I had this vision in September. I thought I would post, daily even, on the magic in my daily, routine, humdrum life.
As you can see, that vision has not come to fruition.
At all.
Most days I forget I even have a blog.
I've even stopped reading a great many blogs that I used to stalk daily.
Something about all this magicalness just making life a bit too busy.
But I have news and so I remembered that I do indeed have a place that I can share my news. (Because really, I don't have anyone in real life who will listen....pathetic, but true.)
First of all, my children have grown. I know, it's expected. But my oldest (12) grew 5+ inches in the last 12 months. 5+ inches?! Seriously - I don't think I ever grew that much in one year! He's passed me up and I (finally) bought him some clothes that fit (his old ones - you know, the ones I bought last spring - were starting to be tight high waters and not just, "I'm growing too big for my pants" tight but "creepy stalker sexual predator" tight. Yeah. They had to go.) and now he suddenly looks like a man. A young man, true, but certainly not a child.
It makes me feel sad.
Until he opens his mouth and then I remember that he's no where near close to ready to leave the house!
Q and Eliza have each grown about 2.5". Not nearly as dramatic as their brother but enough to bump them up in size and make Eliza eligible to ride the local water slide. (Because we have one now. Ever since June. I tell you, this little burg is growing and growing.)
Other important news, I have a job.
I know - you thought I worked for the family business. Well, I still do that (sorta) but now I have a real job (read: one that gives me cashable paychecks) that requires me to show up on time and actually work and not just play games and surf the web. I know. It's a bit of a "YEA!" and "damn." all at the same time.
And as far as today's magic? It's not early release. *smile*
The downside - I'm working until 6p so it doesn't really matter to me.
The upside - maybe, just maybe, (if I believe in fairies and magic) dinner will be ready when I get home.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Magic of Ordinary Days
I've been watching the Hallmark channel. A lot. It seems to be one of the few places left on TV where I can find generally clean shows. (I've had to delete even a few Hallmark movies because of questionable activities.) One of the shows had the above title and the movie was, "Meh," good at times, boring at others but didn't leave me filled with a sense of, "Why did I just waste 1.5 hours of my life that I'll never get back?!"
The point - the movie title, combined with Kari's comment here, combined with an article I read once somewhere on the internet (meaning no link) about how as a SAHM, every time my children say, "Mom!" is the same as the bells at a monastery calling the monks to prayer or to life devoted to God all add up to the idea that it is in the ordinariness and monotony of days that I find the true brilliance and miracle of life.
Granted, beyond the general idea, I don't see it much.
While I've gotten to the point in my life that I've surrendered to the idea that there will always be more laundry to wash and that I need to buy food even though it just becomes poo, I still have a hard time finding joy and opportunity and miracles in the service.
I have an even harder time finding the humor in these moments.
But I was thinking that the exercise of trying to blog more of daily life instead of deep thoughts *might* (I have some skepticism here) lighten me up a bit and just *might* improve my writing skills.
To that end, may I just say that my 10yo made dinner last night? I had to drive some errands for the business so he got dinner started with a few instructions over the phone: rice in the rice cooker; canned green beans heated in the microwave; and chicken boiled in 1/2 c. of soy sauce and 1/2 c. of apple cider vinegar. Nothing fancy. Nothing gourmet. But I didn't have to lift a finger to make dinner.
Priceless.
The point - the movie title, combined with Kari's comment here, combined with an article I read once somewhere on the internet (meaning no link) about how as a SAHM, every time my children say, "Mom!" is the same as the bells at a monastery calling the monks to prayer or to life devoted to God all add up to the idea that it is in the ordinariness and monotony of days that I find the true brilliance and miracle of life.
Granted, beyond the general idea, I don't see it much.
While I've gotten to the point in my life that I've surrendered to the idea that there will always be more laundry to wash and that I need to buy food even though it just becomes poo, I still have a hard time finding joy and opportunity and miracles in the service.
I have an even harder time finding the humor in these moments.
But I was thinking that the exercise of trying to blog more of daily life instead of deep thoughts *might* (I have some skepticism here) lighten me up a bit and just *might* improve my writing skills.
To that end, may I just say that my 10yo made dinner last night? I had to drive some errands for the business so he got dinner started with a few instructions over the phone: rice in the rice cooker; canned green beans heated in the microwave; and chicken boiled in 1/2 c. of soy sauce and 1/2 c. of apple cider vinegar. Nothing fancy. Nothing gourmet. But I didn't have to lift a finger to make dinner.
Priceless.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
It's A Different World
I've heard it again and again: today's world is a very different place, even from the world I grew up in only, ahem, a few short years ago.
This could not have been further underscored than it was today by this realization: my children only know Christopher Walken as the nice farmer from Sarah, Plain and Tall, and Dick Van Dyke as the evil night security guard in Night at the Museum.
This could not have been further underscored than it was today by this realization: my children only know Christopher Walken as the nice farmer from Sarah, Plain and Tall, and Dick Van Dyke as the evil night security guard in Night at the Museum.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Cake Boss
I love this show.
Every time I watch it, all I can think about is the family I married into and all the parallels: the control freak tendencies; the loud passion; the irritation with anyone who disagrees with them; the food! (and the fact that I'm not really allowed to cook for family events); and so forth. Every time I watch the Valastros, I think of my own, my more diluted but still very much Italian-American family and just laugh. Even better, they *totally* don't see the connection.
The down side? This show is so not good for my waist line! I had already had a bad, ahem, "rest" day. Then I watched the show and, since we didn't have any delectable cake with ganache and I didn't feel like making one. Or waiting. (Really, it was the waiting.) So, I ate ice cream. And ganache. And ginger thins. And chocolate. And then I stopped because it was getting out of control.
I still want cake.
Bad. bad. show.
I so want to visit Jersey just so I can have a canoli.
It's a sickness I tell you!
Every time I watch it, all I can think about is the family I married into and all the parallels: the control freak tendencies; the loud passion; the irritation with anyone who disagrees with them; the food! (and the fact that I'm not really allowed to cook for family events); and so forth. Every time I watch the Valastros, I think of my own, my more diluted but still very much Italian-American family and just laugh. Even better, they *totally* don't see the connection.
The down side? This show is so not good for my waist line! I had already had a bad, ahem, "rest" day. Then I watched the show and, since we didn't have any delectable cake with ganache and I didn't feel like making one. Or waiting. (Really, it was the waiting.) So, I ate ice cream. And ganache. And ginger thins. And chocolate. And then I stopped because it was getting out of control.
I still want cake.
Bad. bad. show.
I so want to visit Jersey just so I can have a canoli.
It's a sickness I tell you!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Writer's Block
I've been trying - without a whole lot of success - to post daily. I did well last week but not so much this week. Is it because, once I start writing, that urgency and *need* to post dies? Or is it, as I think, that my life is just too routine?
Do you really *want* to hear about my run yesterday? The storm? Volunteering at the Charter School and helping 30+ teenagers start a weaving project? (Because I can cut 18" of hemp string like nobody's business; and I did. 30+ times.) Perhaps how our insulation project is going? Pumpkin in chocolate brownies? Homemade granola bars? The frustration of trying to take advantage of a free photo book offer only to finish said photo book fifteen minutes after the offer expired? And losing sleep and being tired *because* you were working on the *(#%$&^ photobook?
Any interest?
Yeah, me neither and I'm living it.
Do you really *want* to hear about my run yesterday? The storm? Volunteering at the Charter School and helping 30+ teenagers start a weaving project? (Because I can cut 18" of hemp string like nobody's business; and I did. 30+ times.) Perhaps how our insulation project is going? Pumpkin in chocolate brownies? Homemade granola bars? The frustration of trying to take advantage of a free photo book offer only to finish said photo book fifteen minutes after the offer expired? And losing sleep and being tired *because* you were working on the *(#%$&^ photobook?
Any interest?
Yeah, me neither and I'm living it.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Alaskan Seasons
My mom used to say that she got married on the first day of fall.
She got married August 1.
I would argue with her every time she made the above statement that fall doesn't start until September 21st (or there abouts) and that I had a whole store full of calendars that would back me up.
My mother, of course, never wavered in her opinion.
This year, I was on the trail (running - because I'm sick like that now) and noticed, on August 1, that there were leaves on the ground.
Mom was so right.
The biggest question in my mind has been, "If fall starts August 1, when does winter start?" So I've been waiting and paying attention and, in my humble opinion, winter starts (at the latest!) on the autumnal equinox.
Why do I say latest? Because, once again in my humble opinion, winter is already here.
There is fresh snow on our tallest mountain peaks (which are all under 5,000 feet). We have our first nasty storm of the season hitting us right. now.
And....
our power just went off for the first time this winter.
Yup. I should start the cocoa and light the fire because winter is most definitely here.
She got married August 1.
I would argue with her every time she made the above statement that fall doesn't start until September 21st (or there abouts) and that I had a whole store full of calendars that would back me up.
My mother, of course, never wavered in her opinion.
This year, I was on the trail (running - because I'm sick like that now) and noticed, on August 1, that there were leaves on the ground.
Mom was so right.
The biggest question in my mind has been, "If fall starts August 1, when does winter start?" So I've been waiting and paying attention and, in my humble opinion, winter starts (at the latest!) on the autumnal equinox.
Why do I say latest? Because, once again in my humble opinion, winter is already here.
There is fresh snow on our tallest mountain peaks (which are all under 5,000 feet). We have our first nasty storm of the season hitting us right. now.
And....
our power just went off for the first time this winter.
Yup. I should start the cocoa and light the fire because winter is most definitely here.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Ramona and Beezus
First I have to preface this by saying that I am an emotional movie watcher.
The first movie I ever cried at was "The Little Mermaid;" not the Disney version but the real one where she turns into sea foam.
After that first event, it was a sob fest ever after. My little brother even once qualified that a movie had to be great because, "M cried."
I never thought how obnoxious it must be to watch a movie with such a sobber; I always agreed with my mom that my dad and brothers were just insensitive clods who had less emotion than a tea cup.
My daughter is teaching me their pain.
Yesterday we watched Ramona and Beezus and when the cat died, my daughter came up to me and fell into my side crying.
"It was so sad when the cat died."
My first thought was that she was faking but then I looked at her and her lashes were wet and there were real tears on her cheeks.
I took a deep breath and found my inner patience and said a silent prayer of gratitude to God for all the years my family put up (and continues to do so) with my tears and a prayer that they find more patience because I think our sobbing club just added a new member.
****update: yeah - I totally teared up at the end of the movie. Damn family shows.
The first movie I ever cried at was "The Little Mermaid;" not the Disney version but the real one where she turns into sea foam.
After that first event, it was a sob fest ever after. My little brother even once qualified that a movie had to be great because, "M cried."
I never thought how obnoxious it must be to watch a movie with such a sobber; I always agreed with my mom that my dad and brothers were just insensitive clods who had less emotion than a tea cup.
My daughter is teaching me their pain.
Yesterday we watched Ramona and Beezus and when the cat died, my daughter came up to me and fell into my side crying.
"It was so sad when the cat died."
My first thought was that she was faking but then I looked at her and her lashes were wet and there were real tears on her cheeks.
I took a deep breath and found my inner patience and said a silent prayer of gratitude to God for all the years my family put up (and continues to do so) with my tears and a prayer that they find more patience because I think our sobbing club just added a new member.
****update: yeah - I totally teared up at the end of the movie. Damn family shows.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Apologizing
Why is it apologizing makes me feel angry?
Supposedly when I apologize I should feel release and a weight off my back.
Instead, I'm feeling annoyed.
I screwed up. I acknowledge that. Which is what led to the apology in the first place. DH asked specifically for some help and I completely ignored the request, justifying my decision by the fact that I was right and of course DH would make the same choice if he had all the facts, which I did, never, of course, bothering to actually have a conversation with him and ask him if I could alter the schedule or if he would change his mind.
So I apologized.
But as I was apologizing, DH would say things like, "This isn't the first time you've done this," and "If I had done this, you would be pissed."
He's right.
I completely acknowledge that.
But it doesn't irk me any less.
Grrrr....
Supposedly when I apologize I should feel release and a weight off my back.
Instead, I'm feeling annoyed.
I screwed up. I acknowledge that. Which is what led to the apology in the first place. DH asked specifically for some help and I completely ignored the request, justifying my decision by the fact that I was right and of course DH would make the same choice if he had all the facts, which I did, never, of course, bothering to actually have a conversation with him and ask him if I could alter the schedule or if he would change his mind.
So I apologized.
But as I was apologizing, DH would say things like, "This isn't the first time you've done this," and "If I had done this, you would be pissed."
He's right.
I completely acknowledge that.
But it doesn't irk me any less.
Grrrr....
Friday, September 16, 2011
Cell Memory
I have this year been losing weight. (This is part of the sticky beginning that I have no idea how to write.) But what I have noticed is as I have journeyed backwards in weight, I seem to be passing thrugh the emotions of the last time I was at that weight.
The first few pounds were no big deal - family drama/the move and all that being the root cause of the weight gain (or at least the handiest excuse) - other than the anxiety caused by weight loss and worrying that I'm going to gain it back or how to make the best choices when I really would rather eat french fries than raw zucchini.
The next set of pounds was harder, being the weight I gained after my mother died. This is when I began to notice a correlation and wonder. The last couple of years have been okay for me; I've been sad when approaching her death day but nothing overwhelming. This year, it started early and was hard, as in weepy all the time hard and beginning to look at people who lost their mother's recently thinking, "Well, they got 5 or 10 or 2 more years than I did," and feeling jealous.
But July 26th passed and I am feeling more grounded and the next few pounds didn't really seem to trigger much - just keep working out and sticking to an improved diet (SO many more vegetables than I've consumed in a very long time!).
But now I'm down to where I was in high school (don't get too excited - I was an obese teen) and the weight loss has stalled.
No doubt part of this is due to having worked at this for the last eight months and just feeling tired of all the work. However, I can't help but remember that this next group of weight was gained when I was an insecure teenager for whom food was a best friend and a solution to everything. I cannot remember how many times I would have a horrible-no-good-very-bad day and solve it by stopping at the convenience store for a package of oreos (the one pound sucker, not just a small candy bar size, of course) and a quart of milk or maybe a pint of Ben and Jerry's (chocolate brownie something or other was my favorite) and then going home and putting a sizable dent in either before I felt complete and happy.
I also can't help but think that food was my rebellion and where I could let go; so many "don'ts" that I really didn't do and food was one that no one could really tell or did tell me I couldn't.
I find myself back in those same shoes now that I am back at that same weight. Food is my best friend; it's always there when I need it and now I'm even better at finding those tasty combinations that are oh so delicious and nourishing to the soul. There are so many other things I stress about, do I really need to stress over food?
Which underscores what I've been feeling about this whole journey and life in general: there is just no avoiding the hard stuff; you can try to go around it but really you're just delaying the inevitable. I avoided accepting and dealing with all my emotions when I was a teenager, preferring to stuff or put things away because they were all just too much and now, at 36, I am having to pick up that gauntlet and figure out how to move through it. I just don't know that it's any easier now than it was 20 years ago.
The first few pounds were no big deal - family drama/the move and all that being the root cause of the weight gain (or at least the handiest excuse) - other than the anxiety caused by weight loss and worrying that I'm going to gain it back or how to make the best choices when I really would rather eat french fries than raw zucchini.
The next set of pounds was harder, being the weight I gained after my mother died. This is when I began to notice a correlation and wonder. The last couple of years have been okay for me; I've been sad when approaching her death day but nothing overwhelming. This year, it started early and was hard, as in weepy all the time hard and beginning to look at people who lost their mother's recently thinking, "Well, they got 5 or 10 or 2 more years than I did," and feeling jealous.
But July 26th passed and I am feeling more grounded and the next few pounds didn't really seem to trigger much - just keep working out and sticking to an improved diet (SO many more vegetables than I've consumed in a very long time!).
But now I'm down to where I was in high school (don't get too excited - I was an obese teen) and the weight loss has stalled.
No doubt part of this is due to having worked at this for the last eight months and just feeling tired of all the work. However, I can't help but remember that this next group of weight was gained when I was an insecure teenager for whom food was a best friend and a solution to everything. I cannot remember how many times I would have a horrible-no-good-very-bad day and solve it by stopping at the convenience store for a package of oreos (the one pound sucker, not just a small candy bar size, of course) and a quart of milk or maybe a pint of Ben and Jerry's (chocolate brownie something or other was my favorite) and then going home and putting a sizable dent in either before I felt complete and happy.
I also can't help but think that food was my rebellion and where I could let go; so many "don'ts" that I really didn't do and food was one that no one could really tell or did tell me I couldn't.
I find myself back in those same shoes now that I am back at that same weight. Food is my best friend; it's always there when I need it and now I'm even better at finding those tasty combinations that are oh so delicious and nourishing to the soul. There are so many other things I stress about, do I really need to stress over food?
Which underscores what I've been feeling about this whole journey and life in general: there is just no avoiding the hard stuff; you can try to go around it but really you're just delaying the inevitable. I avoided accepting and dealing with all my emotions when I was a teenager, preferring to stuff or put things away because they were all just too much and now, at 36, I am having to pick up that gauntlet and figure out how to move through it. I just don't know that it's any easier now than it was 20 years ago.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I Am A Runner
(As an aside: I'm never certain about small words in titles - do they get capitalized or not? 'A' seems like it shouldn't be but then "I Am a Runner" looks kinda stupid.)
And, completely on topic now, I feel like a complete poser for even typing the title.
I started a C25K program back in May...or June thinking that as a good rule of fitness I should be able to run 3 miles.
It was torture.
The torture was made a bit easier by these podcasts and the image of Jesus running alongside me with robes billowing in the wind. Blasphemous? Maybe. But it seems less blasphemous than Jesus running in spandex.
The first time I had to run for 20 continuous minutes I thought the guy on the podcast had made an error and was secretly on crack; it turns out no, I really was supposed to run for 20 continuous minutes. And I did. Apparently I was the one on crack.
Which led to the discovery of the "runner's high."
I don't think my "high" is quite the same as the mythical runner's high which involves a feeling of euphoria like you could run forever. My high is more along the lines of, "I CAN STOP RUNNING!!!! I'M DONE!!!!"
But I DID manage to run my first 5k race (I use the term "race" loosely as there was no way I was coming first....or third....or even 30th so race meaning "getting to run with a bunch of strangers in a public setting" as opposed to "annihilating anyone who dares to compare their running speed to mine.") at the end of August and finished in 33:16 - not bad; slightly less than 11 minute miles which was fabulous for me.
But today.
Today was amazing.
Today was about everything I love about running. It was sunny and there were moments of God touches when I ran through sunbeams filtering through clouds and fog. So beautiful. I run on a hiking trail about 1/2 mile from my house (really so no one sees me because you know THEY ARE ALL STARING AT ME as I run by - it's true. Don't deny it) and I could smell the greenery and all the leaves on the ground and see the water and the mountains and the old pilings and mining ruins and it's just so damn beautiful it's like walking in a post card. And I had my Jesus music on and I ran and aside from the little things like lack of breath, muscle fatigue and tripping twice and almost dying, I finished.
How well did I finish?
Today I managed to run 3.11 miles in less than 30 minutes. 30 HELLO minutes!!! Less than a 10 minute mile! How awesome am I?!?!?!
Why just the approximation? Well - I had some mp3 player problems and had to restart the podcast (after one of those near-death trips) and I'm completely guesstimating that the distance I run is actually 5k (based of off walking the track laid out for a race earlier this year) but I feel that even with all those variables, I CAN say that I ran 3 miles in less than 30 minutes.
And that, my friend, makes me feel *expletive* good.
And, completely on topic now, I feel like a complete poser for even typing the title.
I started a C25K program back in May...or June thinking that as a good rule of fitness I should be able to run 3 miles.
It was torture.
The torture was made a bit easier by these podcasts and the image of Jesus running alongside me with robes billowing in the wind. Blasphemous? Maybe. But it seems less blasphemous than Jesus running in spandex.
The first time I had to run for 20 continuous minutes I thought the guy on the podcast had made an error and was secretly on crack; it turns out no, I really was supposed to run for 20 continuous minutes. And I did. Apparently I was the one on crack.
Which led to the discovery of the "runner's high."
I don't think my "high" is quite the same as the mythical runner's high which involves a feeling of euphoria like you could run forever. My high is more along the lines of, "I CAN STOP RUNNING!!!! I'M DONE!!!!"
But I DID manage to run my first 5k race (I use the term "race" loosely as there was no way I was coming first....or third....or even 30th so race meaning "getting to run with a bunch of strangers in a public setting" as opposed to "annihilating anyone who dares to compare their running speed to mine.") at the end of August and finished in 33:16 - not bad; slightly less than 11 minute miles which was fabulous for me.
But today.
Today was amazing.
Today was about everything I love about running. It was sunny and there were moments of God touches when I ran through sunbeams filtering through clouds and fog. So beautiful. I run on a hiking trail about 1/2 mile from my house (really so no one sees me because you know THEY ARE ALL STARING AT ME as I run by - it's true. Don't deny it) and I could smell the greenery and all the leaves on the ground and see the water and the mountains and the old pilings and mining ruins and it's just so damn beautiful it's like walking in a post card. And I had my Jesus music on and I ran and aside from the little things like lack of breath, muscle fatigue and tripping twice and almost dying, I finished.
How well did I finish?
Today I managed to run 3.11 miles in less than 30 minutes. 30 HELLO minutes!!! Less than a 10 minute mile! How awesome am I?!?!?!
Why just the approximation? Well - I had some mp3 player problems and had to restart the podcast (after one of those near-death trips) and I'm completely guesstimating that the distance I run is actually 5k (based of off walking the track laid out for a race earlier this year) but I feel that even with all those variables, I CAN say that I ran 3 miles in less than 30 minutes.
And that, my friend, makes me feel *expletive* good.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Middle
I've missed my blog.
Terribly.
I've missed getting comments (although the lovely birthday message from Kari that was completely unexpected was quite a bonus).
I'm finding I don't have much time for reading blogs and interacting the way I did a few years ago (hence getting more people to read my posts and more messages - which was always relative anyway as I never had more than single digits (unless I artificially inflated the numbers by leaving pithy comments to myself)) but I am also finding that I miss the writing.
I have been playing games at work of late. I think I kicked the Facebook bug and it's attendant games (too much time having to request items from other people, playing my made-up characters (I had about 8 or 9) so I wouldn't have to interact with REAL people (pity the poor extroverted introvert) and such but occasionally I do get the desire to continually click my mouse and move things about. However, today, I was thinking about this stress release and realized that the time was incredibly repetitive and nothing too exciting and left me with nothing to show for it. So, perhaps, I thought, I should use that time, my break time, to write.
Also, there has been so much to say, so much changing and so much that I need to process. Blogging helps in this aspect. But I have this annoying CDO aspect that makes me want to start at the beginning of this rabbit hole I'm in. But then I have to go back to 2004 and there's so much to say and I end up saying nothing at all.
So, perhaps the solution is to stop caring so much about neat and tidy and sense making and just to start in the middle, to start in the present, and let everyone (the millions reading this and waiting with baited breath for my next post) catch up as they can.
The present: Rafe is camping with his middle school class and I'm terrified of when he goes on his mission; if I miss him so much when he's gone for just a few days, how much worse will two years be? Q and Eliza and I are cleaning vermiculite out of the attic space to make way for modern insulation.
And I have a new laptop.
My old laptop replaced my dad's work laptop (which was antiquated six years ago) and I have been flying without a computer of my own. My dad finally got sick of me borrowing his home computer and bought me own for my birthday. I think I bought a nicer one than he wanted me to buy (read: I spent WAY too much money) but that's what happens when you just open up your wallet and say, "Have at but get. it. done!"
And that could really be the reason for this post - less "I JUST NEED TO WRITE!" and more "I really want to type on this keyboard and here the clickety clack of the keys."
Terribly.
I've missed getting comments (although the lovely birthday message from Kari that was completely unexpected was quite a bonus).
I'm finding I don't have much time for reading blogs and interacting the way I did a few years ago (hence getting more people to read my posts and more messages - which was always relative anyway as I never had more than single digits (unless I artificially inflated the numbers by leaving pithy comments to myself)) but I am also finding that I miss the writing.
I have been playing games at work of late. I think I kicked the Facebook bug and it's attendant games (too much time having to request items from other people, playing my made-up characters (I had about 8 or 9) so I wouldn't have to interact with REAL people (pity the poor extroverted introvert) and such but occasionally I do get the desire to continually click my mouse and move things about. However, today, I was thinking about this stress release and realized that the time was incredibly repetitive and nothing too exciting and left me with nothing to show for it. So, perhaps, I thought, I should use that time, my break time, to write.
Also, there has been so much to say, so much changing and so much that I need to process. Blogging helps in this aspect. But I have this annoying CDO aspect that makes me want to start at the beginning of this rabbit hole I'm in. But then I have to go back to 2004 and there's so much to say and I end up saying nothing at all.
So, perhaps the solution is to stop caring so much about neat and tidy and sense making and just to start in the middle, to start in the present, and let everyone (the millions reading this and waiting with baited breath for my next post) catch up as they can.
The present: Rafe is camping with his middle school class and I'm terrified of when he goes on his mission; if I miss him so much when he's gone for just a few days, how much worse will two years be? Q and Eliza and I are cleaning vermiculite out of the attic space to make way for modern insulation.
And I have a new laptop.
My old laptop replaced my dad's work laptop (which was antiquated six years ago) and I have been flying without a computer of my own. My dad finally got sick of me borrowing his home computer and bought me own for my birthday. I think I bought a nicer one than he wanted me to buy (read: I spent WAY too much money) but that's what happens when you just open up your wallet and say, "Have at but get. it. done!"
And that could really be the reason for this post - less "I JUST NEED TO WRITE!" and more "I really want to type on this keyboard and here the clickety clack of the keys."
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Needing A George Bailey Moment
I really don't like It's A Wonderful Life. I find it to be dark and depressing, for the most part, and have no idea out why it's considered a holiday classic.
However, today, I find myself wishing I could have that "George Bailey glimpse" to see what life would be like (for the worse of course) without me.
For the most part, particularly of late, I have felt that God loves me and that I have worth. But there are days like today when I need to know that I matter, not just to God, but to the people around me and that all this routine and little acts and effort and wheels spinning actually make some difference here in the lives of people I know or even don't know.
However, today, I find myself wishing I could have that "George Bailey glimpse" to see what life would be like (for the worse of course) without me.
For the most part, particularly of late, I have felt that God loves me and that I have worth. But there are days like today when I need to know that I matter, not just to God, but to the people around me and that all this routine and little acts and effort and wheels spinning actually make some difference here in the lives of people I know or even don't know.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Last Day of School!
Ever since Finding Nemo, I can't say the above words without saying them loudly and in a great hurried rush. The great effect of animated film.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Montessori Campout
We went camping overnight (happily in cabins) with Q and Eliza's school (unhappily, we had to share cabins and thus more people are now aware of my snoring problem).
We had a lot of fun. We ate a lot of food that would soo not have been okay had this been a pre-Easter event (And may I say that the camp's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies were so good, I think they were laced with crack. Seriously. I kept waiting for them to set them out at another meal so I could be the fat lady walking out of the eating lodge with two dozen cookies in her pockets because I would have been completely OK with that moniker.) We played miniature golf (rural Alaskan style - small cement pads with large rocks as obstacles), shot BB guns, arrows, played air hockey and walked. And walked.
I felt like a pioneer child.
But the best moments were with my son in the middle of the night. There were a total of 15 people in our cabin, only 2 of which belonged with me. Two of those other 12 had been traveling all night prior to the campout and had thus been awake from 1am until 9pm and were ex.haus.ted. I was hyper aware of the need for my children to be quiet. So imagine my joy when, in the middle of the night, I hear, "ELIZA! GET OUT OF MY BED! EL! I! ZA! GET OUT OF MY BED!" in a piercing whispered voice. Q had sleep walked (?) or something and ended up in the bunk next to his where a little girl (about 5yo and NOT his sister) was sleeping. In his sleep filled delusion, he thought she was Eliza and that she was on her bed.
I managed, after a bit of arguing, to convince him that his bed was the next one over. He finally allowed me to move him and we all settled back down for sleep.
Sort-of.
From behind my eyelids I saw a light flash on and swing around and shut off.
"He's just getting settled," I thought.
It happened again.
And again.
"Q! What are you doing?" I stage whispered.
"I'm afraid of spiders."
"Do you want to come sleep with me?"
He was in my bunk quicker than you can say, "Bob's your uncle," and my back ended up crammed up against the wall for the worst night of sleep I can remember.
The ironic thing is that while we found no spiders on his bunk, when we were putting our sleeping bags away, we DID find one on mine.
I suppose it just matters what one thinks at 1am and not in the light of day.
We had a lot of fun. We ate a lot of food that would soo not have been okay had this been a pre-Easter event (And may I say that the camp's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies were so good, I think they were laced with crack. Seriously. I kept waiting for them to set them out at another meal so I could be the fat lady walking out of the eating lodge with two dozen cookies in her pockets because I would have been completely OK with that moniker.) We played miniature golf (rural Alaskan style - small cement pads with large rocks as obstacles), shot BB guns, arrows, played air hockey and walked. And walked.
I felt like a pioneer child.
But the best moments were with my son in the middle of the night. There were a total of 15 people in our cabin, only 2 of which belonged with me. Two of those other 12 had been traveling all night prior to the campout and had thus been awake from 1am until 9pm and were ex.haus.ted. I was hyper aware of the need for my children to be quiet. So imagine my joy when, in the middle of the night, I hear, "ELIZA! GET OUT OF MY BED! EL! I! ZA! GET OUT OF MY BED!" in a piercing whispered voice. Q had sleep walked (?) or something and ended up in the bunk next to his where a little girl (about 5yo and NOT his sister) was sleeping. In his sleep filled delusion, he thought she was Eliza and that she was on her bed.
I managed, after a bit of arguing, to convince him that his bed was the next one over. He finally allowed me to move him and we all settled back down for sleep.
Sort-of.
From behind my eyelids I saw a light flash on and swing around and shut off.
"He's just getting settled," I thought.
It happened again.
And again.
"Q! What are you doing?" I stage whispered.
"I'm afraid of spiders."
"Do you want to come sleep with me?"
He was in my bunk quicker than you can say, "Bob's your uncle," and my back ended up crammed up against the wall for the worst night of sleep I can remember.
The ironic thing is that while we found no spiders on his bunk, when we were putting our sleeping bags away, we DID find one on mine.
I suppose it just matters what one thinks at 1am and not in the light of day.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Not Quite What Was Intended
My dad is a fairly gruff guy, not generally given to spoiling or adoring his grandchildren, so I was pleasantly surprised when he forwarded me this yesterday and expressly told me to share it with my kids.
The tune is catchy and the message is timely so I've been singing it ever since.
Sorta.
The problem I start out thinking, "My name is Jesus" and end up with this.
Not quite what my dad intended I'm sure.
The tune is catchy and the message is timely so I've been singing it ever since.
Sorta.
The problem I start out thinking, "My name is Jesus" and end up with this.
Not quite what my dad intended I'm sure.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Lenten Learnings and Easter Excitment
This journey of the last few days has been an interesting one and I find it even more intriguing that the unplanned Lenten gift, the one stumbled upon, has been the most significant.
I think I was right to cut back (mostly give up) TV and reading extra-scriptural things; I ended up spending a lot more time reading my scriptures and talking to God in the resulting quiet when the TV was not on to distract me while folding laundry or prepping dinner.
But my sugar fast has provided the biggest insights of all.
I fully admit to reverting to the mentality of a 3 year old and I struggled, like my daughter, to remember that Easter was about the atonement, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus and not my finally getting to eat chocolate.
This last week was full of painful anticipation; I knew my days were numbered: one week, five days, tomorrow! And yet they were the longest days I endured during the whole period, to be so close and yet infinitely separated from something I adore. These feelings intensified my reading of the scriptures this week as the children and I rehearsed each day what Jesus was doing on that particular day. Every time I would get a pang for something sweet I would think: today Jesus was relaxing in Bethany; today He was administering the Last Supper and praying in Gethsemane; today - right now - He was hanging on the cross; today - right now - the world darkened. I thought it fitting that Good Friday here was rainy and dreary.
Saturday was busy and crazy running here and there with general activities and preparations for Easter with me not turning in for sleep until almost midnight. But the whole day I thought of Mary Magdalene and how she would have attended her worship services and spent the day in Sabbath activities, the whole while thinking of the body of Jesus and waiting, yearning for the moment she could tend to His body and render Him the final service she could give; I thought of all their sadness and the passing of my mother and how in the first few days of loss, sleep is almost impossible for the tears and weight of grief. Fittingly, then, I tossed and turned and got the worst night of sleep ever.
I woke up at 5am this morning giddy. The house was still. My children were sleeping. The sky was lightening. I walked out to the front room and saw my Easter box with my bags of hand picked, delectable, locally made and completely crave-able, even when I'm not fasting, chocolate and stumbled to the couch; I had already decided not to partake until I had read my scriptures. I laid down on the couch and went back to sleep, drifting in and out, for the next hour and half.
The rays of sun were beginning to peak out from behind the mountain when I finally decided that the sleep wasn't worth it and it was time to begin; I cracked my scriptures to John 20 and read, "The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark. . . ." I thought of her waiting for the earliest moment when she could slip away and go to the tomb. I thought of her tired eyes as mine burned from lack of sleep, her anticipation, her grief and then her distress on finding the tomb empty. I thought of her elation on meeting the Savior and being with Him, hugging Him, loving Him that He was alive. I ate my first bite of chocolate and my mouth was filled with ecstasy as my heart was filled with joy at the story and reality of Jesus' resurrection and that He does still live, even now, ever watching over me, ever praying for me, ever listening to me.
In that moment, I understood the gift of Lent - that in some small way I could come not only to appreciate the sacrifices of Jesus and His pain more, but that I might understand the loss of His life, how those around Him grieved and what that means to me and the joy that He took it back up again and all the blessings that fall into my life because of His work.
What a gift! What a supernal joy!
I know that my Redeemer lives.
Happy Easter.
I think I was right to cut back (mostly give up) TV and reading extra-scriptural things; I ended up spending a lot more time reading my scriptures and talking to God in the resulting quiet when the TV was not on to distract me while folding laundry or prepping dinner.
But my sugar fast has provided the biggest insights of all.
I fully admit to reverting to the mentality of a 3 year old and I struggled, like my daughter, to remember that Easter was about the atonement, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus and not my finally getting to eat chocolate.
This last week was full of painful anticipation; I knew my days were numbered: one week, five days, tomorrow! And yet they were the longest days I endured during the whole period, to be so close and yet infinitely separated from something I adore. These feelings intensified my reading of the scriptures this week as the children and I rehearsed each day what Jesus was doing on that particular day. Every time I would get a pang for something sweet I would think: today Jesus was relaxing in Bethany; today He was administering the Last Supper and praying in Gethsemane; today - right now - He was hanging on the cross; today - right now - the world darkened. I thought it fitting that Good Friday here was rainy and dreary.
Saturday was busy and crazy running here and there with general activities and preparations for Easter with me not turning in for sleep until almost midnight. But the whole day I thought of Mary Magdalene and how she would have attended her worship services and spent the day in Sabbath activities, the whole while thinking of the body of Jesus and waiting, yearning for the moment she could tend to His body and render Him the final service she could give; I thought of all their sadness and the passing of my mother and how in the first few days of loss, sleep is almost impossible for the tears and weight of grief. Fittingly, then, I tossed and turned and got the worst night of sleep ever.
I woke up at 5am this morning giddy. The house was still. My children were sleeping. The sky was lightening. I walked out to the front room and saw my Easter box with my bags of hand picked, delectable, locally made and completely crave-able, even when I'm not fasting, chocolate and stumbled to the couch; I had already decided not to partake until I had read my scriptures. I laid down on the couch and went back to sleep, drifting in and out, for the next hour and half.
The rays of sun were beginning to peak out from behind the mountain when I finally decided that the sleep wasn't worth it and it was time to begin; I cracked my scriptures to John 20 and read, "The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark. . . ." I thought of her waiting for the earliest moment when she could slip away and go to the tomb. I thought of her tired eyes as mine burned from lack of sleep, her anticipation, her grief and then her distress on finding the tomb empty. I thought of her elation on meeting the Savior and being with Him, hugging Him, loving Him that He was alive. I ate my first bite of chocolate and my mouth was filled with ecstasy as my heart was filled with joy at the story and reality of Jesus' resurrection and that He does still live, even now, ever watching over me, ever praying for me, ever listening to me.
In that moment, I understood the gift of Lent - that in some small way I could come not only to appreciate the sacrifices of Jesus and His pain more, but that I might understand the loss of His life, how those around Him grieved and what that means to me and the joy that He took it back up again and all the blessings that fall into my life because of His work.
What a gift! What a supernal joy!
I know that my Redeemer lives.
Happy Easter.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Chocolate and that Jesus Guy
I have yeast issues.
Big ones.
I know - TMI and what the heck does that have to do with the above? I'm getting there.
I've had skin yeast infections ever since I stopped nursing my first born and my boobs sagged and created a nice hot, moist, dark environment for the little beasties to grow in; if you do the math, that's about 12 years.
12 years.
Finally, this last year, the worst symptom started (rectal itching) (and you thought the other was TMI). I'd had enough so when I went in for my annual, my nurse and I had a long chat. The long and short of it was that I had too much yeast in my system and my body couldn't fight it all off. I needed to remove sugar from my diet (GASP) (because apparently sugar not only feeds my soul but also the wee beasties) and take a butt load of probiotics. No pun intended. No sugar meant no candy, one serving of grains per day and one serving of fruit per day and NO CHOCOLATE. Be still my heart - I still have issues when I think about it.
This was toward the end of February. For some reason or another but which I cannot quite recall, I was fasting on February 28th and felt impressed that that was the time to start. Okay Lord, down the rabbit hole we go!
Within two days I started getting bad, daily headaches that I couldn't shake for several weeks.
So I did what any sane woman would do. I chopped off my hair. 8" whooshed to Locks of Love and my head felt pounds lighter.
But I still got headaches so I'm sticking with my "getting rid of sugar is E.V.I.L." diagnosis.
In the middle of March I got sick, really sick - fevers and headaches and overall yuckiness. Did you know (I'm sure it's just the placebo effect) that orange juice makes me feel so. much. better? It does. Did you know that orange juice is loaded with sugar? Yeah. Loaded. (But the headaches did go away so I'm sticking with my "orange juice makes me feel so. much. better." diagnosis.)
So I felt compelled to start the sugar free thing again; this was done with a purpose - to defeat the evil yeast - and I wanted to make sure that mission was accomplished. So I added another month. Which means that April 24th I get to eat sugar again. Which just happens to be Easter. Even though this was so not a Lent thing.
Needless to say, this has been a huge topic of conversation at our house as Mommy has different dinners than everyone else and Mommy doesn't get to eat ice cream or peanut butter pie or Eliza's first batch of "I made them all by myself (mostly)" cupcakes.
The other day we were discussing Easter at the table and my daughter (pay attention - this is the point of the whole sordid tale) said that she was looking forward to Easter because it was the day that we celebrated Mommy getting to eat chocolate.
Really.
All year we've been talking about Jesus. Talking about baptism (as she'll be 8 in November and eligible to be baptized). Reading the New Testament (we're in the Book of Acts). And yet, my daughter thinks that Easter is to celebrate the end of Mommy's temporary, never been done before, sugar fast.
I quickly corrected her and told her that Easter was the celebration of the atonement of Jesus, His crucifixion and suffering and His glorious resurrection and all the blessings that those events bring to us.
Eliza added, "And Mommy getting to eat chocolate."
Perhaps there is not a baptism in our future this year. . . .
Big ones.
I know - TMI and what the heck does that have to do with the above? I'm getting there.
I've had skin yeast infections ever since I stopped nursing my first born and my boobs sagged and created a nice hot, moist, dark environment for the little beasties to grow in; if you do the math, that's about 12 years.
12 years.
Finally, this last year, the worst symptom started (rectal itching) (and you thought the other was TMI). I'd had enough so when I went in for my annual, my nurse and I had a long chat. The long and short of it was that I had too much yeast in my system and my body couldn't fight it all off. I needed to remove sugar from my diet (GASP) (because apparently sugar not only feeds my soul but also the wee beasties) and take a butt load of probiotics. No pun intended. No sugar meant no candy, one serving of grains per day and one serving of fruit per day and NO CHOCOLATE. Be still my heart - I still have issues when I think about it.
This was toward the end of February. For some reason or another but which I cannot quite recall, I was fasting on February 28th and felt impressed that that was the time to start. Okay Lord, down the rabbit hole we go!
Within two days I started getting bad, daily headaches that I couldn't shake for several weeks.
So I did what any sane woman would do. I chopped off my hair. 8" whooshed to Locks of Love and my head felt pounds lighter.
But I still got headaches so I'm sticking with my "getting rid of sugar is E.V.I.L." diagnosis.
In the middle of March I got sick, really sick - fevers and headaches and overall yuckiness. Did you know (I'm sure it's just the placebo effect) that orange juice makes me feel so. much. better? It does. Did you know that orange juice is loaded with sugar? Yeah. Loaded. (But the headaches did go away so I'm sticking with my "orange juice makes me feel so. much. better." diagnosis.)
So I felt compelled to start the sugar free thing again; this was done with a purpose - to defeat the evil yeast - and I wanted to make sure that mission was accomplished. So I added another month. Which means that April 24th I get to eat sugar again. Which just happens to be Easter. Even though this was so not a Lent thing.
Needless to say, this has been a huge topic of conversation at our house as Mommy has different dinners than everyone else and Mommy doesn't get to eat ice cream or peanut butter pie or Eliza's first batch of "I made them all by myself (mostly)" cupcakes.
The other day we were discussing Easter at the table and my daughter (pay attention - this is the point of the whole sordid tale) said that she was looking forward to Easter because it was the day that we celebrated Mommy getting to eat chocolate.
Really.
All year we've been talking about Jesus. Talking about baptism (as she'll be 8 in November and eligible to be baptized). Reading the New Testament (we're in the Book of Acts). And yet, my daughter thinks that Easter is to celebrate the end of Mommy's temporary, never been done before, sugar fast.
I quickly corrected her and told her that Easter was the celebration of the atonement of Jesus, His crucifixion and suffering and His glorious resurrection and all the blessings that those events bring to us.
Eliza added, "And Mommy getting to eat chocolate."
Perhaps there is not a baptism in our future this year. . . .
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Dinner Conversation
Background: My daughter's school class (lower El -1/2/3 combined of about 24 students) is putting on some plays this spring. Sadly, she doesn't get to be in the plays that feature the fog princess or the fairies. She gets to be a play about Anansi the Spider. Worse, she doesn't get to a narrator or Anansi or the Little Bush Deer; she gets to be a hippo. She only gets one line. There were tears over this people.
But this is not about that; this is about our conversation at Monday night's dinner.
Eliza: I want to be Anansi.
DH: You don't want to be one of those!
Me: She means A-nan-Si.
DH: Oh. I thought she said a Nazi.
Q: Yeah. I wouldn't want to be a Russian.
Me: The Nazis were from Germany, not Russia?
Q: Really?
DH: Yeah - ask Poppa; he lived there for awhile.
Me: Or Uncle Kenji - he was born there. Or me, I was made there. I've always wanted to get a t-shirt that said "Made in Germany" on the front.
Poppa (my dad): You want what?
Me: I want a t-shirt that says, "Made in Germany." I was.
Poppa: I'm not having this conversation.
But this is not about that; this is about our conversation at Monday night's dinner.
Eliza: I want to be Anansi.
DH: You don't want to be one of those!
Me: She means A-nan-Si.
DH: Oh. I thought she said a Nazi.
Q: Yeah. I wouldn't want to be a Russian.
Me: The Nazis were from Germany, not Russia?
Q: Really?
DH: Yeah - ask Poppa; he lived there for awhile.
Me: Or Uncle Kenji - he was born there. Or me, I was made there. I've always wanted to get a t-shirt that said "Made in Germany" on the front.
Poppa (my dad): You want what?
Me: I want a t-shirt that says, "Made in Germany." I was.
Poppa: I'm not having this conversation.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Lent
I'm not Catholic, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I love the idea of Lent. (Mormonism just doesn't have enough rules of it's own, dontcha know.) I love the idea of sacrificing something to try and understand what Jesus sacrificed and a measure of His pain. I love the idea of giving up my "favorite sins" to know Him better and I love the idea of laying down something I love so that Easter Sunday is that much sweeter when I get to enjoy it again.
This year I actually prayed and pondered the matter (I have been known to randomly pull things out of my butt just to have something to give up, so this is definitely a step in the right direction.) and came to the conclusion that I really needed to give up TV altogether. Just for Lent. Completely excluding any time I spend with my kids watching TV. The real aim was to give up my evening TV time in hopes that I would spend more time studying scriptures, etc.
I also gave up reading anything other than my scriptures. No books. No magazines. And (as of today because I suddenly realized that they should probably be included) blogs. Again, with the intent that I would spend more time communing with God and strengthening those habits.
Everything was going well (excluding the blog reading, which I only recently realized) until I got sick. Fever, miserable, lie on the couch and not move sick. I'm sure that someone better than I would have used this time to really talk with God and praise Him even in her trials (I did do a bit of that) but I mainly watched a lot of TV. A lot. As in I acted more like my 12 year old when sick and completely used it as an excuse not to sleep and rest but to watch lots of TV and catch up on everything I hadn't been watching for the previous two weeks.
But everything's back on track.
Sorta.
I've learned that giving up TV while trying to exercise actually works as a deterrent to exercise as TV watching is that carrot that helps me win that daily battle over "to workout or not to workout," and since this seems counter to my improved health goals that God and I have been working on, I'm letting it slide.
I've learned that I rationalize. Sometimes, I rationalize a lot. I may be watching less TV as a whole, but I can promise you that my children are watching more in the evenings so that I can watch and have it be "allowed."
I'm trying to learn how to walk the line between following the commandments (and any extra odd covenants I make with God, like, oh, LENT) with exactness (thinking - the people of Ammon) and zeal and yet not being Pharisaical. It's hard to know where that line is because (as noted above) I am prone to rationalization and laziness and yet also at times (contradictorily) I am too hard on myself.
Let me know if you have it figured out.
This year I actually prayed and pondered the matter (I have been known to randomly pull things out of my butt just to have something to give up, so this is definitely a step in the right direction.) and came to the conclusion that I really needed to give up TV altogether. Just for Lent. Completely excluding any time I spend with my kids watching TV. The real aim was to give up my evening TV time in hopes that I would spend more time studying scriptures, etc.
I also gave up reading anything other than my scriptures. No books. No magazines. And (as of today because I suddenly realized that they should probably be included) blogs. Again, with the intent that I would spend more time communing with God and strengthening those habits.
Everything was going well (excluding the blog reading, which I only recently realized) until I got sick. Fever, miserable, lie on the couch and not move sick. I'm sure that someone better than I would have used this time to really talk with God and praise Him even in her trials (I did do a bit of that) but I mainly watched a lot of TV. A lot. As in I acted more like my 12 year old when sick and completely used it as an excuse not to sleep and rest but to watch lots of TV and catch up on everything I hadn't been watching for the previous two weeks.
But everything's back on track.
Sorta.
I've learned that giving up TV while trying to exercise actually works as a deterrent to exercise as TV watching is that carrot that helps me win that daily battle over "to workout or not to workout," and since this seems counter to my improved health goals that God and I have been working on, I'm letting it slide.
I've learned that I rationalize. Sometimes, I rationalize a lot. I may be watching less TV as a whole, but I can promise you that my children are watching more in the evenings so that I can watch and have it be "allowed."
I'm trying to learn how to walk the line between following the commandments (and any extra odd covenants I make with God, like, oh, LENT) with exactness (thinking - the people of Ammon) and zeal and yet not being Pharisaical. It's hard to know where that line is because (as noted above) I am prone to rationalization and laziness and yet also at times (contradictorily) I am too hard on myself.
Let me know if you have it figured out.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Glory Be
Today has been a day of miracles.
My daughter, who was soo sick this morning that she couldn't go to school, was immediately healed upon learning that she would have to spend the day in bed.
The dentist while numbing a small area to replace a decaying filling (pun totally intended) managed to numb me clear up to my eyelid.
I just discovered that, after years of protesting, I do like eggplant parmesan. As in really like it. As in "I might even try to make it myself" like it.
It's been just an awesomely stunning day and it's not even noon!
My daughter, who was soo sick this morning that she couldn't go to school, was immediately healed upon learning that she would have to spend the day in bed.
The dentist while numbing a small area to replace a decaying filling (pun totally intended) managed to numb me clear up to my eyelid.
I just discovered that, after years of protesting, I do like eggplant parmesan. As in really like it. As in "I might even try to make it myself" like it.
It's been just an awesomely stunning day and it's not even noon!
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