Do you need someone to cry with you? I'm your gal.

Maybe you think I'm exaggerating when I talk about how I'm a sympathetic crier.  How when I see someone crying I almost always start crying along with them.

I am not. 

An example:

We have a Spanish branch in our stake and they were fresh out of pianists so I was asked to help out for the primary sacrament meeting program, which was today.  With the exception of a few phrases and things I've pick up spending a lifetime in a southern border state (plus my love for Latin root words), I neither speak nor understand Spanish.  Like a genius, I took German in high school and the only good it has done me was that one time in Tunisia when I was mistaken for a German tourist by a local shrimper.  Anyway, after the program was completed the branch president got up to say a few words, very little of which I understood.  A few minutes into it he got a little weepy - over what I can only guess.  But those types of details do not matter to a sympathetic crier.  Oh no, because there I was getting weepy right along with him.  He could have been talking about that one time he lost his lucky socks.  It matters not.  When you are with me you do not cry alone.

The Kids are Alright

I think you all need to give me a stirring round of applause.  Why?  Because I was released as the Primary President yesterday and I didn't cry once...at church.  At home - different story.  Marvel at my self control!!! I've known it was coming for a few weeks now - which made last week's primary program even more of a tear-fest, and I actually have felt for some time now that it was imminent - I'm still the stake girls camp director and I made it clear that it was only through many, many miracles that I was able to do both this past year and that, while I was willing to do it again, maybe we shouldn't tax heaven so much the next time around.  So I was prepared.

But do you know what I wasn't prepared for?  How much I would love working in the Primary.  Before I got in I would hear people say, "I love being in Primary.  It's the best job in the whole church," and I was certain they were saying that just to make themselves feel better about the whole thing.  Because who wants to spend 2 hours of every Sunday with 40 kids making sure they don't poke someones eye out when you could be having deep doctrinal discussions with adults? 

Um, I do.  Because those kids are awesome.  They made me laugh every single week.  And they sometimes said the most profound and really sweet things.  And we got to sing a lot.  Remember how freaked out I was about the whole thing?  As all the kids were filing in on Sunday, giving me hugs and high fives, I felt like a total pro.

Next church adventure:  Nursery Assistant.  That's right - I'll be hanging with the toddler set, eating gold fish crackers and playing with bubbles.  I'm thinking of instituting nap time. 

The advent of summer

1.  Happy Summer!!!!!!!  I love the beginning of summer above all other seasonal beginnings because it feels so open and full of potential.  It's a bit of wild card season.  You know in the fall there will be school and in the winter will be Christmas and in the spring you'll have allergies.  But summer is so full of surprises and possibilities.  It is when your friends are most likely to call you up out of the blue and say, "Hey, I'm heading down to the beach to ride bikes.  Wanna come?"  I celebrated the advent of summer with a little shaved ice and am now ready for adventure.

2.  Does the rest of the world have Funeral Potatoes, or is it just the Mormons?  This afternoon I was helping out at a dinner after a funeral for a man who was a Mormon, long, long ago, but his family was not and we had, naturally, 3 pans of Funeral Potatoes (a casserole made of cream of something soup, sour cream, cheese and potatoes) and none of the mourners had ever seen them before.  I suppose it could be called other things, but Funeral Potatoes are what it's called around these parts because, well, we bring it to funerals.  It's easy to make, it feeds a lot of people, and it is the epitome of comfort food.  At the end of it all I was chatting with the man's daughter, who was marveling at the amount of food we brought, and I had to explain that Mormons only know how to feed very large groups of people.  I believe it's our pioneer spirit that warns us that the crickets could come and eat all our crops and we'll starve come winter and we'd better fatten each other up just in case.

3.  After the funeral, I got to play the piano for one my primary kid's baptism.  He comes from a very big family so I was expecting a crowd.  What I was not expecting was that they'd all be early.  I am notoriously late to things I have to be early to.  I have nothing to blame but my optimistic sense of time.  But tonight I arrived 15 minutes before it was about to start and I was super proud of myself - until I discovered that I was the very last person to arrive.  I'm giving myself an A for effort.

4.  I am thinking of becoming a super model.  Behold.

Aack!

I have a lot on my plate right now.  Girls Camp is next week, Primary needs some major attention and stuff has been happening at the Pod that make me want to hide in the super secret hidden room they have there with a pillow, a blanket, and a James Taylor CD.  Plus, I've been going through it all while suffering a bout of the old PMS which means I have a very full plate with a side of tears and bloating.

Which is how I found myself in the grocery story this afternoon putting about 20 pounds of snack food and chocolate back on the shelves after it mysteriously appeared in my basket.  It was as if my rational and composed self was abducted by aliens and was replaced by a Cathy cartoon.

The One Butt Kitchen

Katie and I call our kitchen a One Butt Kitchen because that's about all it has room for.  We cannot open the refrigerator and the dishwasher at the same time.  In fact, in order to open the dishwasher we have to move the trashcan.  It is wee.  But even though it is the clown car of kitchens it does have some magic.  Namely, two ovens.  Yep.  Two people can barely fit in there, but two ovens?  Bingo!

Both ovens came in handy on Saturday when we had to bake for both Easter and a dessert auction our ward was having that night to raise money for youth camps.  We were up to our eyeballs in baked goods.  Between the two of us we made a german chocolate cake, a strawberry cream cake, a chocolate peanut butter pie, a chocolate bundt cake (which was named Too Much Chocolate Cake - as if) and banana nut bread.

Katie's - natch.  They're the pretty ones

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The banana bread wasn't for anything in particular - we just had rotting bananas and also, this is not our first dessert auction.  I have found that when we spend all day baking only to come home without anything I get a little punchy.  The banana bread was preemptive.

 

Later that night, to celebrate the success of the auction, we decorated eggs:

 

And then rolled around in all the money that was brought in. 

Not true - Katie just counted it.  And we marvelled once again at how generous and awesome our ward is.

It used to be a Life of Elegant LEISURE

So, you know how I was in Tunisia for 3 months, and during those three months I didn't have any church responsibilities other than occasionally playing the piano for our teeny group to sing a hymn?  Well, I wish I had known then that the entire purpose of that trip was to give me a chance to take a nap in order to rest up for what has become The Season of Busy.  My life has suddenly become dominated by churchy responsibilities.  This is not a complaint.  Nor is it a nostalgic wish for a return of the good old days when I was just the Primary president.  I'm fine with the work load.  In fact, I'm amazed at how well my naturally chaotic and disorganized brain is handling it all.  Yes, fine.

Fine, except for the sad fact that at the end of the day, when I would normally sit down and type out something humorous on this blog, I find myself staring at a blank screen wondering if I saw anything funny that day.  Of course I saw something funny.  I always see something funny.  But the part of my brain that translates those moments into actual words has been taken over by the part of my brain that demands sleep.  Which means you have missed out on such stories as:  How I Saved $1000 in Car Repairs through a Very Obscure Family Connection, and The Roach I Met at Soup Plantation, and My Tragic Haircut - Volume 15.  All would-be classics. 

So, I'm a little bummed about that.  But let's not be so glum.  Let's look at this picture instead.

That's my grandpa and his brothers at Seal Beach, CA in 1924.  Grandpa is the wee fella in front.  They are, no doubt, about to rob a candy store and then find a girl whose pigtails they can pull.  This could be the Greatest Picture Ever Taken.  National Geographics should put it on the cover.  We should all have it framed and hung in our bathrooms so we can see it each morning to start the day out with a smile. 

I will leave the cling wrap at home

You may recall how I went up to my church's young women's camp last summer as a cook.  Well, I think my enthusiasm for the whole enterprise has gotten me into a bit of trouble because I was asked to be the stake camp specialist.  To quote Camille, "The Upland Stake won't know what hit them."

Boy, is this true.  Because I have been known to start pillow fights in the middle of the night at camp.  And I don't know how appropriate that would be for a specialist to instigate.

Other ideas I'm going to have to suppress:

Food fight!!!
Let's put cling wrap on all the toilet seats!!
First girl to fall asleep gets her bra up the flag pole!!

Ideas I won't be suppressing:

Let's braid our hair tonight and make tomorrow Afro Day!
Dance party!
Snow cone machine!

I have always had a difficult time with finding a good balance between responsible adult and circus clown.  We'll see how this plays out.  But I'm pretty excited about it all.  And bonus, I still get to be the Primary president.  Well, bonus in the sense that I love those kids and would be pretty broken up about having to leave them.  I'm in denial about how busy the next 5 months could potentially get.  But it will be fine, right?  I mean, if there's a snow cone machine at the end of it all, it will be worth it.

I didn't realize dinosaurs were in Bethlehem

My stake has this nativity festival every December with over 1000 nativity scenes and lots of community choirs singing and it's one of those things that simultaneously makes me love Christmas but also makes me want to check out the Catholics.  Because my soul fights against giant church productions like this.  I get exhausted just thinking about all the work that goes into it (of which I do practically none of).  And I whine and whinge about how many times I have to drive the whole 2 minutes to the church to help with this or that (4 times so far).  And why can't I just stay at home in my jim-jams and also, wah!  Until I get there and see how lovely it is and how so many people enjoy it and every time I go I see people I love and end up chatting for hours and then I change my scroogey attitude and let the Christmas Blue Bird of Happiness nestle in my heart again. 

Last night the primary kids were singing so I headed down and when I got there I walked into the room where they were waiting to go on to see if I could help and ended up playing hall-monitor/circus clown while they were lined up.  I have every good intention of teaching children the importance of reverence in church but kids are just so entertaining.  For example:  they do funny things on demand.  I had them pretend that they were spies lined up against the wall.  I made them practice singing with feeling and we flailed our arms about like we were opera stars.  I high-fived them all as they walked into the chapel - and then told them to fold their arms.  I am no good at being an example of saintly reverence.  But I certainly know how to have fun with them.

And now for a note on nativity scenes:  There are A LOT of them at this thing.  Over 1000.  Some are beautiful.  And some are made of teddy bears.  Or moose.  Or cats.  Or puppy dogs.  One had dinosaurs in it and a halo made of a gold candy wrapper.  I realize that some of you out there may have a creche that fits into this whimsical category.  It is well documented how much I love the whimsy.  And I certainly don't want to get all judge-y about the myriad and, I'm sure, very personal ways people bring about the Christmas Spirit.  And I love you and we're friends.  But really, a moose? 

*****************

On an entirely unrelated note:  we had a special occasion this morning (which included so much laughing that Laura barely managed to say, "I'm about to pee my pants!!!").  It called for Special Occasion Orange French Toast.  Folks, you need to make this.  And then you need to get a good cardiologist. 

Hey Upland 1st Ward, I'm Back! And I'm at the Organ!!!!

One of the things I really missed while away was church.  We had church in Tunisia.  There were 6 adults and 4 kids.  We met at home.  It was lovely but it lacked all the fun bells and whistles of a ward.  So I went back today and dived right in.  Head first.  Without my floaties.

The organist wasn't there as of 5 minutes to the start of the meeting so Kyle asked if I would step in.  Gladly.  Now, it is well documented here that the hardest song in the hymnal, the one I have officially refused to play but still end up playing every blessed time I step in on the organ, is True to the Faith, so as I walked up to the organ Kyle says to me, "Thanks.  And at least you know it's not True to the Faith."  That was the first thing I checked before I agreed.  So you can imagine the look on mine and Kyle's faces when it is announced that our opening song is TRUE TO THE FAITH!!!!!!!!  It was, quite possibly, the funniest moment of my life.  And never before has an introduction been as botched as the one I played because I was trying to stop myself from hysterical laughter.  I massacred that intro.  You would not believe the carnage I left behind.  Half the people in the ward don't know me because the Sunday before I left our ward boundaries were realigned so there are new people everywhere.  Well, they probably know me now. 

A Brief Recap of Girls Camp

1.)  Very little sleep is had up at camp.  This is true for the girls as well as the women who go up with them.  Because when girls and women get together we spend it gabbing.  It is the law of nature.  Men don't have that primal urge to chat so the handful of them that were up there always seemed to get plenty of sleep.  But not the women.  On Tuesday I had been up since 5:30, spent all but 2 hours of the day in the kitchen and by 11 pm was exhausted but was still down in the lodge laughing and chatting.  By the end of the week my conversations went something like this:

Someone:  Hi Rachel!
Me:  Zz.  Zzz zzz zzz.
Someone:  You look tired.
Me:  Z zz.  Z zzzzz'z zzzz zzzzzzz zzzz zzzz zzzzzz. 

2.)  There was an infestation of moths.  Giant moths.  Thousands and thousands of giant moths.  And if there is one bug I really have a problem with it is the moth.  Things that could potentially get stuck in my hair really freak me out.  So you can imagine how I reacted when within 20 minutes of arriving I shut the window in the wee small bathroom and 40 GIANT MOTHS CAME FLYING AT MY HEAD!!!!!! Had an axe murderer been on the loose this would have been the opening scene in my own personal horror film.  My hair was saved by my high pitched squealing and the frantic flapping of my arms.  Fortunately they magically disappeared after a few days but that did not stop me from lying awake each night panicking that one, or a million, of them would crawl across my forehead and nest in my bangs.

3.)  I cooked and cooked and cooked and cooked.  Oh, for hours and hours every day I cooked.  But I didn't wash a single dish.  The men did all the cleaning.  If this is how the rest of my life could go, I'd appreciate it.

4.)  You may think that cooking 3 meals a day for 100 people would be a drag but there was a lot of laughing in that kitchen.  Even at 6 in the morning.  Really.  I'm serious. 

5.)  It wasn't all cooking.  I also tie-dyed an apron, made several bracelets, sewed a quilt square (I love camp crafts!), learned how to tie a double half-hitch knot, gave a lesson on time management (wherein I made the girls do jumping jacks and math problems - thus confirming your suspicion that I will turn anything into a joke.), and spent an hour each morning reading out in the sunshine and fresh mountain air.  If it weren't for the progressive lack of sleep, the over abundance of dirt, the giant moths and other bugs, and the lack of cell phone reception, I'd live at girls camp year round.

"But look what happened to the cook!"

On Monday morning I'll be heading up to Girls Camp.  For those unfamiliar with this it's a week long trip in the wilderness for teenage Mormon girls.  It mostly consists of lots of hugging and crying and laughing and pranks and eating junk food and staying up way too late and not shaving your legs.  Which, apart from the whole teenage thing, pretty much sums up my life.  I even have the World's Largest Zit on my forehead so I'm going to fit right in. 

Some women will tell you of their experiences at girls camp of sleeping in tents and cooking their own food over fires they started themselves with flint and tinder and peeing behind shrubbery.  Which is so rustic and charming.  But not how things are done around these parts.  Groups out here go to camps with cabins and kitchens and indoor plumbing.  Which is exactly how I like to rough it. 

I'm going up as one of the cooks and I'm kind of excited about it.  I embroidered my name on an apron along with a cupcake.  Because my cuteness knows no bounds.

I'm also bringing up this one because I feel that a proper hostess apron is essential in the wilderness.  And it's cute.  Check out the fabric. 

I really classed that picture up with the bra hanging on the door, didn't I.

I got a food handler's card by correctly answering the following question: 

If you have symptoms such as vomiting or diarrhea what should you do:

a.) tell your supervisor and go home;

b.) stay in the kitchen away from customers;

c.) continue handling the food, just don't breathe on it;

d.) lick all the food.

This is the photo I used for my food handler's badge.  

I don't think that I actually needed to print out the badge but I couldn't pass up the chance to put a picture like that on an official document.  Just in case I have to go on the lam for licking food when ill, I don't want the police to recognize me.   

I got the black lung

I've got the black lung. It's only a matter of time before my dream of dying of consumption finally comes true.

It was California Mormon Helping Hands Day yesterday. This is when Mormons all over the state put on yellow vests and paint things, or dig things, or plant things all in an effort to beautify our communities and also to say, "Hey, look how helpful we are. Don't hate us. We're normal. Except that we're all super chipper about painting city curbs at 7:30 on a Saturday morning."

My stake headed out to our biggest city park and painted the fence around the baseball diamond and laid mulch. I was on paint patrol and within the first 5 minutes a drop of paint fell on my nostril. It smelled gross. But not as gross as the mulch. I actually really love doing stuff like this. The work is a bit arduous but you get to do it next to members of your ward and stake and you can all laugh and joke about the blisters forming on your hands or the paint up your nose. And there's all these little kids running around trying to help out or making water balloons out of left over latex gloves. It feels a bit like a carnival, only sweatier.

So here's where the black lung comes in. In an effort to support our mid-singles group* Katie and I went out to the multi-stake service project/barbecue they were having in the afternoon. We met at the church and then drove out to the walking trail where there were piles and piles of mulch. Not nearly as stinky as the morning variety but it was in Fontana, and if there's one thing you should know about Fontana it is that the wind there has no mercy. Oh, it blows. It looked like the piles of mulch were smoking but it was actually just the wind picking it up. They gave us masks and shovels and rakes and we spread that mulch for two hours. But even the masks were no match for the wind and last night when we got home we both felt like we had inhaled a pile of dirt. But it was still a good time because, let's be honest here, consumption jokes are funny.

On a tangential note: There was a bbq at the end of the mulching and by that time I had 1.) painted a fence, 2.) spent several hours cleaning my balcony and planting lots of flowers, and 3.) spent 2 hours being doused with mulch, all without a shower or a change of clothes, although I did load on extra layers of the cancer-causing deodorant. It struck me as kind of funny that we were at a singles activity - the main point of these being to meet people - and here we all were looking sweaty and dirty and a bit on the disgusting side and not nearly as attractive as one would hope. It was even funnier when we got back to the church and saw the clean and fresh faces of all the people who skipped the mulching and came for the food. It's a shame I'm going to be dead from the black lung in a month, considering all the guys I impressed.

*Things you may not know about the Mormons: the church has various groups for single people, mostly in an effort to eradicate the need for them. There are the young single adults who are 18-30, the single adults 31 til you die and recently they have started up a mid-singles group for the 31-45ish. It is a bit of a relief to be out of the same dating pool as my grandpa.

Food-Freezer

1.) It all started last week when I had leftover ingredients for chicken enchiladas. I made them up and filled an 8x8 pan and froze it. The same thing happened last night when I had left over ingredients for stuffed shells. And today I was craving oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and since an entire batch is too much of a temptation for a Woman of Elegant Leisure who spends her days primarily at home I baked up a few and froze the rest of the dough in individual balls. I am officially a food-freezer. It's a good thing my freezer is wee and already stuffed because I can see this becoming a serious problem. If this is not a sign of 80-year-old-ness then I don't know what is.

2.) I'm amongst the gainfully employed. Sort of. It's part time. I work from home. And I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. No seriously. When I try to explain it to people it takes me 10 minutes and we all end up more confused then when we started. It is very Kramerica Industries.

3.) You may not have caught Angela's comment about firesides because she just posted but she says that in New Zealand, where she is from, firesides are usually 2 hours long and they have no refreshments at the end. Clearly New Zealand is where the monastic order of the church is located. Do they also give up all worldly possessions and wear sack cloth? When no one makes a comment in Sunday School is that just because of their vows of silence?

Fanfares

A few days ago the ward organist asked if I would sub for her in church tomorrow and yesterday she sent a text with the hymn numbers. I saw 255 and instantly panicked because I thought it was True to the Faith. You all are familiar with the long and passionate grudge I have against that hymn. I spent the half hour before I could get to a hymnal mentally writing letters to our ward music director and bishopric that started with "Are you KIDDING me?!" and "Is this some kind of JOKE!" and "Why?" and "How?" and "Do you hate me THAT MUCH!!?!??!!!"

But it turns out True to the Faith is hymn 254. Crisis averted. 255 is Carry On which is still a tough song but it has one redeeming quality: it has a little fanfare in the middle. I have found that organists are split on their opinions of fanfares. Some love them and some feel silly playing them. But I grew up in a ward where fanfares were celebrated. My piano teacher was our ward organist and she always told me that when it comes to playing fanfares you go big or go home. And our music director never conducted any song with anything less than unabashed gusto. So I kind of love playing fanfares. And if I can manage it, I'll turn the volume up a little during them just to make sure the congregation is alive.

I'm not talking about True to the Faith

I was going to tell you that even though I haven't been the ward organist for four months the one day that I am asked to sub is the day we sing True to the Faith and how the number of times I have had to play that song on the organ in this ward has entered into ridiculous levels and how, when I mentioned this to the chorister she said, "No, we've maybe only sung it twice," and how I refrained from being snarky and reminding her that last year we did, in fact, sing it twice...IN ONE MONTH and that I may still be holding a grudge that only gets worse the more I have to play it and how I am now determined to learn that song IF IT KILLS ME! Which it probably will. If my ward really wants a laugh they will play that as the closing hymn at my funeral.

But no, I'm not going to tell you about it because clearly I'm a bit sensitive about it. Instead I'm going to tell you that we had an Olympic themed Primary activity on Saturday and it was hilarious fun. We had the kids doing speed skating on paper plates and bobsledding on sleeping bags. They curled and played hockey and made flags and had a parade of nations and got gold medals at the end. Oh it was fun. I love those kids. They make me laugh. And they don't care that I can't play True to the Faith.

If I Pass Out, Keep Singing

Every Christmas my stake puts on an enormous creche festival. It runs for 3 nights and people can wander around looking at the hundreds of nativities on display or they can listen to the musical numbers the community puts on and there are poinsettias and twinkle lights and a miniature town of Bethlehem and cutout plywood sheep and it's big, big, BIG. The grand finale is the Hallelujah chorus. The music is passed around and everyone joins in and sings. And this year I have to play the piano for it.

And I'm trying really hard to not curl up and die. Because this sort of thing terrifies me.

You see, I have fooled everyone into thinking that I can play the piano well because I can play the hymns well. But I play the hymns well because I've had 20 years of practice. And, hymns are easy. The Hallelujah chorus = the opposite of easy.

Now, there are some things to be thankful for. The first and most important is that I don't have to play it on the organ. Because you can't imagine how many heart attacks I would have if I had to. The second is that the missionary choir will be the last group to perform which means they will be up on the stand and everyone knows that the one thing missionaries are good at besides eating their weight in lasagna is singing really loud. So I'm hoping they will drown me out. The third is that when people sing the Hallelujah chorus they either know it and sing it with gusto, no matter how muddled the piano playing is, or they don't know it and are so engrossed in keeping up that they don't pay attention to the pianist passing out.

I will tell you this, if I do make it through without passing out, I will shimmy with joy.

In other musical news: My Reign of Terror on the organ has come to an end. The good people of my ward can give a collective sigh of relief. Although I secretly believe that they will miss my super slow rendition of "True to the Faith"* and my sometimes questionable stop combinations. Don't worry folks, once an organist, always an organist. I'll be back.

*The Hardest Song in the Hymnal. Also, the Song Our Chorister Loved to Have us Sing on a Regular Basis until I Put the Eternal Kibosh on Her Ever Choosing it Again.

Kids!

Knights of Columbus, folks. I'm the new Primary President*. Eek! I was asked two weeks ago so I've had that long to freak out because I don't know a thing about kids. I also don't know a thing about Primary. Aside from a couple of subbing gigs on the piano, I haven't actually been in Primary since I was in Primary, as a Merry Miss**, WHICH THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE ANYMORE!

I'm rather intimidated by the whole thing. Every other responsibility I've had in the church I have felt marginally prepared for. But not primary. I don't even know half the songs they sing in there anymore. What are the names of the classes? What are the names of the kids? Would it be acceptable for me to make them talk in funny accents strictly for my own amusement? Because you know eventually I'm going to get the urge to do that.

So, yes, I'm slightly freaked out about this. And I'm not looking forward to all those meetings (before I left church yesterday I had entered 5 on my calender just for this week! I've been living the Life of Elegant Leisure in Sunday School for the last 3 years so I suppose I'm due.) But more than anything I'm kind of excited. The fact that kids will even go along with the whole funny accent bit is proof enough that I'm dealing with a great group. Plus they're cute. And there are generally stickers and snacks involved. Bonus!

Do you want to place bets now on how long it will be before I teach them all how to shimmy?

Don't speak Mormon? Here, let me help:

*Primary is the children's group in my church. It's for kids 18 months to 11 years. And just like every organization in the church people are asked to work in it as teachers and leaders. But unlike every other organization in the church Primary, as Teresa mentioned in a previous comment, is like wrangling cats.

**One of the bygone names for a Primary class.

The art of drawing a bowling alley

The difference between men and women:

My ward got together last night to prepare for our stake's NIGHT OF THE LIVING SCRIPTURES!!! Only it's actually called Festival of the Living Scriptures but I like the other name better. It's like a mini roadshow where each ward has to put on a 10 minute skit depicting a specific scripture story. Ours is the 2000 Stripling Warriors. It is exactly the type of thing that I fight against because I'm a cranky old woman but in reality I enjoy because it has that Judy Garland/Micky Rooney Summerstock kind of feel to it which I can't resist.

(I just realized that the above paragraph was very Mormon-y and that some of you out there may not have any idea what a ward or a stake or a roadshow or a Stripling Warrior is. Here's a glossary. Helpful, right? I live to serve you.)

We have changed the story around so that it's about a rag-tag band of bowlers (because bowling always gets a laugh, which is why, as you know, I'm having my wedding reception at a bowling alley. For laughs, people.) I ended up on the scenery painting team, turning butcher paper into a bowling alley.

Now, here's where the difference comes in: Women, when doing artistic things like this, will just jump in with a pencil and start estimating where things go. Lanes here, lettering there, a couple of bowling balls scattered over the top. As long as it looks good, right? And, I'm here to tell you, it always looks good. Men, on the other hand, will go into the library and grab a yard stick, which they will use to meticulously measure out the exact amount of inches needed to fit in the alley, the gutter and the ball return, making sure that the ball return is on the proper side, and making sure that there is the proper perspective, with lanes on the ends being smaller than the lanes in the middle, so that when you look at the butcher paper representation it looks authentic. This also looks good, if not slightly neurotic.

I'm not saying either way is better because both ways work. But there were definite moments when the women would roll their eyes and say, "Men," and the men would roll their eyes and say, "Pass me the ruler."

I don't have the Fever

Happy Pioneer Day everyone!

I was thinking of telling Chiquita that today is a very special religious holiday and that I would like to have it off so I could commemorate the pioneer trek by trekking to the beach. I even have a bonnet to wear! But I opted against it because, well, I have a feeling that sort of thing gets you on the wrong side of eternal happiness. So I trekked to work this morning instead. Without my bonnet, because I got a new haircut last night and it is shorter than a pioneer woman would have it.

Much shorter. Like, the only way a pioneer woman would have such short hair is if she had the Fever and had to cut if all off because it was sucking all of her strength.

I'm practically bald.

Okay, that's a lie. I still have plenty of hair. But what isn't a lie is that I have about 3 strands of hair long enough to fit into a ponytail.

That may also be a lie. It's more like 10.



Because what you may not be able to tell from this picture is that Sarah layered and thinned it for like 18 hours last night. She's a master at it. We come from a family with very large heads and lots of hair and layering and thinning is the only thing that keeps us out of the Home for the Tragic and Ugly.

I'm coming around to it. At times I think it's kind of kicky and sassy and fun. And then there are moments when I think it makes my head look fat. Or my nose look enormous. Or it shoves my eyebrows about an inch closer to my eyes. The real test will be tomorrow when I wash it and the tumbleweed sets in. There will not be pictures of that. But you can have another one from today.



Because how better to celebrate Pioneer Day then with fish lips.

Things we would discuss over breakfast

Things I would bring up if I had called you up and said, "Hey, let's go get some breakfast this morning.":

1.) My rogue eyebrow hair. On my left eyebrow I have a rogue hair that grows in the opposite direction as the other hairs, thus causing it to stick straight out. Part of me doesn't want to take care of it because I admire it's plucky attitude.

2.) The jam I made over the weekend. I've only ever made freezer jam but its shelf life isn't long enough for me and I end up throwing away half the container because I can't eat it fast enough. So I decided that this year I was going hard core and making cooked jam, with the glass jars and the sterilizing and everything. Because this is exactly what 80 year old women do. So I headed down to Chino, which everyone knows has the best strawberries, and I took over my parents kitchen and I made jam. And it is delicious, my friends. It's a good thing the mouth of the jar is so small because I would be tempted to stick my whole face in it. If we had gone to breakfast this morning I would have brought you a jar of your very own.

3.) The lesson I taught yesterday in Sunday School about the Word of Wisdom convinced me that I should make a salad for lunch and how I'm really sad about it because even though I always enjoy a good salad (this one has avocado, and what's not to love about that) I never actually look forward to eating a salad. And there is nothing sadder than not being excited about your lunch.

4.) Katie and I walked out of church yesterday to sunshine. SUNSHINE!!!! I know you're all thinking, "Duh, Rachel. California!" Yeah, and that would be true, except that we have had gloomy, cloudy, drizzly, stinky weather for weeks. Weeks, I tell you! I suppose I should appreciate that fact that it isn't 100 degrees yet but when I walked outside yesterday and felt the sun and saw my shadow I felt like skipping to my car. Except that I was wearing shoes that don't facilitate skipping very well and opted for skipping in my heart.

5.) How much I love going out for breakfast and I think we should do it more often.

***

Post Lunch Addendum: My salad was actually super awesome and hit the spot and I plan on making the same one for lunch tomorrow. And looking forward to it. (Spinach, tomatoes, avocado, chicken, gorgonzola, strawberries, balsamic dressing. It needs some crunch though. Maybe cashews.)