can I tell you a secret? This was only the second time I have ever made butternut squash soup. I'm glad everyone enjoyed it -- I was seriously thinking I'd be taking home a full crock pot of the stuff because it sort of looks like something a baby produced...)

We chatted.

Conversation turned to birth stories and baby hunger and epidural.

We tied quilts.

I'm pretty sure I was the only unmarried lady there.

In other news: I have a new term on my "rent" to live at home because I can't afford to live like a starving college kid anymore. I have to go on dates. I must prove that I do intend to get married some day and produce progeny for the parentals to spoil and corrupt. That means putting my social agenda in a higher priority bracket. It is currently hiding out under some dust bunnies at the back of my closet. Oh dear.

My parents think I am a loser old maid destined to clean other people's heavenly mansions because I certainly won't be qualifying for my own. What a downer! For some reason, they put me at the same level of social awkwardness as my older brother -- probably lower -- because he has at least managed to convince a member of the opposite sex to date him for an extended period of time.

I talk to people!

I engage them in meaningful and/or lighthearted conversations!

I recently became a master of how to break the touch barrier without being weird about it!

Just last week I finally figured out how flirting works! That is...I think I did. I wasn't talking to a guy or anything, in fact, I was pontificating on the matter in the recesses of my brain during down time at the clinic where I shadow doctors who do amazing things and my only job is to observe and ask questions in between patients. So. . . basically, I can't be sure if I finally figured out flirting or if the magic doctor dust got in my eyes and made me see visions of miracles. . .

The point is: the tables have turned and I'm not sure I like this view.

My older brother and I are 17 months apart. I was always just one inch and one grade in school below him. I used to pretend to be his twin so that I could do the same things he was doing. Like swimming without supervision at hotel pools. While he would insist that we were two years apart, I always pointed out that we were actually just 17 months which is seven months shy of the two full years.

Now, he is 25. The dreaded age of societal menacing. I am 23, an old maid by Provo standards, but still kickn' as a tiny tot by "the world's" view! Now, it's more convenient for him to be two years older than me. It reduces my accountability for my distinct inability to meet and notice eligible young men. Sorry big bro, but I'll throw you under the inspection of the raging parentals if it buys me a few more moments out of the spot light. Not that it saves me from awkward declarations my parents make in public...*sigh*

We will be two years apart only for the next two months. Oh man, I am not looking forward to my birthday. I might just be forced to acknowledge my lameness.

Whatever.

Dating, love, relationship bliss happens differently for everyone. Just like labor and delivery is never the same from one babe to the next.

The truth is:  

I like soup.

I like chatting about babies ripping their way into this world.

I like quilts.

The thought of dating to appease my parents sort of makes me doubt myself in the worst way.

Seven Miracles in One Day

1.) The clouds have parted and the fogs of depressed thought have lifted. For now, at least.

2.) I was able to drive safely despite car trouble.

3.) My migraine finally subsided.

4.) My butternut squash soup turned out great. A little spicy; just the way I like it!

5.) We put the first of our possessions in the new house: two cast iron pans and a wok. Can you guess which room will be outfitted first?

6.) I found a favorite earring I thought had been lost forever. The rejoicing was great!

7.) I understood, a little more, what it means to endure.

There are so many days that I forget just how amazing it is to be alive. The simple fact that a zygote was created, implanted, thrived, grew and became a person is a miracle. The fact that any number of childhood diseases, accidents, or potentially disastrous choices didn't take your life early on is a miracle. The simple fact that we are each so unique and yet so similar is a miracle.

The sad reality is that I often overlook and simplify these miracles into mere serendipity. I rarely take the time to examine just how wonderful it is to enjoy a moment of solitude or respite.

I devalue myself and limit my ability to see the world as God sees it: full of potential, beauty, and miracles.

What a miracle it would be if we could always see with the eyes of a grateful heart.

Slugs: an anthology in four parts

Part One:

I am a slug. A great, big banana slug.


If you shake that salt at me, I will shrivel into a pile of goo.


And get all over the under side of your favorite Vans.


Please, just let me pass by and we will each mind our own business.


I will eat your tomatoes and leave a glistening slime trail about your lawn.


You will watch television and cook spaghetti for your supper.


We will live in harmony.

Part Two:

So, when I was about three my family moved to northern California. To a little town in the redwood forests called Garberville. We lived in a barn that had been repurposed as a house at the edge of a ravine. There was a "Z" door leading out to the back yard from the kitchen. I figured that it was my own special door.

We also had great big banana slugs. We kids would watch those slugs for what seemed like eternity as they slowly prowled outside the garage. I remember wondering what they tasted like, whether they could substitute for bananas if someone was hungry enough, but not having the courage to lick one.

Part Three:

When I was four my family moved to Quincy, Illinois on the Mississippi River. There were lightning bugs and cicadas and slugs! The slugs ate our tomatoes but I really didn't mind because I didn't want to eat the tomatoes. I liked the way their eye stalks retract if you try to poke them. They sort of freaked me out, though, so I didn't mind when my mom showed us a little science project.


Salt + Slugs = Death


You see, slugs are basically one big semi-permeable mucus membrane. When salt is sprinkled on the slug, the concentration gradient is disturbed and water is drawn out the slug cells to dilute the salt thus causing the slug to dehydrate rapidly and expire in a mass of gooey bubbles. It's pretty gross. But sort of awesome, despite being cruel.

Part Four:

When I was eleven a cat adopted my family. She just showed up on Mother's Day, ran into the house, and decided to stay. She had kittens that summer. Three orange boy kitties and one calico girl kitty.


I named the little calico Isabelle, or Izzy for short. She was the runt in every way. Small and wiry, she wasn't very interested in hunting birds or baby bunnies like her brothers. She preferred bugs. And slugs. She became Izzy the Slug Killer!


We had a dirt-floored coal room in our basement, complete with a coal shoot. It was creepy and no one ever went in there for fear of the unknown ghosts whose bodies may have been buried under the packed earth. There were also a lot of bugs in that room. And slugs. The slugs would slime their way up to the kitchen and leave trails all over the floor and inside of our shoes. It was not uncommon to wipe off fresh trails of slime before tying your laces in the morning. Once Izzy realized her taste for the critters we never had such problems again.


The end.

"I Feel Fantastic" music video

Maybe I could use some "steak taste better" pills.

I'd like to feel fantastic.

I made an awesome carmel apple pie. That was pretty fantastic. Mmmmmm. I didn't even need "pie taste better" pills.